by Crymsyn Hart
Old-time medical instruments lay on the third shelf, including an antique embalming set, an amputation set including a bone saw, an anatomical model of the human brain stem, and sets of antique acupuncture needles. The fourth was a mishmash of oddities: a red-stained elephant tusk with the scene of some underworld battle; a horn Abner said came from a unicorn; a pinboard filled with various insects all larger than her fist, which fluttered from time to time; a pair of scissors; and a spider web made of crystal. In the center was a large, brown spider. This was a new object Darria hadn’t seen before.
The most important things were on the third shelf: the implements she worked with to trap the soul inside of the corpse were contained within a silver bowl. Three different spools of thread: purple, black, and silver. Four different gauged needles to sew the lips shut of the cadaver rested in the bowl, too. Lastly were three stacks of silver coins. One side sported a coffin, and on the other side was a scythe. She either placed two coins over the corpse’s eyes or two inside of its mouth before she stitched it up. It depended on whatever her instincts told her. The coins paid the ferryman to transport the soul over to the other side. She set the bowl on her work tray and closed the cabinet, placing the key back on her arm. Nothing would jump out while she was working. If it did, it couldn’t escape. She had the whole room under a spell, so no one and nothing could cross the threshold without her permission.
Darria shut the heavy door that closed off the stairs leading to the first floor. It was a heavy door made of iron and lined with silver, so none of the bodies, in case they resurrected, could ever get out. The other way in was the coal chute. Underneath it was a large table; half draped in the chute, and across the table was a body wrapped in a bloody sheet. From the size of it, it appeared to be a small child, but looks could be deceiving. Darria scooped up the stiff and carried it the few feet over to her stainless steel worktable. The body was heavier than it appeared. One of the gifts that came with the undertaking job was that she could lift several hundred pounds and not bat an eye. She set the corpse down.
Omar placed a mallet next to a large pair of pliers on the tray. “You okay?” Her familiar balanced on his wrist bone. “Marie said a lot of things.”
She peeled the sheet from the body. Marie had revealed a lot of information, but Darria had to set all that aside to focus on the cadaver. It may have appeared to be the size of a child, but it was far from that. The creature’s hair was formed into dreadlocks and filled with leaves and twigs; the dreads hung over the sides of the table. The strands obscured its face, but from its curvy form, Darria figured this was a female. She moved aside the matted locks to get a better look at its face. Its skin was beige and covered with dirt. Its nose was flat against its face with thin lips. One eye was open, staring at Darria with a green pupil. The other was closed. It was dressed in a brown, shapeless garment that stopped at the knees. Its feet were twisted and gnarled like old branches, and its legs were so thin that they could have snapped easily. Its hands were the same, bent at odd angles, but four-inch, black, curved talons tipped the end of its long fingers. Darria reached out to touch one, but Omar grabbed her hand.
“Don’t. These creatures are poisonous,” he cautioned her.
“What is it?”
Omar released her hand and cracked his knuckles. The pop echoed in the basement. He rubbed his middle finger along the top of his index finger, his version of stroking his chin, and poked the body with his thumb. “It’s a Hobyah. They’re rare. They live deep in the woods and eat those they capture. Mostly children. Think the witch in Hansel & Gretel but a whole lot nastier and not using a candied house to lure the children in. Their territory is Eastern Europe up to Siberia. I didn’t know they migrated here.”
“This is a melting pot, so if people came over, why not the fairies, too?”
“I guess. The claw poisons and immobilizes their victims. They wait until the kids are coming out of the paralysis and start picking away the skin, slicing it away in strips. They prolong the process, getting pleasure from the pain.”
“How do you know all that?” Darria asked.
“I must’ve gotten it from your memories. I know everything you do. Now that you have access to all of the previous undertakers’ memories, I can also slip into them. It came to me because you’re a little distracted. See, it helps when I get to lend a hand.” He wiggled his fingers at her.
Darria giggled. Omar might try to get into her pants, but he brought humor into her life when she needed it. “Sorry. The things Marie said they—”
The fairy on the metal table sat up and swiped at Darria. She leaped back at the last minute when the hobyah’s long claws sliced the air. “What the fuck?” The fairy jumped up on the table and trained its gaze on her.
“Don’t move, Darria. Stay perfectly still.”
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. Her pulse doubled as she heard the heavy thunder of Gabbie’s feet barreling toward the basement to come to her rescue. Darria didn’t know if the gargoyle could actually break down the door. She had tried once and put a small dent in it. Bits of plaster fell from the ceiling because of the barrage. A piece fell on top of the hobyah’s head. It glanced up, pulling its eyes from her. Darria dashed across the room and pulled the latch back on the door. The hobyah dived from the table and landed on the floor, grinning to show jagged teeth, and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Darria asked it.
Gabbie banged against the door. Omar skittered toward the door.
“They’re coming for you. They’re going to eat you, but not unless I get to you first.” The hobyah gnashed its teeth at Darria.
“Who’s coming to get me?”
