by Opal Edgar
Just as mysteriously as they’d come, all the power thieves disappeared. I ran to the wall by Baas. Kemsit sprinted to Alpheus.
“They took her!” Baas yelled. “They took her from me!”
Over and over he repeated that. I couldn’t believe I’d found him cold the first time I’d seen him in his floating armchair with his paper folded over his knee. Half crazed, he turned to Kemsit.
“Our connections! Kemsit! Trace her!”
Kemsit turned to him with a worried look, she hadn’t left Alpheus’s side. He lay motionless on the snow … But then a tremor ran through his fingertips and we all let out a sigh. He was all right … well, that was all relative, of course. He was covered in cuts that had turned his worker’s overalls into something not even a scarecrow would wear. But Kemsit’s face didn’t relax.
“I have no idea what they did to Elise, but I can’t trace any connection to her. It’s as if she isn’t there anymore. As if … as if she was …”
Tears welled in her eyes. Kemsit couldn’t be saying what I thought she was. She couldn’t!
“No!” Yelled Baas. “NO! She’s not gone … she’s still dead! They didn’t eat her! They just blocked her. I don’t know how, or with what power, but they blocked her.”
He yelled once more, a long howl, like a dying wolf, sending shivers up our spines. Elise couldn’t be dead. Wait, no! She was dead, but she couldn’t be gone. Not like that. Not because of me, not after I’d gotten her world wrecked and dragged her into my mess and not after we’d discovered that I’d been murdered by power thieves so they could steal Merlin from me. I was with Baas on that one. There had to be more to taking her away than just eating her. They hadn’t needed to pull her away to do that.
“Baas, whatever they’ve got planned for her, we’ll fight them. We’re getting her back,” I said.
His turned to me with hate filled eyes and bared teeth. It was enough to make me to stagger backwards.
“You!” he spat. “You’re coming with me!”
Alpheus lifted an arm. At the end of it hung his little blackboard. It said: “I’m coming too.”
Kemsit nodded. “We’re all coming. Elise might have a wicked temper, but damn can she give a good hug.”
She stretched up, as a girl again, and shook her sandaled feet for the snow to fall off. Alpheus struggled to stand.
“As soon as you tell us where you’re going,” she added.
“I’m taking Tosho to become a spirit now. We need his strength at full Merlin level. You both have other more important places to be to help Elise,” Baas said.
“Like what?”
“Kemsit, you need to recruit the help of Lil’Mon, and, Alpheus, you need to get sewn back together. Like that, you’ll scatter like origami in the wind at the first skirmish.”
Alpheus shivered. Melted pink snow dripped down his legs. He did need a doctor, or whomever dead people went to see.
“I’ll do anything to help Elise, but how are you going to make me a spirit? I have to find that soul-sucking sword, and it’s totally lost,” I said.
“There’s more than one soul-sucking horror out there. I know of at least four others. The green and red ghosts; the Goddess Ammit, the soul devourer; and Death’s mirror.”
Would that do? Could I really bring one of those to the spirits instead of Bartholomew’s sword? As he was talking, Baas regained some of his humanity. Thinking helped focus him away from his rage, even if it still burned at the back of his eyes. We were all listening closely.
“Ghosts are out,” Kemsit said. “And Ammit’s not going to be of any help either. Even her worshipers don’t know where she went. Lil’Mon has been trying to gather an Egyptian god reunion forever, and she has never responded to the call cards.”
“That leaves the Death Mirror,” I said.
There was something awfully ominous about the name.
“Death’s mirror,” Baas corrected. “And I do know where to find it.”
Alpheus shook his head, for the first time participating in the conversation. His blackboard flashed: “No one walks out of Death’s lands.”
“We will,” Baas said, “because we have to. We need power none of us wield, but Tosho brims with potential – even I can feel it, he could be stronger than the Oracle.”
“You can’t go,” Kemsit interfered. “All the power in the world is useless if you both get reincarnated looking for it. You can’t save Elise if you don’t exist anymore. We’ll find another solution.”
