by Riley Archer
I gripped Mr. Sparky and gave what I guessed was the wrist area a good zing. The grip around me lessened from bone-crunching to deeply uncomfortable.
Didn’t like that, did ya?
Finger on the zappy trigger, I let ’er rip.
The beast didn’t like being poked. Its initial shock grew into anger. Another snaky tendril wove around my arm, and remembering what happened to my coveted spirit net, I tossed the taser before he ate it.
The Glitch decided to eat me instead. He pulled me in, ready for another human-sized snack. I would not go out like a ball of cheese, damn it.
I steeled myself and locked my eyes on the thing. My hair continued to whip with the storm. “No,” I growled, my breath leaving an icy mist on my lip.
The Glitch paused. If it had eyes, we were in the middle of an intense stare-down. Its grip around me tightened with the technique of a python.
“I. Said. No!” I thrust my hands out. A chilly current ran through my veins, and red light streamed from my fingertips. The light formed glowing spears aimed right into the Glitch’s heart.
It stopped moving. Its flowing tentacles became flaccid and zipped into the center mass.
I was free from the Glitch’s grasp, which meant I was free-falling.
Oh, there was Damian, right on time to watch me splat. Too bad he didn’t have popcorn.
I twirled in the air, and in a moment of panic, I reached for the Glitch as if its body were a ginormous skirt I could cling to. The Glitch reached for me in return.
When I suspended midair, I sighed in relief and inhaled alarm. I am standing on spirit goop.
I yelped, and then the blob of a hand that had caught me yanked back. I did a somersault midair and curled into a ball before I hit the ground. The crash rippled through me like thunder, but it didn’t kill me. I was pretty sure it hadn’t broken any bones. I creaked my way to my feet.
Damian said nothing, but there was a harsh glint in his mossy glower. He pulled two scythes from thin air. He tossed the smaller one to me, and I caught it with my least sore limb.
Sirens whooped nearby. The police had arrived. We had minutes before they were upon us and became papier-mâché appetizers, though the Glitch had gone suspiciously still. Damian went in, and I followed.
Scythe in hand, I jumped and swung. It was like using the scythe put me in a bubble of zero gravity; I soared about five feet higher than I’d expected. The blade sliced through the Glitch like butter and hummed. I did it again, and when I became weightless, so did the scythe.
When Damian and I were alone with the dead body, we retrieved my taser and blood-smeared phone and darted behind one of the massive stairwells.
Men in suits flooded the platform seconds later.
I stared at the scythe in awe. It had a lot in common with a cat. It slashed without remorse one minute and purred the next. Damian yanked it away and shoved it where the sun didn’t shine. Jerk.
“It felt alive,” I mumbled, mostly to myself.
That didn’t stop him from correcting me. “Energetically dead. Scythes inhale soul matter. How did you think they worked?”
“Since it’s not a giant mouth, I didn’t think it ate the goopy things.” I tried to sound sarcastic, but my high-pitched surprise seeped through.
“Yeah, and all that Glitch energy just makes them hungrier.” Damian closed in on me, almost pinning me against the stairwell.
Ew, was he going to try to kiss me? Oh God, my head had nowhere to go.
“We’re just a couple canoodling in the park,” he murmured into my hair.
“Not even in your dreams,” I whispered back with a moony smile.
“Especially not in my dreams,” he said as he stroked my cheek.
I wanted to slap him, but that would ruin the show.
A suit with his hand on his holster approached us from the back. He must’ve been tasked with doing a sweep of the premises. “This is a crime scene. You must vacate the area.”
“A crime scene?” I gasped. Like the rubbernecker I truly was, I pushed off the wall to look. I might’ve kneed Damian’s balls a little bit on the way. And by might’ve, I meant, I absolutely did.
“Miss—” the suit said in a deep monotone.
Once I saw the body, I gasped again and cupped my cheeks. “Oh my God!”
Damian yanked me back much harder than necessary. He stroked my back like a good—and dead—fake boyfriend. “Sorry, sir.”
