* * *

Coup de main
by afrai

* * *

Susan pushed open the door and stepped into Death's kitchen.

"All right," she said. "This had better be important."

Albert was alone in the kitchen, which wasn't a surprise. His surprise was.

"Who told you?" he said.

SQUEAK.

"We thought she'd better know," said the raven apologetically. "It's only fair. You know he'd want them to meet."

Albert's habitual expression of chronic misanthropy returned, wiping out the surprise.

"Dunno," said Albert. "Wouldn't surprise me if he hasn't so much as thought of Susan since -- " he paused, glancing at Susan -- "since you know when. Hasn't been thinking of much else, I'll warrant."

"What is it?" said Susan.

Albert, the raven and the Death of Rats exchanged glances.

SQUEAK.

"He would be glad to see her," said the raven. "You know he is. He's a family man at hear -- at rib -- to the core. Or he'd like to be, anyway."

"Fine," said Albert. "It had to happen sooner or later, I suppose." He heaved himself out of his seat.

"Just don't blame me when you see it," he said to Susan. "I'd nothing to do with it. There's nothing to be done with him when he gets into one of his states."

"What's going on?"

"You'll see," said Albert. A high-pitched squeal ripped the timeless air of Death's abode. Susan's eyes widened. Albert's face grew even more sour.

"It'll all end in tears," he said. "You'd think he'd have learnt by now, but he never listens. You'll see. It'll all end in tears. Again."

* * *

Susan gaped. Death resettled the child in his arms.

It was, noted the one still part of Susan's mind that wasn't flailing in horror, dressed in the kind of explosion of lace and frills that certain mothers liked to apply to their little girls. Not Susan's mother. Susan's mother had run to the sensible and staid in clothing her child. Susan had never had to worry about getting her clothes dirty or torn when she was little; it was understood that that was what clothes were there for.

The dress was primrose yellow. There were little white bunny rabbits dancing along the hem.

SUSAN, Death said. THIS IS YOUR AUNT RUKIA.

"What have you done?" said Susan.

SAY HELLO TO YOUR NIECE, RUKIA, said Death.

"You -- "

A jaundiced blue eye surveyed Susan from under black bangs. Then the little girl inserted a thumb into her mouth, and said deliberately,

"Goo goo ga ga."

It snapped Susan out of her horror in an instant.

"Take that thumb out of your mouth," she said. "Granddad, put her down. She's more than old enough to stand on her own. Now, what do we say to visitors?"

AH . . .

"Quiet," said Susan. "What do we say, Rukia?"

"Aunt Rukia," said the child.

"You -- what?"

"You've got to call me Aunt," said the child stubbornly. "You're my niece."

"Answer my question or I will slow-cook you over a fire and feed you to a pack of wolves," said Susan evenly.

". . . Hello."

"That's right," said Susan. "And we'll remember that when we see visitors again, won't we?"

"'es."

"Good."

SEE? YOU ARE GETTING ALONG ALREADY, said Death happily. ARE YOU STAYING FOR DINNER? ALBERT IS FRYING SOMETHING, I BELIEVE.

"I . . . " A small hand tugged on Susan's sleeve. She looked down.

The dress was just a little too big for Rukia. It made her look even smaller, a tiny, huge-eyed creature drowned in sunshine and lace.

"There's fried cucumber fritters," said Rukia. "An' shira-tama. 'Least, it's s'posed to be shira-tama. It doesn't really taste like it."

"Yes?" said Susan. "What does it taste like, then?"

"Grease," said Rukia, after a moment's consideration.

IF YOU STAY, I COULD SHOW YOU THE NURSERY, said Death. I WOULD LIKE YOUR ADVICE ON THE INTERIOR DECORATION. EVERYTHING KEEPS TURNING INTO RABBITS.

"But -- " Susan deflated.

"I have a job, you know," she tried. "It isn't that I don't want to -- but I have a life. A real, human life."

YOU HAVE A FAMILY, said Death.

Susan stared down at the little girl. Rukia gazed back, her eyes wide and grave. She was too pale for her age.

She reminded Susan of somebody. Susan wasn't sure -- no, she knew she didn't want to know who.

All the same.

"Yes," said Susan, giving up. "I seem to."

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