Supply and Demand

The second Clarence popped onto the island, he let out a gusty sigh. He was alone.

Finally.

No more paperwork, no more stress, no more passive-aggressive comments from Aurora about how he hadn't shown any significant contributions to The Cause lately — had he seen his Goodness Graph? Because if she had to calculate the slope for that, m would equal 0 — and yes, he knew she had a thing for mathematics and had even done a stint as a teacher in a high school trying to keep troubled youth from going down The Wrong Path (which, to Aurora, probably meant listening to music too loudly or something) but did she really have to brandish that graph in his face every time he went in for a progress check?

He let out a long exhale.

Okay.

Worrying about work was not the goal, he reminded himself.

He was here to relax.

So he popped his white suit into a pale, airy linen shirt and shorts. Then he physically kicked off his dress shoes purely for the satisfaction of seeing them fly across the way.

A large seagull promptly began tugging at the laces. To which he said: finders keepers, lad.

Then he squinted up at the sun and popped on a pair of sunglasses.

(Most everyone else at the office called it miracling, but Clarence thought it always made a little "pop" whenever he did it. So. He did have to be certain not to say it out loud, though. Not after Sol had laughed himself silly that one time.)

Anyway.

He savored the warm give of sand under his feet as he made his way up the beach. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze while colorful birds flitted here and there, chirping merrily.

It was even better than Central Park or the Kosobe Conservatory.

Clarence pulled out the diagram he'd sketched of the island and started toward the beach house. Najma had waxed positively poetic about the view from the hammock when she'd come back from her trip.

He traipsed through a rather picturesque little jungle, pausing only to let a vivid yellow snake flick its tongue out cautiously toward his finger.

"Don't worry," he said. "You won't even know I'm here. You, ah, you don't happen to know which way the beach house is, do you? I'm not so good with directions."

The snake turned a liquid black eye on him and declined to comment.

It did, however, watch him from the branch it was curled around until he'd gone.

--

He was pretty sure he'd popped himself onto the wrong side of the island, as it happened. Either that, or he'd interpreted the diagram incorrectly.

But, at last, he came over a rise to find a rooftop peeking up from the foliage.

A grin stretched over his face.

The house sat in a clearing just on the edge of a drop off, looking out across a lush valley and a string of waterfalls.

He'd made it.

And there was the hammock, stretched between two thick trunks and perfectly positioned for one to glance up from a book to stare at that particularly large waterfall in the middle.

He reached into his rucksack for his secondhand copy of The Book Thief, tucking it under his arm in preparation for a long day of reading and taking in the sights. Maybe some of the local fauna would even grow accustomed to him and come over to say hello...

As he tugged down the side of the hammock, he was met with something unexpected.

Rather than the pillow and beach towel he'd been hoping for, he discovered an unfamiliar woman in a flowing black dress, one arm thrown across her face as she snored.

So he did the only sensible thing for the situation: he screamed.

Her eyes opened and she screamed even louder than him.

This went on for some time.

--

"Who are you?" he demanded. "When did you make a reservation? Have we been?" (He gasped.) "Double booked?"

The woman responded with a truly withering glare.

"That's a lot of questions."

Clarence tried to stifle the panic at seeing his vacation slip between his fingers. Steadying himself, he recalled his conflict management skills and raised his hands.

"Madam," he started over. "I'm terribly sorry for awakening you. And for, ah, screaming in your face."

She didn't look mollified.

Heat flushed in his cheeks.

"You see, I placed this reservation nearly a century ago and I simply — "

The woman raised a finger to stop him. "A century?"

He blinked.

"Well, yes. I believe it was 1926."

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "You reserved this place during Prohibition and you're just now getting a spot? Sheesh. I mean, it's nice and all, but wow."

Clarence blinked again. He couldn't decide whether to let confusion, indignance, or curiosity get the better of him.

So he let all three have a go. "Well, of course it's nice. It's Paradise Island. And the waitlist is normally twice that, but apparently the Alps are a more popular spot right now, so I got in early. But — " he peered at her. "It is supposed to be a single booking..."

