by Crymsyn Hart
Marie didn’t meet her eyes. “We’re hoping you’re going to be okay with it.” She got up and went to the basement door. “Hey, Rory, why don’t you come upstairs now that Darria’s returned?”
She heard the footsteps of the teenager coming up the stairs. Rory popped his head through the kitchen door and gave her a little wave with an uneasy smile that came with an anxious laugh. Maybe he’s worried about me turning him into a frog or a wart on the back of a frog. Rory reminded her of a cartoon character, he was so lanky. What she sensed now was the power that resided within him. A bright light surrounded him. Her arm started to burn where the key was. When she looked down, it was peeling out of her skin. The ink appeared to be coming off her arm, and yet, it remained. Darria caught the key in her palm before it hit the floor.
She tried to hold on to it, but the key scorched her hand. Darria dropped it onto the table. She waited for it to change shape, but it remained the skeleton key. The one on the table was a copy. “Um ... what the hell just happened?”
“Rory, why don’t you sit down next to Darria,” Marie instructed.
He wound his hands up into the blue material of his Captain America shirt. He sat in the chair and watched her with nervous eyes. “H-hi, Darria. Ms. Savege. Marie’s been letting me observe while she’s been processing the bodies. I-I hope you don’t mind. I was cleaning up downstairs, and—”
She turned to Marie, and anger flushed her body. “You let him into the cellar.
You let him watch while you were working on corpses. You know what could’ve happened if—”
“Darria, calm down. Poor Omar’s going to have a heart attack if you don’t.” Marie laid a hand on hers.
Her familiar convulsed on the table where he had fallen from her shoulder. Gabbie had her head in her lap and licked her hand. Darria took in a deep breath to quiet her emotions. She patted the gargoyle and concentrated on her mummified appendage, sending calming thoughts to him. Now that she was integrated, her emotions seemed to have a much stronger effect on her abilities than before. She didn’t want to harm him. He stopped twitching and hopped back up on his wrist nub.
“Sorry. I haven’t gotten ahold of this whole necromancer thing yet. I guess, Marie, that’s where you come in. Hekate may have put me together, but I still know nothing about necromancy. Half the shit I can do is from trial and error. The rest you’re going to have to teach me.”
“I can do that. First, Rory. Then you need sleep. You’re not going to be any good to us until then. When you wake up, we can summon the other undertakers and talk to them.”
“Yes, it’s important.” Gabbie poked Darria with her nose.
She glanced at the gargoyle and saw the dumb smile that was spread on her doglike face, but the intelligence behind the sharp rows of jagged teeth. “I’ll figure out how I can understand you later. It’s great and all, but having no sleep the whole time I was gone is like hitting me with a ton of tombstones.”
What role was Rory going to play? She dragged her hands over her face, threw her head back, and laughed. “Oh, the Fates are very cruel.”
“What’s cruel?” Rory asked.
Darria poked at the key on the table. It had cooled and become lighter the longer she held it. “The Fates are cruel.” She slid the key across the table and stopped it within a few inches of his well-chewed fingernails. “You’re my new assistant.”
His lips twitched into a smile as the comprehension of what she had said came over him. “Really? For real?”
“For real. Before you take this key, what are your parents going to say? You’re way younger than I am. I don’t want your parents to think I’m macking on their jailbait son because you’re underage.”
The grin faded. “M-my parents have been dead for a year. I’ve been living on my own since then.”
“I saw your mother the other day when you found me in front of the house.” Darria fought to keep her eyes open.
“They’re worried about me, and I can’t get them to cross over. Mom doesn’t want to leave me all alone. So, I’m really your assistant?”
Darria thought back to when Abner had offered her the job. His words floated back to her, and it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this tonight.” She scooped up the key and slipped it into her pocket before she got up and held on to the table. The world whirled from sleep deprivation. “Keep on with what you’ve been doing until I wake up. Then we can talk about the apprenticeship and what it means. Sorry. Omar, you gonna come up to bed?”
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” Omar did a flying leap, brushing his two bony fingers across the ceiling. He landed on her shoulder, and she felt a little stronger. Rory was going to say something, but Marie shot him a look.
“It’ll be fine. Go rest, Darria.”
She made it upstairs to her bedroom. Omar jumped down and closed the door. Darria sat on the bed, and he kneaded her shoulders. He dug deep into her muscles, and it helped her relax.
“Do you mind if I say something?” Omar inquired.
“Say what you want. I didn’t mean to hurt you before. I’m sorry.”
“The first part was magical. I think I had my first true orgasm since I had a body. The second part was more overload, but I wasn’t talking about that. When you were pulled apart, I could feel it.” He targeted a group of muscles, and it seemed like he had another hand to go with his mummified one.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, enjoying the release of her muscles being untightened. Her head hit something solid when nothing should’ve been there. She opened her eyes and stared into the brown eyes of a man. Darria bolted away from the bed and the man disappeared, but Omar remained on her shoulder. Gabbie galloped up the stairs, sensing her distress.
“Open the door,” Gabbie growled.
