“It’ll be a lot less kind to you,” she growled.
The Devil looked at his hand, with the fish–hook buried in the meat of his palm, and gave a short, breathless laugh. “Oh, Maggie Grey,” he said, straightening up. “You aren’t the woman your great–grandmother was, but you’re not far off.”
“Get gone,” said Maggie. “Get gone and don’t come back unless I call.”
“You will eventually,” he said.
“Maybe so. But not today.”
He gave her a little salute, with the hook still stuck in his hand, and limped off the porch. The yellowroot rustled as he sank into the dirt again.
His blood left black spots on the earth. She picked up the lantern and went to peer at the possum god.
He was still alive, though almost all possum now. His whiskers lay limp and stained with yellow. There was white all around his eyes and a black crust of blood over his hind leg.
“Not much longer,” she said. “Only one more to go, and then it’s over. And we’ll both be glad.”
He nodded, closing his eyes.
On the way back onto the porch, she kicked at a black bloodstain, which had sprouted a little green rosette of leaves. A white flower coiled out of the leaves and turned its face to the moon.
“Bindweed,” she muttered. “Lovely. One more damn chore tomorrow.”
She stomped back onto the porch and poured another finger of whiskey.
It was almost midnight when the wind slowed, and the singing frogs fell silent, one by one.
Maggie looked over, and Death was sitting in the rocking chair.
“Grandmother,” she said. “I figured you’d come.”
“Always,” said Death.
“If you’d come a little sooner, would’ve saved me some trouble.”
Death laughed. She was a short, round woman with hair as gray as Maggie’s own. “Seems to me you were equal to it.”
Maggie grunted. “Whiskey?”
“Thank you.”
They sat together on the porch, drinking. Death’s rocker squeaked in time to the breathing of the dying god.
“I hate this,” said Maggie, to no one in particular. “I’m tired, you hear me? I’m tired of all these fights. I’m tired of taking care of things, over and over, and having to do it again the next day.” She glared over the top of her whiskey. “And don’t tell me that it does make a difference, because I know that, too. Ain’t I a witch?”
Death smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.
Maggie snorted.
After a minute, she said, “I’m so damn tired of stupid.”
Death laughed out loud, a clear sound that rang over the water. “Aren’t we all?” she said. “Gods and devils, aren’t we all?”
The frogs had stopped. So had the crickets. One whip–poor–will sang uncertainly, off on the other side of the pond. It was quiet and peaceful and it would have been a lovely night, if the smell of the dying possum hadn’t come creeping up from under the porch.
Death gazed into her mug, where the wilting mint was losing the fight against the whiskey. “Can’t fix stupid,” she said. “But other things, maybe. You feeling like dying?”
Maggie sighed. It wasn’t a temptation, even with her shoulders sending bright sparks of pain toward her fingers and making the pliers hard to hold steady. “Feeling like resting,” she said. “For a couple of months, at least. That’s all I want. Just a little bit of time to sit here and tie flies and drink whiskey and let somebody else fight the hard fights.”
Death nodded. “So take it,” she said. “Nobody’s gonna give it to you.”
Maggie scowled. “I was,” she said bitterly. “’Til a possum god showed up to die.”
Death laughed. “It’s why he came, you know,” she said. Her eyes twinkled, just like Maggie’s grandmother’s had when she wore the body that Death was wearing now. “He wanted to be left alone to die, so he found a witch that’d understand.”
Maggie raked her fingers through her hair. “Son of a bitch,” she said to no one in particular.
Death finished her drink and set it aside. “Shall we do what’s needful?”
Maggie slugged down the rest of the mug and gasped as the whiskey burned down her throat. “Needful,” she said thickly. “That’s being a witch for you.”
“No,” said Death, “that’s being alive. Being a witch just means the things that need doing are bigger.”
They went down the stairs. The boards creaked under Maggie’s feet, but not under Death’s, even though Death had heavy boots on.
Maggie crouched down and said, “She’s here for you, hon.”
She would have sworn that the possum had no strength left in him, but he crawled out from under the porch, hand over hand. His hind legs dragged and his tail looked like a dead worm.
There was nothing noble about him. He stank and black fluid leaked from his ears and the corners of his eyes. Even now, Maggie could hardly believe that God and the Devil would both show up to bargain for such a creature’s soul.
Death knelt down, heedless of the smell and the damp, and held out her arms.
The possum god crawled the last little way and fell into her embrace.
“There you are,” said Death, laying her cheek on the spikey–furred forehead. “There you are. I’ve got you.”
The god closed his eyes. His breath went out on a long, long sigh, and he did not draw another one.
Maggie walked away, to the edge of the sundew pool, and waited.
A frog started up, then another one. The water rippled as their throat sacs swelled. Something splashed out in the dark.
“It’s done,” called Death, and Maggie turned back.
The god looks smaller now. Death had gathered him up and he almost fit in her lap, like a small child or a large dog.
“Don’t suppose he’s faking it?” asked Maggie hopefully. “They’re famous for it, after all.”
Death shook her head. “Even possum gods got to die sometime. Help me get him into the pond.”
Maggie took him under the arms and Death took the feet. His tail dragged on the ground as they hauled him. Death went into the water first, sure–footed, and Maggie followed, feeling water come in over the tops of her shoes.
“If I’d been thinking, I would’ve worn waders,” she said.
Death laughed Maggie’s grandmother’s laugh.
The bottom of the sundew pool was made of mud and sphagnum moss, and it wasn’t always sure if it wanted to be solid or not. Every step she took required a pause while the mud settled and sometimes her heels sank in deep. She started to worry that she was going to lose her shoes in the pool, and god, wouldn’t that be a bitch on top of everything else?
At least the god floated. Her shoulders weren’t up to much more than that.
In the middle of the pool, Death stopped. She let go of the possum’s feet and came around to Maggie’s side. “This ought to do it,” she said.
“If we leave the body in here, it’ll stink up the pool something fierce,” said Maggie. “There’s things that come and drink here.”
“Won’t be a problem,” Death promised. She paused. “Thought you were tired of taking care of things?”
“I am,” snapped Maggie. “Tired isn’t the same as can’t. Though if this keeps up…”
She trailed off because she truly did not know what lay at the end of being tired and it was starting to scare her a little.
Death took the possum’s head between her hands. Maggie put a hand in the center of his chest.
They pushed him under the water and held him for the space of a dozen heartbeats, then brought him to the surface.
“Again,” said Death.
They dunked him again.
“Three times the charm,” said Death, and they pushed him under the final time.