“There is no other solution!” Baas yelled.
“Lil’Mon is a spirit! So are the Oracle, Bart and so many others we can call on! Maybe—”
But he didn’t let her finish. “Maybe is not enough! You know as well as I do that Lil’Mon is weak. And the Oracle doesn’t give a damn about anyone except himself. He will help only if he finds it amusing. No one will send an army after the power thieves for us.”
“You’re not going to make it,” Kemsit screamed back.
“We are,” I cut in. “It’s my decision to make. The power thieves killed me for some reason, then they attacked my friends, and now they’ve taken Elise. I’m going with Baas to get the mirror.”
“Tosho—” Kemsit started.
“I’ll take the risk. I’ll take all the risks! I owe it to Elise. She took me into her home, she didn’t care who or what I was and ... I owe it to her.”
Kemsit kneeled down to pick up Sedan’s Nazar amulet from the snow. She wiped it against her overalls, looking deep into its blue eyes. Finally, she pushed it into my hand.
“This might just be what you need, after all,” she said, gently hitting me with it.
I didn’t argue. I missed Sedan and my home. Anything from them was a comfort. I exchanged it for the bag of sand I had gotten from Lil’Mon. I handed it to Kemsit, but she only took a pinch, waving for me to put it back in my itchy trouser pocket with the Nazar evil eye amulet.
“Stay dead, the two of you, or so help me I’ll haunt you until you pass away of a heart attack!” Kemsit said.
The snow crunched under our shoes as we separated.
Chapter 16
The Gatekeeper
Snow fell in front of the rising sun. It blanketed the concrete, showering it in oranges and clean crisp blues. I was so close to my family … but the golem brand in my hand still burned. Now was not the time to think about everyone I’d left behind. I had Elise to save. I staggered behind Baas, my legs heavy and head growing all the time more fuzzy. Sleep pulled at my eyelids, something fierce.
“I think I’m hungry,” I said.
Baas pursed his lips. “Beelzebub’s putrid breath! Won’t you spare me anything?”
“I wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t turn me into walking compost,” I replied, showing off my arm.
My skin was swollen and acquiring this creepy transparent quality. My veins looked like they pulsed right underneath, ready to burst through. Baas’s nostrils tightened and he swallowed back what he was about to say. I felt a little insulted, I couldn’t smell anything just yet.
“We’ll get you something from that scallywag of a guardian.”
I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and fought the burning tiredness in my eyes. Keeping them wide open in the cutting cold did the job.
We stopped at the front door of a blockish apartment building. It was the kind that had grown by the dozen, far into the suburbs, since the Americans had taken charge of West Berlin. They were meant to accommodate all the new families making babies. There were grey like the rest of the city, thin-walled and cheap, but unlike what had been destroyed in the war. You can’t recreate a national identity from thin air. I followed Baas up the steps, feeling as if I had a brick attached to the underside of each shoe.
“Why are we here?”
We moved up a whole flight of stairs before Baas unlocked his jaw.
“This is where the portal is.”
“In a housing commission? You’re kidding!”
> He snarled. We stopped on the sixth landing and walked to a door exactly like all the others.
“How do you know it’s here?”
“I feed off living breathing human blood. I have to know these things,” he said, not looking happy about it. “Now get in!”
I slumped past him, holding on to the wall to stay upright. I could do this. Come on! No sleeping. The door banged shut behind us. The inside of the apartment was as nondescript as the outside, if messier. While the walls were white and unbothered by furniture: flyers littered the floor.
I’d made it. I grabbed the wall as my knees wobbled. My fingertips hit the paint and my dignity left with my thumb nail. It flew across the room. You can’t stay composed when your fingers transmogrify into sausages.
“Food!” I yelled out. “Whoever you are, I’m starving!”
A man appeared at the end of the corridor, thin as a reed. His hair and suit hung over his frame: the hair too long, the suit too big. It looked like he’d stolen both from some cool new grunge band. He looked up from between his bangs with bloodshot eyes. A safety pin was stuck in his cheek. He staggered towards us bringing an awful smell with him, something between spilt schnapps and mildew. I took a step backwards in disgust. He didn’t notice, or pretended he didn’t, as he clasped me against him. I struggled out of the hug.