After we put a reasonable distance between us and the guns, we dropped the couple act entirely.
I shook myself and glanced back. “Why weren’t they in police uniforms?”
“Because those were Cleaners, not cops.”
Ah, Cleaners. The ones who government agency Liaisons had on speed dial to cover up a Glitch gone wild. That explained why we had to hide even though using the scythes had slipped us into the spiritual layer.
When I didn’t say anything, Damian continued, “That was impressive.”
I rubbed out an ache in my neck. “Yeah. Big Glitch.”
“I meant you controlling it.” Damian opened an elevator between trees.
I stopped. “Say what?”
“Yeah. Did I say you were illegal before? I meant you’re an abomination.”
I settled into the elevator beside him. “You’re sweet. Where are we going again?”
“Her name’s Adelia. You’ll like her. She’s an expert on abominations.”
“No wonder you’re friends.”
14
The Necromancer Queen
“Is Adelia a forest sprite?” I asked after trekking half a mile in lush woods. It didn’t matter how pretty the hike was. I was too battered for this shit.
“You’ll see.”
Sure, I’d see. And he’d see my fist coming at his nose.
When the endless trees finally thinned out, we faced a rusted metal gate topped with sharp spikes. It was the only thing separating us from rows of tombstones.
Gauging my displeased facial expression, Damian cleared his throat. “I figured cemetery might be a trigger word for you right now. Don’t worry. Adelia lives in a house in the back.”
“Oh, if she lives in the back then,” I said.
Damian didn’t pick up on my sarcasm or didn’t care. He immediately pushed forward.
After we entered through the gate, we circled around until we reached a small, rustic cabin with a pointy roof. It sat right at the line where the forest became dense again. The home could have been cute if the plethora of plants surrounding it had any color. They weren’t dead in a sunken, neglected way; they stood tall as anything, proudly necrotic. Most had thick stems full of thorns that resembled shark teeth. And the crowd of vultures didn’t help. Neither did the eerie silence, the kind in movies right before the ghost jumps out.
All right, so it wasn’t close to cute. It was the ultimate Halloween yard. Featherless heads and beady eyes followed us as we strolled the short walkway to the door. Before we could knock, it opened.
The woman I assumed was Adelia had the height of a runway model and long dreads that reached her waist. Unlike the goat-skull-wearing witch (with a capital B) who had me tortured, this woman had healthy ebony skin, no sign of rotting from the inside out. Her long dress was quirky, if not Victorian. The most stunning part about her was her foggy white eyes.
“Damian Forrester.” Her husky voice had a dialect that suggested she knew at least several languages. “I’d ask what brought you this way, but I could sense her before you stepped out of your portal.”
It was probably the wrong thing to get hung up on, but I’d never heard anyone refer to a spirit elevator as a portal. I tucked my hair behind my ear and tugged the lobe.
“Madam Okiro.” Damian bowed. Like really, truly bowed. “This is Ellis.”
Although she had no pupils, I could tell I had Madam Okiro’s attention.
“Ellis Rosabell Kennicot.”
“That’s … me.” My full name splashed me in the face like cold water. This stra
nger knowing it added a handful of ice. Since I’d had a traveling childhood in a way, maybe she wasn’t as much of a stranger as I thought. “Do we know each other?”
“We do now. Come in.”
Her walls were full of vintage mirrors and empty picture frames; where there weren’t any, shelves held flickering candles and empty flower vases. The patterned wallpaper curled in the corners.
“Rooibos tea?” Madam Okiro sat at an antique chair by a coffee table draped in a velvet cloth. Three steaming cups rested on it, tea leaves floating on the surface.
I sat beside Damian on an old-fashioned love seat.
“Thank you.” I followed her lead and sipped. The tea had a slightly burnt but pleasant flavor. She didn’t respond. So, I blurted, “You have lovely photo frames.”