Darria opened the door. “I’m okay, just startled. Go ahead and watch over Rory. Thank you for taking care of them while I was gone.”
The gargoyle butted her head against Darria and plodded back down the steps. Omar hopped onto the bed. The image of his body flashed, so she saw him sitting on the bed in a red suit. She jumped back against the door and held on to the knob. His energy flared along with hers because his spirit was stronger than it had been before.
“What the hell?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he responded. “When you were put back together, I was myself and not just a hand. I wanted to thank you.” He waved his left fingers at her. He got up from the bed and walked toward her. “What do you say; can I get a kiss?”
“Um ... are you always going to be full-bodied?”
He shrugged. The floorboards creaked underneath the weight of his feet. His shoes were shiny patent leather and didn’t flicker out. “I get that from you. Dark Mistress of Evil, you’re willing me into being. My body has been destroyed for thousands of years, lost to time and grave robbers. You’re making it so I’m solid. I think I might even be able to eat. If not, then maybe I’ll be able to taste it through you. I want to express how grateful I am.”
Darria wasn’t sure what to make of him. His right hand was tanned and appeared to be a normal hand, but his mummified hand remained the same. His form glimmered for a second, and the hand floated in midair. His words ran through her head: she allowed him to have substance. It was that way with the ghost in the boneyard before Azrael had stopped her. Darria focused on their link and relaxed her hold on Omar. It was like breathing when she released spirits. His body faded away, and his left hand plopped to the floor.
“I’m not in the mood to have a full-bodied, full-frontal exposed session with you at the moment. I prefer the hand. You can show me your appreciation later. Make sure no one comes in.” Darria lay back on the bed, and the weights of her eyelids finally fell, sending her into the world of dreams.
Chapter 10
Darria leaned against the kitchen counter, wearing an oversized black T-shirt that hung to her knees with a reaper on the front pointing at his next victi
m. She hadn’t had a chance to wear it around Oliver and wondered what he would say. Her hair, wet from the shower, left spots on the material. Her shorts were hidden by the length of her shirt. The scent of coffee filled the kitchen, but she ignored it and poured a bowl of whatever sugary cereal she found in the cabinet. She had forgotten to go grocery shopping before she left for the graveyard. In the fridge, she had found chocolate almond milk and vanilla soy milk to pour over her cereal, which only made it taste better.
As she crunched on her breakfast, the house was silent. The sun had just risen. Darria’s mind was clear and her energy restored, but she had so much new information crammed into her head that she didn’t know where to start sorting it out. A part of her thought she would revert back to being a necromancer, but all was quiet, and the other foot hadn’t dropped. Things were building.
The undertakers had appeared to her and asked for help, but they should have been resting. It bothered her that they weren’t.
The werewolf had been resurrected from ashes and came after her. Darria had sensed the otherness that had controlled the creature.
Gerry had come with the hobyah and had tried to kill her, but he had been poisoned, and then, someone had come through him and taunted her.
The council of gods was quiet from what Marie had said.
Hekate said she needed her. It had to be more than her gathering the items together from the other undertakers and putting them to rest. She had to find the threads and figure out how they were all tied together. The answers had to be within the memories of the other undertakers she hadn’t accessed yet. All she needed was time to go back and study them.
“Oh. Um. Excuse me. I didn’t know anyone would be up this early.”
Her spoon dropped and hit the side of her bowl, splashing her with milk. “Shit.”
“Sorry.” Rory came into the kitchen.
His blue Captain America shirt was rumpled, with several creases running through the shield. His hair stuck out in various directions, and his glasses were askew. Upon closer inspection, she saw lines from his frames pressed into his face. He did the half-asleep zombie shuffle to the fridge to pull out the carton of soy milk and then over to the cupboard, where he grabbed one of the new cups. It was all black, with the picture of a sugar skull woman on it and a skeleton arm for the handle.
Rory poured the coffee. He picked up the container next to the sugar.
“Honey? You put honey in your coffee?” Darria asked between mouthfuls, cringing at the thought of the taste of honey in her coffee.
He shrugged. “Honey. It’s not just for tea anymore.”
“Funny.” She snorted.
“Thanks. Look, I didn’t mean to spring anything on you last night.”
She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Last night was an eye-opener in many ways. Better to hit me all at once instead of in dribs and drabs.”
“What you said about me being your new assistant, was that true?” Rory sipped his coffee, staring over the rim of the mug with an expectant gaze.
“Appears so. I don’t make the rules when it comes to that aspect of undertaking. The key has a mind of its own and chooses the next undertaker.”
“Do you know when that will be?”
“Trying to drum me out of a job?” Darria finished her breakfast and set the bowl in the sink, trying to size up her would-be assistant.
He slurped his coffee and nearly choked on it. “No. I didn’t mean it that way.... Darn. I’m screwing this up even before I start.”