“A zombie friend, get out!” he exclaimed.
“You’re a zombie, too?” I asked.
“Sure, man. I might even have a brain to spare for you!” He laughed.
“I don’t eat brains!”
He winked and pushed a paper bag into my hands. It was heavy but blood didn’t pool out. That was a good sign, right? Baas straightened his cuffs nonchalantly before helping me out of this awkwardness.
“Hello, Stanley,” he greeted.
“What d’you need me for? Fangers don’t need no guardians to cross between the living and the dead. Just bloody wave your pass.”
“I’m not on my own, as you can see, and I need to get to some place I have no access to.”
“It won’t be told Stanley left a zombie pal on the side of the road. I help my kin, I got the badge and everything.”
He winked at me and flashed us a card holder pinned on the inside of his jacket. It read: “Zombie secret club”. I couldn’t believe there was such a thing. And that they were as stupid as me.
“Go on! Eat a bite, man, it will do you good, you’re starting to rot on my floorboards.” Stanley smiled.
He had a few broken teeth. With apprehension, I unrolled the top of the bag and peeked in. There was nothing in there! How could it be so heavy and rounded with nothing in it? Stanley laughed.
“It’s a bag of plenty, harebrain,” Baas explained. “Just tip it over. It will give you the food you need. All official portals have a survival kit: it’s part of what they’re here for.”
I did as he said, and, sure enough, a pile of carrots fell into my lap. Stanley broke into hysterics. The safety pin pulled on his cheek, revealing muscle tissue and threatening to rip the skin at any moment. I shivered in disgust. Why had he done that to himself?
“What are you? A zombie rabbit?” he asked me.
“Close enough.” Baas shrugged. “The fledgling can’t fight for mother, nation or sea-lice-ridden filibusters!”
I shrugged as I chewed on the first vegetable my hand grabbed. Something was nagging at me, but I wasn’t sure what. It wasn't the food: I wasn’t picky. And it wasn’t the insults – I’d been made fun off worse than this before. Baas did highlight that I needed to improve on my fighting skills if I wanted to help Elise … Because if I didn’t have brains and I didn’t have moves, what the hell was left?
“Zombies have their strengths too – don’t let others tell you otherwise. When you want to meet up with others like us, to learn a thing a two, just pop into the club house.”
I nodded noncommittally.
“So, where’s that place you want to get to?” he asked.
I dug back into my carrots, and let the ones who knew what was going on talk it out.
“We need to get to the Grim Reaper’s lands,” Baas said.
Stanley’s jaw dropped, his eyes widened and his skin grew ashen. The safety pin bobbed up and down. He took two steps backwards as if Baas had just attempted strangulation. Even I wasn’t quite sure how to react to the Grim Reaper’s name. So, that wasn’t a fable either? Was every single myth true on this side of life?
“Man, you won’t see no clubhouses if you go there,” Stanley said, shaking his head. “Death doesn’t kid round, you won’t even get reincarnated. Who’s the one with the void-wish?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Baas said.
“Did you at least explain to zombie-rabbit that you won’t be coming back?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. We will come back.”
“That’s rough, man. I don’t know if I can. I’ve got feels, you know, ethics, all that.”
He should have stayed quiet. Patience wasn’t Baas’s strong suit. With Elise in danger his temper was even shorter than usual. He grabbed Stanley by the collar. “We don’t have time for this, numb-cap! Tell us what we have to pay to cross, or I swear I’ll empty you of your bodily fluids!” Baas threatened.
That’s when it hit me. That nagging unease.
“Baas, how can you drink the living’s blood and not become a golem?” I asked.
“This is seriously not the moment to wonder about the vampire lifestyle!” he fumed. “Stanley what do we have to pay?”
Stanley laughed and this time his cheek bled: the safety pin was seriously bothering me.
“It’s the Grim Reaper, man, what do you think you have to pay? He’ll get you in there. All he wants is to make sure of the quality of the merchandise.”
