Molly and Madame Muffinpie meander around the Hotel’s lobby. While neither can truly be exhausted, the search for Makron— the missing maid— has drained them thoroughly.
They started their search alongside Hal, Juno, and Todd deep inside the colorful but catacomb-like library. On the farthest wall of the library stands a normal, insurmountably tall bookshelf with an inconspicuous, nameless book that awkwardly juts out past the other books. Predictably, pushing the incongruous book opens a secret armory that contains sickles, uniforms, and other accoutrements. Molly surveyed the room and stopped at the array of sickles. They’re supposed to have eight extra at all times. There were only four. Molly blinked away the fear brimming in her eyes, then she smiled upon noticing her subordinate’s astonishment. The secret armory wasn’t so predictable to Madame Muffinpie.
Once they bid farewell to their male coworkers, Molly and Madame Muffinpie rose to the Hotel’s first floor. Opposite to the Secretary of Styx office is the staff conference room that leads into Oto’s main office, which Molly figured was a good bet since she always spotted Makron in Oto’s office.
Makron berated Oto incessantly, typically pushing questions like, “If there’s an eternal afterlife, why isn’t everyone just immortal?” and “Do you really have to be so good at your job?” (Cheron and the other employees often debate that latter question). Around Oto, Makron acted like a boiling pot, always on the verge of bubbling over, lashing out, and trashing the office.
Despite Molly’s suspicions, her and Madame Muffinpie scoured the office to no avail. The only irregularity was Oto’s computer. His account had been and would continue to be locked out for several hours. Someone tried to guess the password and failed, which is impressive considering that Oto’s password is “12345678”.
The maids then searched Oto’s suite but left almost immediately. Prior to Cheron settling in, Oto used the space as nothing more than a second office, so employees passed through the suite as they pleased. Recently however, the suite has looked a lot more like a home, so the maids felt as though they were trespassing. Besides, the only irregularity Molly noticed was how messy the suite was. It hurt for her not to clean it, but she insisted they move on with the hunt.
Now, after more unfruitful searching, they trudge across the lobby, toward the double doors, defeated and silent.
Molly cups her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Madame Muffinpie. I feel as though I’ve wasted your time. Would you like to rest with a cup of tea?”
“Can I even still digest tea?”
“No, but pretending tends to feel good, just don’t think too hard about it or else you might perpetuate the void you’re trying to—”
“I decline, but thank you.” Madame Muffinpie stops. “Does the Hotel utilize a surveillance system?”
“Yes, but there’s no point checking it. No member of the esteemed maid corps, let alone Makron, would ever be caught dead on camera… Haha! Get it?” Molly smiles at her coworker, whose expression plummets. “Sorry.” Molly looks away. “Working here for several years has grated on me…” They continue to walk in heavy silence until Molly attempts to lighten it again. “You know, your file is quite impressive for your age.”
Madame Muffinpie blushes then clears her throat through pursed lips. “It’s not easy being so young and accomplished.”
“From what I’ve read, you actually outran Death. You’ll be a valuable addition to the team.” Madame Muffinpie’s face, tail, and whiskers perk up until Molly finishes. “However, when the time comes to re-reap Makron, you simply cannot assist me.”
The cat’s features droop. “Why? Is he really so much of a threat?”
Molly stares as if Madame Muffinpie asked whether Death is lethal. “Yes. While he is my lieutenant and I trust him, he’s always been so volatile. I had to tame him. Even now, I feel like he’s not fully acclimated to Purgatory.” Still staring at her subordinate, Molly swings open the lobby’s double doors. “I know his unceasing strength so well, and yet he still surprises me. He could be right in front of you, and you wouldn’t know.”
The two women stop at the cobblestone stairway. They look at the bottom of the steps to see Makron balancing the hilt of his sickle on his bald head. Four other sickles surround him. Even at rest, the man’s raging, rock solid muscles stretch the sleeves of his pink dress, nearly tearing it. Upon hearing his coworkers approach, Makron turns to them and smiles.
“Hullo,” he greets, setting down the sickle beside the other four. ”Have you seen Clark? I asked him to grab me some reading material from the library. We’ve started a book club and a writing project.”
Molly and Madame Muffinpie stare at the man, with horror and curiosity, respectively.
The cat’s tail perks up again, slightly wagging. “Do you discuss structuralism in this book club?”
Makron opens his smile to answer but is quickly shut down.
“Get the others. Now,” Molly growls, trying to control her wavering voice. Madame Muffinpie freezes, so Molly whips around and repeats, “Now!” The cat jolts and flees. Unsheathing her sickle, Molly turns again to Makron, who is still smiling.