“No, you haven’t. I’m messing with you. I have no idea how long I’ll be in the job for. I can promise you that I’ll show you exactly what I’m doing so that you understand the ins and outs of the job, unlike my predecessor. He was a great guy, but I didn’t learn anything until I was thrown into this job, and it was a train wreck. I’ve nearly died a few times because of it. This isn’t an easy task. It may seem to be, but....”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know? You’ve been here for two weeks, and what have you seen? Really? You haven’t—”
He put up his hands. “Whoa. That’s not what I mean.” Rory clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, screwing up his face. It grew red. After a moment, he let out a breath and opened them again.
“Trying not to have a temper tantrum?” Darria crossed her arms over her chest and examined the teenager. He was trying to keep his cool. She should cut him some slack. It was difficult to think that this kid had horned in on her life and that the key chose him for an assistant. She had barely gotten her life in order, or the hang of the job, and already, she had a helper who was hardly over the legal driving age. It wasn’t fair. Then again, maybe the key had a contingency plan and wanted Rory in her spot in case Darria didn’t make it.
“Sorry. I have a short temper. I’m not trying to take your job.”
“But you’re psychic, and....”
“Why does everyone think when I tell them I’m psychic that I can suddenly pull the lottery numbers out of thin air?”
This was getting her nowhere with Rory. She didn’t want to not get along with him because that would suck over the next coming years if they hated one another. “Hey. It’s early, so let’s start over, okay?”
“Okay. Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”
“Morning. No, thanks. I’m not much of a coffee drinker. What exactly has Marie told you about the undertaking life? And how did you end up helping?”
He sipped at his coffee. “I had this dream for several nights a couple of weeks ago about a dude dressed in a red suit, holding up a piece of paper. He kept waving at me with his left hand. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was saying, but he kept pointing at the slip of paper. When I asked him who he was, I couldn’t hear him. Something about his left hand seemed familiar. I figured he wanted help, so on the fourth night, I came over. Marie didn’t want to let me in, but the hand greeted me at the door.”
“Did you figure out what the number was? Why was Omar in your dreams?”
“No. I tried focusing on the paper but came back with white noise. There was a glimmer of something, but it was beyond my grasp.”
“You can’t hear Omar?” Darria asked him.
“No. Marie explained that he’s attached to you and that she can hear him because she’s also a necromancer. I guess I’m not tuned in to the same frequency. Same with Gabbie. I can’t understand her either, although she makes herself known well enough when she wants something.”
“Yeah, she can. Omar freaked me out the first time I saw him.” She shivered, thinking back to when she had woken up thinking that he was some kind of a varmint scampering around her room in the apartment above the garage. When she had turned on the light, there he was, waving at her.
“I happened to look over at the house and saw something in the driveway. At first, I thought it was a raccoon, but when I looked closer, I saw a hand. He’s pretty neat. He can write and type stuff out, so at least I can read what he says.”
“Yeah. Omar does that. It was how I talked to him before I did the ritual and became the undertaker and discovered I was a necromancer.”
“See, that’s so cool. It’s like something I read out of a comic and—I’m a total dork, aren’t I?” Rory slurped his coffee.
“No. It’s okay. I get it. All this is new and exciting for you. The wonderful thing you’re going to find out is that once you officially get the key, you won’t be able to talk about your job to anyone except me or someone else in the business, like Oliver, the hunters, or whoever else we come across that works in the field. Of course, you can refuse to take the job.”
“I don’t want to. I have nothing to go back to. Now that my parents are dead, I have their house. I’m done with school. College isn’t really an option. Marie told me that you stop aging with this job. You don’t get sick, and I can’t get any worse. That’s one of the reasons my mother stayed around. She wants to be close when I go. So, yeah. I’m cool with any of it.�
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Rory didn’t look sick. She placed a hand over his. He sucked in a quick breath as her power flowed over him. Underneath the light of his spirit was the coldness of death. He had seen the other side and come back from it. She didn’t know what was wrong with him, but the longer she studied him, the stronger the sensation became that the death occurred a couple of years ago. The echo of it clung to him like the fading perfume of cigarettes. “How long were you declared dead for before they brought you back?”
“Fifteen minutes.” He lifted up his shirt, revealing the scar that ran from the base of his throat to the middle of his chest. “I flatlined on the operating table while they tried to fix a congenital defect, a hole in my heart. They gave me three to five years.”
“You look fine to me.”
“Thanks. Some days, I have trouble breathing. I graduated from school early. I got accepted to the community college, but I wanted to enjoy what I had left. The closer I get, the more I see. Mom said I came back different.”
Darria had heard of stories about people who had died and been resurrected. Hearing Rory recount his tale, she understood why he would say yes to being her assistant and why the key had probably chosen him, why it had chosen her. They had no one left. No one would notice when they were gone. “I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”
“It’s okay. Marie mentioned the dangers. What happens when I accept the job?”
She slipped her fingers into the pocket on her shorts and pulled out the key. It was heavier than it had been the night before. She held it out to Rory. “This key is what Abner gave me when I sat in his office. I was adrift, running from an old boyfriend who I accidentally brought back to life. I never realized it until he showed up at the rite of me becoming an undertaker. Every time he’d get close to me, I’d get spooked and move on to another place.”