Death is My Frenemy Rewritten (Book 3 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 26: Me and You Again

HELL F*CKING YEAH, BABY.

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On that rare occasion that the 'Prince of Darkness' fell asleep, he expectedly slept like the dead. Either that, or he was still fevered by demon blood.

My hand throbbed, and when I looked down at my palm, bile threatening to climb up my throat. Gently grabbing Death's wrist with my left hand, I lifted it up, and his talon slowly retracted back into his finger and out of my palm, where it'd embedded almost all the way through my hand. The pain stabbed at a greater level, my vision splotched, and the thought crossed my mind that I might pass out as I pressed my hand down into the comforter to stop the bleeding.

As gently as possible, I tried to lift Death's arm out of my lap. My heart burst into a faster pace as he stirred in his sleep, his lips moving over soft words. He turned over onto his stomach with a groan and muttered something incorrigible about 'smashing skulls' before he curled onto his right side.

My gaze lingered a moment on the two jagged V shaped scars in his back, before I slid off the bed. The ottoman at the head of his four-post bed was flipped over, and various items were scattered on the floor. The room was a disaster area, confirming my suspicions that the "ghost" of Death's corpse had come and swept me into the in-between. Blood trickled from my cupped palms, and I realized I'd zoned out with the fatigue in my brain. I picked up his discarded black silken shirt from the floor and wrapped it around my hand tightly.

I'd been closer than ever to Death's unconscious and that's why things had gotten so hectic. I recalled the way the Forsaken had brought to life Death's labyrinth of memory, making him think that he was talking to his past selves and then turning them all against him. It made me wonder just how much power the Forsaken had in this realm and how they were or could effect this memory.

I had to find Ace. He always knew what to do, as Victorian Death had said. But I could feel my palm filling my own blood and I knew my power of course wasn't healing my hand, and I figured the best thing to do was to clean the damn thing before I left. I had no idea where his talons had been.

I cast one last look at the Prince of Darkness' sleeping form. He was just a dark silhouette against dark sheets, and I wouldn't have seen him at all had there not been light coming from the cavernous tower directly above his bed like a skylight. What an odd place to put his mattress, directly underneath that towering space.

In the mirror over the bathroom sink, my hair was a little disheveled, but I looked surprisingly well rested and didn't jump to critiquing my appearance for once.

A shiver worked its way down my spine like icy chill. Cursing under my breath, I slowly glanced over my shoulder, to find the doorway empty. Except for that white cat, Circe, who strut across the doorway from the outside, her tail swishing as she paused to look at me before she scurrying somewhere else in the room.

Clenching my fingers against Death's shirt on my palm, I reached for a bar of soap but realized the faucet on the sink didn't run water. I remember what Death had said about no running water and cursed under my breath. How the hell had he turned that water on again? I moved my hand around the flaucet. "Turn on. Water on. Water flow. Water...flood. Water do something."

The sink started to drip, my eyes widening as the water began to flow. I quickly unraveled the shirt and tried to keep my stomach like steel as I rinsed the wound with water and soaped it up the best I could. The stab wound luckily hadn't gone all the way through, but I was confused as to why it wasn't healing. I must have fatigued all of my power in the in-between.