The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) by Amber Benson Page A

to keep her mother alive—though even they could not dull the exquisite pain her mother experienced on a daily basis.
    And then this last time…her mother had been so bad even Jennice couldn’t fix it. They’d taken her away to the hospital, where Jennice prayed the doctors could make her mother feel better.
    “I don’t know what came over me,” Jennice said, stepping away from Clio. “I’m so sorry.”
    Clio stood in the doorway, not making a move to leave. But at least the tears were gone, and she seemed like she was more in control of her emotions again.
    “I feel better,” Clio said, dropping her shoulders and rolling her head from side to side. “I can hardly even remember why I was so upset. I mean, I do remember, but it’s like an old memory. So weird.”
    She trailed off, her brow scrunched in concentration.
    “I was just worried about my sister,” she said after a long pause. “I came up to her room to see if it was really empty.”
    Jennice had never had a sister. It’d just been her and her mom for as long as she could remember.
    “It’s pretty empty,” she agreed, lamely.
    “She just…disappeared, you know, without telling me what was going on,” Clio said, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t know where she is, or what I can do to get her back.”
    Jennice realized emotions were not as easy to cure as, say, a bad ankle sprain.
    “Sorry,” she added, as she wiped the tear away and gave Jennice a weary smile.
    “Maybe she had her reasons.”
    It was just something to say. Jennice had no clue about the inner workings of Clio and her sister’s relationship, or of sisters’ relationships, in general.
    “I’m sure she did,” Clio said.
    As they stood together by the door, surveying the empty room, they would’ve been surprised to learn they were each thinking a variation on the same theme:
    It was nice just to stand with someone in companionable silence, without having to explain yourself to them.
    They stood there, watching as the late-afternoon light faded away, the sun melting into the horizon just beyond the bedroom windows.
    Finally, Clio broke the silence:
    “Tell me about what you do with your hands.”
    Jennice scanned the empty room, looking for something,
anything
, to take the attention away from herself, but there was nothing.
    “Stop looking all around like a cornered animal,” Clio said, seeming to sense Jennice’s discomfort. “I’m not going to bite your head off. Just tell me about what you do.”
    Jennice did not talk about her gift. Mostly because there was no one for her to talk to about it, but also a little because she was scared if she blabbed about it, it might desert her. She didn’t know where this idea had come from, or how she’d become so superstitious, but she had. She tried hard not to even really acknowledge she was doing anything “special”—even when she was in the middle of a healing.
    “It’s nothing,” she said, feeling hesitant about talking to Clio about something so intimate.
    “It’s not nothing,” Clio disagreed. “You’re a healer, aren’t you?”
    She didn’t wait for Jennice to answer.
    “Wow, there aren’t very many of you guys out there. I mean, a few, but most of them go crazy pretty early on and kill themselves—”
    Clio realized what she’d just said and stopped herself.
    “Oh,” Jennice murmured, trying not to let what she’d heard scare her.
    “Damn, I’m sorry,” Clio said. “I should watch my mouth.”
    “I’ve never wanted to kill myself. I don’t think so, at least,” Jennice replied, softly.
    Her mind was spinning, Clio’s words ricocheting inside of her. She’d never wanted to kill herself. Had never even imagined doing something so heinous, but now the thought wouldn’t leave her brain.
    “Maybe they were just unhappy people,” she added, not believing her own words.
    Clio shook her head. She obviously didn’t believe in not being blunt in order to spare someone else’s