A Party of Certainties (On Behalf of Death Book 3) Read online

  A Party of Certainties

  On Behalf of Death, book 3

  E.G. Stone

  Tarney Brae Creative Endeavours

  Copyright © 2021 by E.G. Stone

  A Tarney Brae Creative Endeavours Production

  Cover design by Fay Lane

  Editing by Michael Evan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my Grandad, from whom much inspiration for this book came.

  Contents

  1. Tax Free

  2. Death and Taxes

  3. Tax Day

  4. Tax Hike

  5. Income Tax

  6. Tax Refund

  7. Joint Tax Return

  8. Salex Tax

  9. Tax Reform

  10. Tax Evasion

  11. Tax Fraud

  12. Tax Collector

  13. Tax Law

  14. Taxing to Prosperity

  15. Tax Included

  16. Back Taxes Owed

  17. Tax Guy

  18. Tax Return Accepted

  19. Tax Holiday

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by E.G. Stone

  Tax Free

  Have you ever felt nothing? And I don't mean depression. I don't mean those days where it's hard to get out of bed because the world is weighing on your shoulders, although to be fair, working for Death means that I felt that on occasion. I don’t mean boredom or apathy, preventing you from getting up to choose the next movie. Or even just tiredness that makes thinking really difficult.

  No, I mean nothing.

  No pain.

  No joy.

  No interest.

  No boredom.

  Hunger and thirst? Nada.

  Considering the fact that I was sitting around a poker table with a bunch of slightly corporeal souls, I should have perhaps been feeling something. Their time in, well, purgatory? The waiting room? Some sort of in between place between the here and now in the afterwards, gave them a whole lot of time for playing cards, dealing in favours. Which made them very good at poker. I should have been quaking in my shoes, afraid to lose. Especially considering that to my right sat Al Capone and to my left sat Genghis Khan. Across from me sat a woman whose eyes watched me like some sort of cat after prey. She told me her name, but I didn't remember it. The other two called her Mata Hari.

  I wasn’t nervous. Or afraid. Or anything, really.

  See, all these people were dead. Long dead. I was playing with their ghosts, I suppose. I was not dead. Far from it, actually. In fact, given my current situation, I couldn't actually die at all. This was due to a rather complicated set of circumstances in which I had found myself after being shot in a park. See, I had been shot—whether I had been shot fatally is an entirely different question—and met Death. He offered me a job as his marketing agent and public relations manager. Considering who he was, I saw the need. So I accepted. This got me into a whole bunch of situations with my rock troll assistant Yolanda, my air elemental marketing trainee Agravane, some very angry supernatural beings, almost a week with Machiavelli and a half-giantess and the time travelling journalist, and here I was.

  Soulless.

  Feeling nothing. Nothing at all.

  Death had lost my soul. It was a whole problematic accident that had to do with time travel and inevitability and other theories that I don't understand. The point was that Death, after making me immortal in the present had lost my soul in the past, meaning that I couldn't die even if I were killed. Being soulless also meant that I couldn't feel anything. According to Yolanda, I was becoming rather more like a psychopathic killer than the slightly grumpy boss she had come to appreciate so much.

  I suppose I should have been bothered by that statement. I wasn't.

  Of course, if I wanted to stop being an emotionless, potentially dangerous person who would turn into a zombie that required orders to do anything, including sleep and eat, then I needed a soul. Considering that mine was lost, and even Death didn't know where to find it, I needed a temporary solution.

  Hence, poker.

  "Raise you a favour." Mata Hari threw some chips into the centre. She blinked languidly at me, possibly seeing if I was going to blush. I just considered my cards.

  We were playing for different stakes than standard poker. The three opponents of mine were dead. They had no need for such things as money. But they did trade in favours. If I won, then I would get temporary usage of their soul. Now, I knew how to play poker in the theory. I had seen enough James Bond movies to understand the concept. I even had a fairly stunning poker face, considering that I felt nothing and showed no emotion ever. The only problem was, I had never actually played poker. So I was doing poorly.

  "Too rich for my blood," Genghis Khan said. I wondered if he were actually speaking English, or if it was just the fact that all the dead were universally understood, because I was fairly certain that that sort of slang hadn't been around during the Mongol Empire. He folded his cards, sitting back in his chair with a displeased expression. He had lost spectacularly already, being down to his last favour. Mata Hari was doing slightly worse than I was, having played aggressively the whole game with little regard to actually winning. This might have surprised me if I had known more about her history apart from her being a universally acknowledged spy. I just assumed that she wasn't a very good player.

  Al Capone called on Mata Hari. He gave me a sideways glance and smirked. "For a living guy, you're kinda boring. You got nothing to say? No stories? Come on, Cal Thorpe, give us some entertainment."

  "Raise," I said, throwing my chips into the centre. "I am unsure as to what you would find entertaining."