“Freebooter’s pockmark! It’s an evaluation,” Baas said, releasing him.
Stanley stumbled backwards, rubbing at his neck. But he was still smiling, so he must have been fine. I turned the paper bag again, and this time walnuts and apples tumbled out. That beat the carrots hands down. I stuffed the walnuts in my pockets for later and started to eat the apples. I hardly felt tired anymore.
“You better hope your companion has a better attitude than you, ’cause you might not go through with your ego, man. Is it how they pick vamps? You always have crappy personalities,” Stanley told Baas. I bit my cheek to stay quiet.
I could stand up now. I slid between them to stop the bickering. It had been fun to listen to, but it was now time to go.
“Baas, how do you not become a golem?” I asked once again.
“I will tell you every gruesome detail once you’re a spirit. Deal?” he raged.
“Fine. What do I have to do?” I asked, pointing a half-finished apple at Stanley.
His head bobbed, perched high on his bird neck, and his arms swept to the side, telling us to follow. We walked to the living room. The only piece of furniture in there was a couch with springs sticking out. It faced a single sad window with a view of the other concrete blocks. Crumpled posters and pages of unfinished music scores littered the floor. This guy was a musician pig.
“Put your hand on the window, man. It will evaluate your power ratio to your gullibility, candour and denseness. If it’s good enough for the Reaper: the portal will open,” Stanley said.
“That sounds like an insult.” I grimaced.
“It is.” Baas shrugged. “He wants stupid people only. Unless you really have some very interesting power he could suck out of you, he doesn’t want the trouble.”
Totally low shot, but I guessed I’d asked for it.
“I just have to warn you, man, you’ll—” started Stanley.
“Just put your hand on the glass already, you perfect contender,” Baas cut in, pushing me forwards.
“You both have to do it, man.” Stanley smiled again, and this time I saw a glint of something not so nice in his face.
My hands fell flat on the cold glass of the window.
It was grimy and covered in fingerprints. Totally gross. Baas pressed his hand next to mine. Something bad was going to happen, I just knew it.
Across from us, in the next building, people were setting up the breakfast table. All over, men and women were getting ready for their day of work. The glass grew humid. At first I wasn’t surprised, transfer of body warmth and condensation because of the temperature difference, it seemed natural, but it reached a point when I wasn’t sure how solid the glass was anymore.
Suddenly, it was like getting hit by a hammer in the face. The pain bloomed: a bloody flower in my head. The world turned fuzzy. I pulled on my hand. I wanted away from the window, but I couldn’t do anything. Was that the price to pay? I gritted my teeth and swayed. My heart beat faster. Bright stars twinkled in my peripheral vision. Something wasn’t right. I needed this to stop!
Chapter 17
Sweet Memories
My hands were tiny starfish, my fingers small and plump. The window was gone. I hiccupped and fell on my bottom. It didn’t hurt, it was cushioned by a huge cotton nappy. Mama gathered me in her arms in one sweeping motion. The grass tickled my fists on the way up. The smell of horses overwhelmed me. The wheel of a cart came into view. I hung at her neck as she rocked me softly. Her hair was cut close to the scalp, as if it had been shaved recently, and she pulled on a knotted scarf to hide it better. I could feel her rising chest with each breath she took, and, when she looked up to the house, a great swollen bruise shone purple in the sun, circling her right eye and stretching down to her chin.
“He’s not coming, Mama,” she said.
She took a few steps backwards. The cart was piled high with baskets and small pieces of furniture. At the front sat a lady. My grandmother? But, no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t see her face: my eyes were glued on butterflies hovering round a puddle. I rubbed my eyes with my pink fists. I couldn’t remember ever being this small. I struggled in Mama’s arms, fighting her soft rocking, trying to catch yellow wings. She bit her lips compulsively. She still did that sometimes. A field opened up before us, in the near distance was a village and behind us was a stone farmhouse. This was a memory. I couldn’t act in it. But it felt so vivid. Dread filled me to my socks.