“The others can join too, you know,” Makron chirps. “I’m more of a postmodernist myself, but I like her enthusiasm.”
“What happened, Makron? Why did you leave? You’re fundamental to the Hotel’s operations. You can’t just disappear, and you can’t just borrow four sickles. You pose a threat to all of our clients.”
Makron pouts at his manager. “But look at this.” He then takes the four sickles, throws them into the air, and catches them by balancing each atop his hands and shoes.
“Dear, no, you can’t just… Oh, wow. That’s mesmerizing. When did you learn how to—”
Makron interrupts by throwing the sickles into the air again. He catches one in each hand, another in his mouth, and roundhouse kicks the fourth, spinning it straight toward Molly’s neck, but she ducks and pivots. Molly then catches the sickle before it invades the lobby, arming both her hands. Makron launches another sickle and lunges up the steps, but Molly deflects the attack back to Makron, who dodges. Molly leaps onto the pure white ground, beside where the deflected sickle has landed. Makron dives after Molly, who just barely escapes by rolling back. She skids across the plane, using her two sickles as brakes.
Although neither of the two souls has or needs a respiratory system, they both mimic breathing heavily by force of habit. One nick from a sickle, and a soul dissipates into nothing but milky plumes and a conscience paralyzed in steel. Neither maid can afford that fate. Both are simply too damn cool.
“Makron, please!” Molly screams. “I’ll join your book club, just talk to me!”
Molly has hardly regained her footing when Makron chucks his sickles to the ground and pounces after her again. She swings, hooking both of her sickles in the air, but Makron evades, grabbing the blades’ hilts. As he plants his feet on the plane, Makron spins and hurls Molly around. In a daze, she relinquishes her weapons and slams against the Hotel’s wall.
Like shuriken, Makron slings Molly’s sickles back to her. Both of the blades cut into the wall, curving around her wrists. She can’t move, only able to watch as Makron ambles toward her, still smiling.
“I see.” Molly hears the lump fall in her ghostly throat. “You really don’t want me to join.”
“No, no, I do.” Makron plops down in front of her, crossing his legs. “But I sent Casey on an errand as well, and I can’t let you stop her.”
Molly frowns. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t looking for her, I was looking for you. I was worried.”
Makron looks up at his manager with sympathetic eyes. “Sorry, ma’am.”
She sighs. “What did you even send Casey to do?”
“Well, she’s also looking for a book, but it’s one we’ve already read. It’s unbearably bad though. The protagonist is really stupid and the title has two exclamation points. I mean, how self-important do you have to be?” Makron balances a sickle on his head again. “...But this story is really important to us. We need it to be good. In fact, we’re looking for ways to rewrite it. That’s all we’ve been doing since we ran away.”
“That’s it? That’s why? To work on fanfiction? For a book you hate? A book so mind-bleedingly wretched that it needs to be rewritten to be bearable?” Molly remembers the mission. “So… Casey is in the library.”
“Hm? Nah. She’s over there.” He points to the distant void of Purgatory and the sickle falls between his legs. That was a close one. “You're a passionate soul, Molly. So if you want to help our cause, I should clarify. Casey is not only looking for the book, she’s looking for someone who she thinks can help us rew—”
A sickle spirals down and cuts through Makron’s neck, causing Molly’s eyes to widen and dart upward. Atop the cobblestone steps, Juno stares down at her, blankly. Hal, Todd, and Madame Muffinpie lag behind.
“Juno!” Hal hollers as he approaches his subordinate. “Don’t go charging ahead! You’re only a…” He trails off as Juno hops down to Molly and dislodges the sickles surrounding her wrists.
“Molly,” Juno says. “Did Makron say anything strange? Perhaps about Death’s Scythe or about… knowledge?”
“Ah, no, but he did talk a lot about a book club.” Molly tilts her head. “He said that Casey is looking for someone out in Purgatory… But if that’s the case, then she should round back to—”
“I can find her,” Juno says as he stares straight through her. “I’ll show all of you. I will find her.”
“Woah there, sweetheart, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
The rest of the crew hops down to meet Molly, cutting in front of Juno.
“SQUAWK!” Todd squawks.
“Thank you, Todd, but I’m fine. Our priority is Casey.”
“SQUAWK!”
“Really? Makron didn’t seem like himself either. Not that he isn’t an avid reader. I just never figured he was the type to...” She gasps and scans around. “The sickles. He stole four sickles. We need to put them back before any other employees or clients take them.”
Molly, Todd, Hal, and Madame Muffinpie scour the area. After searching a considerable amount and taking a cautious headcount, they are now short one sickle and two bellhops.
ns 172.70.131.170da2
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