  Mata Hari folded her hand, narrowing her eyes at me. She flicked her brown hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs under the table, shifting her posture ever so slightly. Capone straightened in his chair, considering. The other two were out. By my understanding of the game and what favours each player had left, this was an indication that it was down to Capone and I. If I won, I got use of his soul. If I lost, I would owe him enough favours to keep me employed by the former gangster for nearly a year. Neither option bothered me, nor interested me.

  "Call." Capone narrowed his eyes at me and ran his hands over each other, fiddling with the cufflinks at his wrist. "You work for Death. That's the only reason you're in this game. Anyone who works for Death has to have some interesting stories. At least tell us you've met his wife? You know, Life?"

  "I have met Life.” I threw my cards over, showing them to the table. Capone whistled and deposited his on the table also, leaning back and snarling at me.

  "You've been playing mediocre all night long. It comes down to the final hand and what do you got? A royal straight flush. You are either superbly lucky, or you've got some tricks up your sleeve." Al Capone shook his head, then stood and held out his hand. "Congratulations, Cal Thorpe. You have won the use of my soul for precisely a month."

  "Thank you," I said, also standing. Capone looked at me and held out his hand a little farther, shaking it and raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Oh, you mean for me to take possession now. Forgive me, I did not understand the implication."

  I took Capone's hand, and some sort of something happened. One moment, I was feeling nothing, and the next moment, I was feeling everything. I was elated at having won at poker, a little terrified of Genghis Khan and even more terrified—and also slight
ly attracted—at the site of Mata Hari's glaring eyes. I felt hunger from the fact that I hadn't eaten for two days, a little tired from having been up for a while playing the card game. I still couldn't feel as fully as I had done before losing my soul, but I felt a little more human.

  I also felt Al Capone residing inside my head, his thoughts and emotions stronger than mine. I couldn't quite put my finger on the emotion that he was feeling at the moment, but it was beyond interest, into the territory of self-satisfaction. It was as if he was feeling…

  "Smug?" I asked out loud, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "Why in the world would you be feeling smug?"

  Somehow both inside my mind and without, an image of Capone appearing in my vision as clearly as if he were once again a ghost beside me. He looked the same as ever: average height, a little heavy, brown hair, scar on his face. Except he was wearing a grin that could have terrified some of the monsters I’d met. He spoke. "Are you kidding me? I haven't looked this good in ages. You’re a little skinny, but you've got actual hands and flesh. You can go places. Do things. You know how long I have been at that table, trading favours in the hope that something more interesting will happen? And then Death comes around and asks if will let one of his people join. And now, I get to go back into the real world. Temporarily, of course, and not under my own control, but I want a drink like you wouldn't believe."

  "Food, I can understand. I am hungry. Oddly. But, visiting the mortal realms and doing things like going out for a drink, that will have to wait. I have a bunch of new clients to deal with, not to mention Life and Death foisted their family reunion party planning on to me. It's in a week." With that, I waved goodbye to a confused looking Genghis Khan and an angry Mata Hari, turned around and strode out of the doorway that was my entrance to the ether.

  Death had opened this doorway in the heart of my office, saying it would be open long enough for me to go and return. When I had left, my office was as neat and tidy as ever, the desk of my assistant being only slightly less neat than my own, considering that it was covered with tiny geode's and a bag of popcorn. My own desk was terrifyingly clean, any papers organised within an inch of their life, my computer up to date and all of my tasks done. Across the office was the slightly beat up desk of Agravane, the air elemental or aurai I had rescued a while back. He had become some sort of trainee marketing agent and errand boy for the office. I was a little shocked at the neatness of my desk, considering that I was, generally speaking, a messy person, but I was more shocked by the banner that hung across the office, the words Hooray for Cal's Soul written in sloppy letters across it. Beneath the banner, Yolanda stood with a ridiculous party had on her bald head.

  Yolanda was a rock troll, exiled from her people long before I had met her. She was possessed of greyish green skin, wide yellow eyes, strangely white teeth, and was built along the lines of a rugby player. So seeing her in a party hat was a little shocking. What was more shocking was that Agravane was also wearing a party hat, though his looked as though it had been forced upon him.

  I frowned. Shoved my hands in my pockets. "What is all this?"

  Yolanda almost squealed and clapped her hands excitedly. "You are back! I mean, back in the office, too, but with a soul! Now you can get back to being our grumpy boss."

  "I think what she means is that we were both tired of the emotionless stare we kept getting from you these last few days, which is why your desk looks like it's been attacked by brownies determined on cleaning it within an inch of its life. Comparatively, having you back and grumbling at us is a far more agreeable option." Agravane narrowed his eyes and slouched even more, his annoyingly good looks suiting the expression perfectly. "You did win the use of the soul, did you not?"

  "Yes, I did," I said with a sniff. In my vision, though apparently invisible to everyone else, Al Capone snickered. He tugged at the sleeves of his suit, walking around my office as though it were his. I felt his arrogance and that same annoying smugness rising.

  "Should we ask whose soul you're using?" Yolanda ventured tentatively, scuffing her shoe on the floor. "I mean, just in case it might affect…you."