She grinned at him, all teeth and rather sharp. "Oh, I didn't book a spot."

At that, indignance won out.

"What?!"

"I heard some of you Upstairs Folk talking about it while I was listening in on a little chat and I've been dying for a break. You know, a little downtime, take a swim, brainstorm some new temptations. So I called in sick and poked around until I found the place."

He opened his mouth to argue, but her her words sunk in.

"Upstairs..." Clarence lowered his voice to a whisper. "You mean you're a hellion?"

Her nose wrinkled. "I mean, rude. But yeah."

Clarence blinked at her again.

"Helli — ah, Downstairs... Folk... can get sick?"

She bristled. "Yes. Why? Can't you?"

"No, we can. Just..." Clarence rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know, I suppose I hadn't considered it. How?"

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. Then she shrugged lightly, digging her bare toes into the moss and rocking the hammock gently. "Oh, plenty of ways."

When he kept watching her, she began ticking them off her fingers.

"Spritzed by holy water, overexposure to pop music, chicken pox, food poisoning, slayfever — "

"Sleighfever? What's that?"

"No, s-l-a-y. Slayfever. Used to be a pretty big problem during the Great Wars, all those tortured souls leaving at once can give you a hell of a headache." She gave him another pointed grin.

Clarence sank down into a wicker chair next to the hammock. "How'd you know I spelt that wrong? Can you read minds?"

"No." She shuddered. "Ew, no. That would suck. People's thoughts are their own business. I just keep subtitles on. Makes snooping easier."

"...Oh. I see."

He made a mental note to ask about subtitles the next time he was in headquarters. Humans were rather prone to mumbling.

"But I'm not actually sick, obviously." She gestured around them. "Just enjoying the view."

And plotting new temptations, apparently.

"I'm glad you aren't ill." Clarence rubbed his temple, nursing a headache that was rapidly approaching post-progress-meeting levels. He'd been so looking forward to this.

The woman hummed. "So... What's your name, anyway? You look like a... hm. Luxor."

"It's Clarence." He tore his gaze from the clouds overhead to look back at her. "What's yours?"

"Liz."

He frowned. "That's not very demonic."

Liz snorted. "What, should I change it to Maluma, Lady of Darkness or something?"

"No, no. Liz is lovely."

There was a long stretch of silence.

He broke it by clearing his throat. "Well. I should... go."

Clarence stood and turned to leave, resigning himself to another two hundred years of waiting for some peace and quiet.

"You dropped your book."

She brushed sand off the cover as she held it out.

He took it gingerly. "Thanks."

"It's a good story. One of my favorites."

Clarence held it close to his chest. "You've read it?"

"Twice, I think. The narrative style is so unique, and I like how they portray Death." Liz tilted her head at him. "Why do you like it?"

"I..." Clarence licked his lips, trying to put it into words. "I like those things too. But I like how it shows so many sides of humanity and... and how they try to make sense of things and make them work."

Liz nodded, regarding him thoughtfully.

Clarence tried to make his foot take a step backward.

But that would mean taking a step closer to his meeting with Aurora and subsequent lecture, mathematics and all.

(He was doing good, he was. Najma agreed with him. But it was all little goods here and there, pushing a grocery cart for an old man, feeding a stray cat, walking home with a pair of girls caught out after dark. And apparently Aurora's graph only counted big goods, like solving world energy crises or something, and that wasn't him, and...)

"Liz," he said slowly, setting his foot back down. "Would you... possibly..."

She raised her eyebrows.

Clarence bit his lip then straightened. "Would you possibly be amenable to sharing your vacation with me?"

"Well, Clarence." Her face drew together in a thoughtful expression. (His stomach plummeted.) "You are the one who has a hundred-year reservation."

She snapped her fingers and a second hammock popped up, strung to the next tree over.

A smile curled across her face, bright and open this time. "So technically, won't I be sharing yours?"