Ugh, photo frames? I didn’t know why I’d said that. The delicate teacup and vintage style to everything made me want to add a British accent too. Luckily, I held that urge in.
“Thank you, Ellis. I quite enjoy the shells of things. The things most often thought of only as a vessel or decorum to hold another. They have their own beauty, don’t you think?”
I browsed the empty frames, vases, and, since it seemed safe to assume she was blind, the mirrors she likely had no need to gaze in. “Yes. They’re nice.”
“Adelia is known, in many places, as the Necromancer Queen.”
“Oh.” I lowered the cup to my lap. Empty frames, vases, corpses. All empty vessels.
“When you are as old as me, people eventually assign titles. That is the kindest of mine.”
I cocked my head to the side. She didn’t look that old. And also …
“You aren’t rotting.”
I then contemplated sewing my lips together. Damian’s eyes, which rolled to the back of his head, seemed to agree.
Madam Okiro smiled. “No, that reward is earned only by those who seek to command what they raise. And I do not touch souls. Now, what may I thank for your visit this evening?”
“It seems that I … well, I made friends with a skeleton, and I’m a reaper. Which I suppose is a bad combo.”
Damian waited for me to say something more. We did an exchange of arm slaps and dirty looks, and then Damian continued, “Some necromancers who call themselves the Daughter of Grim kidnapped Ellis. They carved symbols into her arm. We were hoping you might know what the symbols are and what the coven is up to.”
Adelia reached across the table. “May I see?”
I pulled up my sleeve. She took my arm and ran her fingers over the cuts. Her touch was an empty kind of cold.
“Occult symbols. These are for entrapping a slippery supernatural soul. A dark, painful kind of prison. I assume they did not go through with it?”
“How did you …” I smiled and shook my head. “Right. ’Cause I’m here.”
“Because that is not the destiny they have set out for you.” She leaned back. “How would you like it if I told you a story?”
Damian and I shared a glance.
I sipped and nodded. “I could use a story.”
Adelia smiled and crossed her legs. “A long time ago, an ambitious reaper was made when he saw a failing in his workplace. Reaper Collective is an extensive organization with limitless resources, he thought to himself. So, why did Glitches exist? This ambitious reaper dreamed of a system where Glitches, even the few, could be controlled.” She paused to sip her tea. Her deep voice was made for storytelling, even if this particular story was taking a turn that made me uncomfortable.
Chills tickled my back.
“An idea was born. Who could transcend spiritual layers and influence souls? And who could command the dead? What if those abilities were combined? Would it be powerful enough for this dream to be realized? But Reaper Collective not only shot the proposal down with a fierce hammer; they also mocked him henceforth. Alas, the reaper’s heavy heart did not last long. Unbeknownst to Reaper Collective, the ambitious one found a flock of necromancers whose wishes overlapped with his own. They spoke of a child born between necromancer and reaper, one who must be made out of love. This child would have the power they all sought.
“This is not a normal pairing, you see, and so the ambitious reaper and his coven had to wait. And while they waited, the coven grew. It grew so big that they had hands and spies all over the supernatural community. It was a century of planning, of waiting for a forbidden love to produce a child. And not just any child, but a girl. When a young necromancer was exiled from her coven with reports of a taboo affair, the Daughter of Grim lured her in and caged her.
“She was a good actress, this necromancer mom-to-be. She earned the dark coven’s trust before the birth of her child. When she had an opportunity to escape, she seized it. She sought help from a known leader in her community. The leader believed disposing of the child to be the safest route, but the soon-to-be mother begged for her child’s life. And thus, a new coven for this child was born.”
Madam Okiro stood and walked to a closet. Damian had a concerned fold between his brows, and I had too many aches to really know how this story was affecting me. It was definitely to thank for the twists in my stomach.
The Necromancer Queen returned with a hefty, padded book. It had frilly embroidery around the cover and soft pink coloring. A baby book. She opened it and handed it to me.
There was an old-timey, wide photo with Concordat Guardians written in large letters beneath it and an eloquent CG logo beneath that. My vision focused on their faces.