Omar took one of his amazing leaps and turned the doorknob. Gabbie rushed in. She growled and looked between the fairy and Darria. She didn’t know what the gargoyle was thinking, but her mischievous grin made Darria assume she was delighted to go after something alive. It helped that the gargoyle ate the leftover bodies, so Darria didn’t have to worry about disposing the bodies.
“You’ll find out soon enough. I might get your flesh, but they’ll use what’s left of you.” The hobyah clacked its talons together and slashed at Darria. It rocked back and forth, trying to hypnotize her. It sprang. Gabbie caught it in her large maw and chomped down on the fairy’s shoulder and neck. It uttered an ear-splitting shriek and went limp in her jaws. The gargoyle dragged the fairy back to her bed in the rear of the basement. Darria leaned back against the door as her heart settled back into her chest. Meanwhile, the gargoyle munched on the hobyah.
“Darria, are you okay?” Marie asked from the doorway. The other woman looked concerned.
The magic that warded the workroom kept her out. Darria’s instincts told her Marie had nothing to do with this attack. “Gerry,” she whispered.
She rushed past Marie upstairs. Darria raced through the kitchen and into the back bedroom. A smashed beer bottle lay a few inches from his hand, where it hit the wooden floor. The room stank of the spilled liquid, and the rag rug absorbed some of it. Gerry’s eyes were glazed over, and his skin was turning blue. She didn’t see any wounds on him except the thin trail of blood seeping from his right nostril. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was dead. That knowledge resonated through her bones. He brought the fairy into her house. Her frustration level rolled into fury and wrath. Darria fought the power rising within her. It whispered along the insides of her mind the way a lover would, urging her to give in to the lust and unleash her necromancy. The temperature plummeted around her, but she grew hotter. Electric jolts ran along her arms. The link between her and Omar flared to life, allowing her to sense the low feed of energy that animated the dead flesh that part of his spirit occupied.
“Darria,” Marie said next to her.
She hardly heard the woman. All her focus was keenly sharpened on the dead body lying on the floor. Her necromantic power caressed her insides, a constant lover who touched all the right places to bring her pleasure.
This was the first time she had let it get so close and actually listened to her ability instead of acting on blind emotion. The power felt good. She closed her eyes and let the bliss ride her nerves. Darria breathed out and focused, thinking about the rage and the hobyah that had tried to kill her. Its message rang in her thoughts. They were coming for her.
Who was coming for her?
The fairy had been devoured before she could answer any of those questions.
Darria directed her power at Gerry’s body. Within her mind’s eye, a door opened, a path she hadn’t seen before in the land of the living. The veil of the dead. The power punched a hole into the barrier. The energy of the souls crossing over to the other side rubbed along her consciousness. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as the power whispered all the things she could do. It would be so simple to pluck the souls out and drag them back until they were locked within their flesh and she could control them. Her power murmured for her to release it fully and let it have its fun. It was alive inside of her. Another part of her. It wasn’t exactly a voice but a sense, and yet, it was there.
She pushed it out of the way and built Gerry’s image in her mind and his demeanor. She pinpointed him behind the wall. Darria latched on to his soul and yanked it back. Her awareness returned, and she opened her eyes. The fingers on his right hand twitched. His entire body seized in convulsions. Gerry bellowed a loud groan.
“Darria, what did you do?” Marie gasped.
“I have the power, and I’m using it to uncover the mystery of who tried to kill me. I don’t take that lightly. What does it matter to you?” Darria snapped.
Marie put a hand on Darria’s arm. “This is not the way to use your power. You’re letting it control you. It’s not ... this is not the path you want to walk. That part of you talking now thinks you are the shit. I know. The power is seductive. You wrenched his soul from the other side and shoved it back into his body. That’s not how we do things. You could’ve resurrected his body and made him talk. The memories remain in the brain.”
She yanked her arm away and snarled. “Don’t touch me.”
The corpse sat up slowly. It moaned. Darria felt her lips turn up in a smirk. His terror echoed within her, and oh, did it feel so good. Serves him right. His dread empowered her. She sent a small current of energy into Gerry, amplifying his horror. The dead hunter shrieked even more as he glanced at his hands and back at her.
“Darria, free him before you let this go any further. I’ve been where you are. It feels wonderful at first, but then, the power....” Marie tried to touch her once more, but Darria narrowed her eyes. She sensed something within Marie that wasn’t natural, and yet, it was more than just the necromancer. When she tried to force her will into the woman, Darria’s consciousness snapped back, and she was no longer controlled by her other side.
When she glanced over, Oliver stood by her side, dressed in his reaper garb. Her flesh burned. Tendrils of his cloak were wrapped around her left wrist. Others touched her side, searing through her clothes. She tried to yank her arm away, but the threads demeaned her as a threat.
“Can you let me go?
“Are you going to behave?” Oliver’s voice was frigid.
The chill crept along her veins as the black threads of his robe unwound, leaving behind a cauterized wound. Her power flared again, nearly dancing out of her control. Once before, she had taken over the reaper, and she could do it again. It didn’t matter how familiar her feelings for him were. Her other side craved to consume the power he possessed. She licked her lips, lured by the seduction of it, but shook her head. I could never hurt Oliver again. I swore to his boss, Azrael, that I wouldn’t take over any of his reapers. It’s what got me in trouble before and on the list to have me killed. Darria stared into the dark, hollow eye sockets of the reaper, and a deep sense of foreboding fell over her. She tried to maintain the stare, challenging death. Her power combated his, breaking from its cage for a split second. The cold of his being penetrated her soul. Tears slid down her cheeks and froze on her skin. Her power was neutralized by the harvester. She was vulnerable—human—and death was here to take her.