  "Go on, Cal,” Al Capone said, stepping over to the window and looking out onto the grounds of death's estate in elsewhere. He turned around and faced the room, appraising it. "Put them out of their misery. Just tell them."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose beneath my glasses. "Al Capone," I said to Yolanda and Agravane, deciding that it was perhaps not the best moment to begin talking to myself—even if there was actually an entity inside my head. "I am playing host to the most notorious gangster in American history. There, are you happy?"

  Agravane snickered. He went over to his desk and sat, propping his heels on the edge and brushing lint off his trousers. "Seems a perfect match to me. After all, we have a family reunion to plan, and Al Capone sure could throw a great party."

  I sat down at my desk and pulled out the guest list, already feeling a bit of dread. Muted dread, given that my soul was who knows where and the one I was using was just temporary, but dread none the same. After all, I was just a marketing agent, and I was walking around with a notorious gangster in my head. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me rephrase. What could possibly go wrong this time?

  Death and Taxes

  Working for Death means that I tend to come into contact with fairly terrifying beings at regular intervals. Planning a party for Death's family—some of whom I had met and was suitably terrified of, and others whom I hadn’t met and was still terrified of—hadn't struck me as something to be avoided when Death first gave me the assignment. However, I now had access to a soul. Granted, it was Al Capone and therefore my fear response seemed to be unusually low, but at the thought of having Death’s family—some of the most powerful supernatural entities in the universe—in one place—I will admit to panic.

  The days of planning the party involved a lot of me muttering to myself and trying to figure out ways in which to prevent things from going wrong. I'd been given a list of very short notations on each family member from Death, stating whether or not someone had a food allergy or whether two aunts or uncles could be seated together. I had been told to hire a photographer and just the thought of that had me scowling for about an hour, according to Yolanda.

  I had informed her that the scowl was because the family portraits were sure to do really terribly on all of the social media platforms. People were already afraid enough of Death, but a full portrait of him and his family was enough to send even the strongest and sanest running for the hills. Not that my marketing strategy for Death was to paint him as a being of sunshine and smiles.

  Still, I did manage to do all of the necessary party things, and on the day of the event itself, Death's estate was opened up to caterers and people who were setting up the tent and tables, two photographers—oddly enough, these were creatures of the same lineage as Doc Graveltoes, a strange gremlin goblin thing that fancied itself a healer—and many more. I oversaw the movements of Death’s heirloom silver to the tables from his grand palatial mansion, a building that seemed to be a cross between Victorian and Tudor style, with ivy of a muted silver climbing the walls, power and beauty in the very stones. I didn't think to ask who Death had inherited his silvers from. I didn't want to know. I had the caterers setting up off to one side, the brownies that were doing the cooking happy to stay out of the way.

  By the time 4 o'clock came around, I had imbibed 3 cups of coffee, no food, and was thoroughly tired of listening to Al Capone rant in my head about the unsuitability of having various alcohols placed next to one another at the bar. I sank into one of the chairs at a table of solid cherry, feeling weariness for the first time in several days. Then it occurred to me that I hadn't slept in rather while.

  But you know what? I had put together one really, really good party.

  And I was pleased with the efforts.

  "You have done well," Death said, peering behind me like some sort of ghost. Had I been more co
nnected to the current soul inhabiting my body, or possessed of a soul more in tune with the ability to feel an appropriate sense of fear, then Death would have scared the living daylights out of me. As it was, I propped my head in my hand, pushed my glasses up my nose and appraised my boss.

  Death, as usual, was wearing clothes that put most people to shame. He was a bit of a dandy. Today, he was wearing a pinstripe three-piece suit in black and grey, a red silk cravat hid his neck, a matching pocket square in his left breast pocket, patent leather shoes, and a cane of ebony with a silver skull at its head. A bit overdramatic, but given the guest list, it seemed to work.

  "Am I going to be expecting any destruction today? Is your estate going to fall to pieces? Will I be blamed for any of it?" They were not the questions that I had intended on asking, but they were the ones that came out. I scowled deeper.

  Death chuckled and took the chair beside me, tapping his cane on the grass. "Still having difficulties getting Mr. Capone's soul under control?"

  "He had me interrogating the whiskey vendor for twenty minutes," I said. I coughed nervously and looked at Death, knowing the answer to my question before I even asked it. "Has there been any news of…my own soul?"

  "No." Death looked around and appraised the scene. His estate in the Lands of Silence, his realm in Elsewhere, was made up of the flora that thrived in the whole realm. The silver grey colour of the ivy was the most common, with grass of a lighter mist shade, the trees sporting leaves that were almost blue in their grey, darker threads spreading through the trunks of the trees and into some of the flowers. It was a land that the average onlooker would call monochrome, but I had come to appreciate that there were distinct and fascinating variations in the place. It was not well inhabited by animals, at least not those you would see in any realms of the living, and I had only encountered a couple of them, but there was life there. It was beautiful in its own way. And if I did say so myself, the wooden tables and artful lawn decorations, the shine of the silver and the gleaming white of the tablecloths all contrasted nicely to create a simply stunning party.