Death's Apprentice

26

"How are we having this much trouble finding something linked to her? We had an easier time with Kai," I said, moving a stack of papers onto the floor before replacing it with a box filled with even more. Each one had some connection to Ivy, but not the type we needed. "You said she's the most public of the immortals, so why don't we watch the news or just Google her?" My idea sounded better than Death's, which happened to be what we were doing. My idea involved typing her name into a search engine and looking through websites, not searching through boxes, filing cabinets, drawers, and display cases filled with papers, pens, and all sorts of other memorabilia. It also didn't involve being stared at by numerous pictures of Ivy Butler, Ivy Florence, and three other Ivys, all the same person.

Death didn't look up from the papers strewn across a table. His fingers hovered above one before dipping down slightly. They barely brushed the paper, but the damage was done; it shriveled up and decayed away. Death scowled. "Because I'd have to deal with all of the talk about the British Royal Family. Why are Americans so obsessed with the royal family of a nation they fought to get away from?" He shook his. "Besides when does the news cover anything good? All it is is bashing on the opposing party while making your own seem like saints. The only breaks you get from it are when they give medical advice that's going to change the next day."

"Honestly, that did not go the way I thought it would."

"What? Did you think I was going to say something about the disproportionate rate of crime they show on the news? Or maybe that they don't always use proper graphs to show data?"

"No, but I'll keep that in mind."

We went back to searching in the comfortable silence. Death broke it. "Why is there a book about chickens?"

My eyebrows knitted together and I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Death, now with his gloves on, was holding an illustrated guide to chickens and other farm poultry. "I don't know. Did she send chickens some place?"

Death flipped through the book before laying it on the table still open. He picked up a paper and leafed through it. "Looks like she sent chickens, pigs, and guineas. Huh, you'd think she'd know better than to send those. Guess she's never been much of a research person."

"What?"

"Chickens are kinda one of Lucifer's side projects. There is exactly one type of chicken that God made, and it just so happens she didn't send them that type. Adding guineas into the mix makes me question how good of a person she is."

"They're just chickens. It's not like they're geese or anything."

"No. Geese are at least open about being murderous creatures bent on getting revenge for reasons unknown. Chickens will act like sweet innocent angels, but they're just as much cannibals as pigs. And don't get me started on pigs. I've seen a lot of deaths, kid, war, plague, famine but death by pig isn't something I'm keen on seeing again."

I pulled my gaze away from one of the carefully bound pages in my hand. I looked at Death. "You've seen that before? I thought people getting killed by pigs was made up."

"Eleven times in fact," he nodded with a wink. I took that to mean he was saying eleven just for the reference. "You know how sharks go into a blood frenzy? Imagine that on a curly-tailed potbelly pig. They'll tear into a body the same way they tear into pumpkins."

An image appeared in my mind, threatening to make me lose my breakfast. "Please stop talking."

"You've got it," Death said, closing the book and placing it aside. We continued our search quietly. Papers crumpled and fell out if our hands, often ending up with more spilling off the tables and onto the floor. Occasionally, I'd hear the sound of a new box being opened or tape being pulled from the roll. There were other noises too, but as our search nears its fourth hour they were blending together into white noise.