“I’ll behave.”
Oliver studied her. His eye sockets narrowed. “You need to put his soul back.”
“He brought in—”
“I don’t care what he did. What Marie said is true. You can make him talk by animating his flesh only. Put him back, Darria,” Oliver ordered.
Darria closed her eyes once more. The line that connected her to the hunter was one of the strongest links she had ever felt before. Her power stirred once more. Darria ignored the call. She severed the link and blew a breath out, envisioning dandelion fluff scattering, and sent the soul back to the other side. The body hit the floor, and Darria opened her eyes. Gerry’s corpse was devoid of his spirit, but her power remained.
“Sit up,” Darria commanded.
The hunter’s corpse sat up. Oliver pulled his influence, but it lingered like a collar around her neck, waiting to pull tight in case she tried to do something else.
“Tell me why you delivered the hobyah here.”
The stiff opened its mouth. “Paid me.” His words came out slowly in a flat voice.
“Who paid you?” Darria exerted a little more of her will.
“No name. Good money. Deliver to undertaker in east. You only one left ... on East Coast.”
Darria ground her teeth together. Gerry didn’t have any idea who had given him the money to deliver the fairy to him. “The hobyah said they were coming for me. What else do you know?”
“Risings.”
“What risings?” Darria asked him again.
Gerry chuckled. It was a deep laugh that didn’t originate from him. His gaze turned to her. Her power faltered. Another energy crashed into her and sent her out of Gerry’s body. A sharp pain hit her temple like a hot needle being driven into her brain. Something else was controlling him. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’m coming for you. The ragtag bunch you have won’t protect you.”
“Who are you?” Marie inquired.
Darria tried to regain control. The signature of the power was the same as that which reanimated the werewolf. It was slippery enough that she couldn’t grasp on to it.
“You wouldn’t know me, Marie, but I know you. Soon, all the undertakers will be no more. No one is safe. All will be dead, and chaos will ensue.” Gerry leaped at Darria, but Oliver stepped in front of her and tapped Gerry’s chest with his bony hand.
A blinding flash of purple made her shield her eyes. The stench of over-charred meat saturated the room. When she took her hand away from her eyes, Gerry was dead ... again. Darria tried to exert her will on Gerry. It snapped back on her like a rubber band. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.
Through slitted eyes, she saw Oliver grab her. Her head exploded in pain from the aftereffects. It was the worst migraine she had ever experienced. Her stomach rolled. She buried her head in the harvester’s shoulder and tried to shut the world out. Guilt slammed down on her spirit. My God, I’m becoming everything I said I wouldn’t. I punched a hole into purgatory and yanked a soul out. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered. Hot tears streamed from under her eyelids and burned her cheeks. Oliver ran his fingers through her hair.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured against her ear.
“Set her down in the living room,” Marie said. “Shut off all the lights and close the curtains.”
Oliver placed her on the couch and sat next to her. She didn’t lift her head but kept it there. She sensed movement around her, but thinking hurt. Omar was near. She sensed his presence more strongly than she had in a while. Whatever buffers had been in place so that she didn’t detect him were completely stripped away. The very brush of his energy hurt.
“Eat this. It’ll make you feel better.” Marie placed something in her hand.
Darria caught the smell of a banana. The aroma churned her stomach, but she ate it
anyway. It was overripe, judging by the texture, and the fruit wasn’t one of her favorites. She swallowed it until her head no longer thumped.
“Good. Now drink this,” Marie instructed her.
Darria drank without arguing. Orange juice. The sweetness and the tartness helped her head stop pounding. When she finished it, she opened her eyes. The drummer in her head had stopped. “Thank you.”
“Feeling better?” Marie asked.
She could sleep for days. “Better. Yes. What happened?”
“You remember what you did?”
“Yes. Why do I feel like shit?”
“Because you let the power use you. How you feel is a consequence. It’s so seductive, almost orgasmic, that the small voice inside of your head urges you to grasp ahold of the power. It’s great at first, but then the high ends. I know. I’ve been there. You can’t give in to it.”
“I’ve been fighting it. I’ve tried. I don’t know how to control it.” Darria looked over at Oliver, but he remained the cold harvester and not the man who cared for her.
“But you fight it, and that’s the point. You keep it caged. You and your power have to become one with each other. You have to embrace it,” Marie told her.
“I thought you said that embracing it only makes me into the monster.” Darria tried to wrap her head around what Marie was telling her.
“Sometimes, to beat the monster, you have to let it in. Right now, different parts of you are vying for dominance: the you who is the undertaker, and the you who is the necromancer. Take control of all your abilities. You have much more potential than you realize.” Marie grabbed Darria’s arm and showed her the closed poppies. “Once you do that, these will fully open, and you can channel their magic.”