I dropped my teacup and it landed on my feet. I recognized every single one, some more pleasant than others. Harriet and Dom, the goofy couple I’d lived with from first to third grade. Right beside them was Elizabeth and Jessica, who I’d lived with in fourth. There was even a young Gary, the old man who’d taken me in before I moved out on my own.
This was a photograph of all of my foster parents.
Incessant rattles shook the window behind me, but my mind was far away. Weather didn’t interest me right now.
I flipped to the first page. There was a Polaroid taped to it of a woman in a long blue dress holding a baby. She had dark hair with soft waves. No smile. I stroked the photo.
Damian tapped the small of my back. I glanced at him, and he tilted his head at the door.
“The story isn’t over.” Adelia blocked the path. “Despite the Concordat Guardian’s best efforts, the Daughter of Grim met a cruel fate and was further strengthened by becoming a reaper herself—another forbidden union of power. She has had but a taste of the unnatural things she can accomplish. And she has come to trust those who seek to control her. I promised the young mother that I would protect her child until I had no other option. That time has come.”
Dread wrung me like a dirty washrag. She wants me dead, dead.
The thuds on the window grew more violent. I pushed back the curtain. Vultures fought over each other to peck at the glass.
Damian pushed me. “Run.”
Adelia stepped out of the way, but I had a feeling we weren’t in the clear. We darted outside and kicked off the vultures, though they got in some nice stabs before we outran them. And we kept running, though Adelia didn’t follow. When we reached the cemetery, I saw why. Hands, skeletal and decayed alike, burst from the soil. Some were already free of their graves and facing us.
Well, they didn’t call her Queen for nothing.
15
The Reverse Snow White
I dodged and kicked a zombie that lunged at me. I couldn’t slip inside the spiritual realm, probably due to some other dark magic the witch had laid out for us. We were trapped and drowning in a swarm of the decomposed.
“This doesn’t count as commanding?!”
If commanding meant rot, this cemetery full of moving vessels should have turned Madam Okiro into a loaf of moldy bread.
“She either thinks you’re worth the rot,” Damian grunted out while punching a bag of bones and evading another. The dead guys were trying to get through him to get to me. �
�Or she doesn’t have to command them because they want you dead on their own.”
“You’re full of good news!” I shouted between breaths. I hadn’t forgotten that coming here was his great plan. “And good ideas!”
I hopped tombstones as I slashed the scythe in every direction. It didn’t get all weightless as it had with the Glitch. I imagined it was on par with swinging around Thor’s hammer.
“Hey, abomination!” It took me a second to realize Damian meant me. “Why don’t you use that heinous power of yours?”
Me, compete against the Queen? I didn’t want to rot from the inside out. I also didn’t want to get my brains eaten. God damn priorities.
I nodded. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the weed whacking anyway. I tossed the scythe back to Damian, and instead of storing it, he wielded one with each hand. His decapitating movements were gracefully gruesome. The show-off.
Feeling particularly weightless, I darted to a section of the cemetery that was less occupied. If the movies got anything right, it was that zombies were slow. If they got anything wrong, it was that they still moved, no matter what you did to them. A headless corpse grabbed my ankle, and I face-planted.
Then came the game of doggy pile in the cemetery. I barely rotated in time to kick at the things hovering over me. They were biting and tearing at me, and it took all my strength to keep my core protected.
I held my palms out to them, which only made them more ravenous. The icy red-light power didn’t come, but one of my palms had a faint neon-green glow.
Metal chimed. The scythes came down together like a wicked pincer. Fat, rotten heads and skulls alike rained down around me. A few pummeled my face. I hopped up and joined Damian in a sprint.
The skeletons were reforming, and the corpses dragged their heavy bodies in our direction. We were halfway up the fence.
Adelia Okiro stood at the head of the cemetery, wearing a victorious smile. “You are marked. They will find you.” Her voice was a creepy whisper that eerily resonated across the lawn. She turned away.