Dark Thread

by Crymsyn Hart

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Where did he go, then?”

  Marie ran her fingers over the words tattooed on her left arm. “You said a spell to free the souls this entity had bound to him?”

  “I did. The beings he had were spliced together. The first spell freed the human spirits. The next one came from somewhere. It released the other nonhuman spirits.”

  “What were the words you spoke exactly?”

  Darria threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. It just rolled off my tongue.”

  “It came from you; it’s still within you. Think, Darria. You’re a necromancer. You embraced your power. Every spell we do leaves an echo. You can always retrace it, the same way you’re linked to Omar. Follow it. What were the words you said?”

  She took a deep breath and assessed what Marie said. She felt the resonance of the enchantment still in the back of her mind. “Deadly threads that bind. Spirits sever ties.” The words came, and something stirred after she had said the words. Whatever was in the room had also been freed. Maybe it was some lingering ghost that had followed her home.

  “The spell released Omar as well. You sent him to his rest. His hand is no longer needed to contain his spirit, but you can summon him back and trap him in the hand.”

  “I would never force him to come back.”

  “Then call him and ask him. We can reanimate the dead. We can fix dead flesh if need be. You can make him whole again, but first, you have to regain your strength. Sleep. Eat. I’ll watch things until you wake up. Rory can assist me with the bodies that have come in. Evangeline can learn from it. Don’t worry about it.”

  Darria nodded. “Thanks. Look, send up Gabbie, and put Lina in the apartment above the garage for now.”

  “Will do.” Marie left the room. Gabbie plodded into the office. Darria slid back into the chair and rested her hand on the gargoyle’s head.

  “You wanted me up here.”

  “I needed the company, and I wanted to know what happened when I was gone. What did Marie do?”

  “Nothing. She kept herself busy around the house. A body came in. She processed it, and Oliver came to take the soul.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  The gargoyle shivered and spread her wings. She lifted off the ground and hovered as best she could. “I have no reason not to. She’s been helping out when you’ve been gone. Do you have a reason to think she is not?”

  Darria stroked Omar’s hand. The exhaustion of the day’s events crashed over her. “No. She’s been great. I’m tired, I guess. Thank you for keeping an eye on everything. I appreciate it. Mercury said you worked with him before with the past undertaker, and you two didn’t get along.”

  Gabbie landed again and stretched out on the floor. “That bull thinks he’s better than anyone else. He hated that the undertaker liked me more than him.”

  “But he’s legit.”

  “He’s bonded with Lina and is devoted to her.”

  Darria felt a little bit better about leaving the bull with Lina. She stared at Omar’s hand and thought about putting it back in the Wunderkammer until she was ready to summon him again. However, she didn’t want anyone else to have access to him. Darria opened the bottom drawer of the desk and put him on top of a stack of old death certificates. She locked it with her key and placed it back in her arm. She flexed her left hand, and some feeling had come back to it. “I’m going to lie down and get some sleep. Keep Marie in your sights.”

  Gabbie licked her hand. “I will. You did well.”

  “Thanks. One undertaker down. Five more to go.” She made her way to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Unless the house was falling in, she didn’t want to be disturbed. Slipping into bed, she thought about her battle with that dark force that wanted the undertakers dead. It would go after the other potential undertakers. She had to free them, but first, she needed to put the others to rest and find their tokens. Safely under the covers, she glanced up and noticed a spider spinning its web in the corner of the room, weaving the next road to her destiny.

  * * * *

  Music filtered from the back of the room. It was tinkling at first, something she associated with a music box where the pink ballerina came up and spun in front of a mirror. Her mother had one when she was little. It compelled her deeper into the darkness. The harmony from the music box changed into more of a techno vibe. It thumped the floor until it matched the tempo of her heartbeat. People talking led her forward, and at the end of the long hallway, she came to a door that entered into a nightclub.

  Darria wove between the sweaty bodies thumping and grinding together. Many appeared to be normal humans because she didn’t sense anything amiss with them. No death energy surrounded them. After everything that happened to her, she figured out the difference between a regular dream and when it was more than a dream. This was one of those times.

  She glanced around the club and saw a DJ booth in the back corner with the DJ bouncing his head to the beat. Her kind of music ran toward the flavor of Marilyn Manson, Nightwish, In This Moment, and bands that were a whole lot harder than what was coming over the speakers. The lights gave her a headache. Perspiring bodies bumped into her as she wove through the back of the club. This was not a place she wanted to be after the day she’d had, so whoever had called her, plucked her, or kidnapped her from her regular dreams was seriously on her shit list.

  Darria walked by a wall of mirrors and felt eyes on her. She gritted her teeth and wound her way down another hall, where there were private rooms behind the curtains. From the scent of stale beer, sweat, sex, and vomit, she figured out what happened behind each curtain. However, this was not Oz, and there was no wizard behind the curtain. Darria came to a set of stairs; they led down to another door, which was guarded by two large bouncers whose muscles were the size of her head. They could have bench pressed an elephant. They stood at attention and glared at her as though she were a bug they were going to squish. Through the slit between them, she glimpsed a man sitting in a chair, dressed in a slick, black suit. His skin was almost as dark as his suit. He had full lips, and his eyes were wide and glowed red.

  That crimson gaze was trained on her.

  “Let her pass, gentlemen.”

  The two guards separated on cue. Darria glanced around the room in quick flits and went back to him. Dark energy emanated from him like he was at the center of a blackened storm. Electricity crackled around him, drawing things into his center of gravity. He reminded her of Hekate. Next to him was a long, sumptuous sofa. He sat in a dark, wood-trimmed chair that looked like a throne. A table was nestled between the sofa and the chair.

  “You’re the undertaker who has stirred the universe and put everything on its head.”

  “Is that a problem?” Darria crossed her arms over her chest. Even in this realm, the events of the day wore on her.

  He extended his hand to the sofa. “Of course not. Please have a seat, so we can talk.”

  “Not before you tell me who you are and why you called me here. I’d rather be sleeping.”

  “Forgive me for interrupting your rest, but I found that this was an opportune time. You’ve injured him, and he’s not paying attention while he licks his wounds. Bravo for doing what we have not been able to do.”

  “You didn’t tell me who you are or who the hell is attacking the other potential undertakers and me.”

  A waitress stepped through a curtain, carrying a tray with a drink on it. She bent low enough to show off her breasts. Her gaze slid to Darria. It was hard to hide the disgust in the waitress’s eyes. “Anything else?”

  The man grabbed the waitress around the waist and pulled her down to his lap. She squealed, and Darria looked away. Typical man.

  “You have some great assets, but if you think you can use them to wile me out of anything the way you have so many others, then you are horribly mistaken.”

  “I-I don’t know what you mean,” the server stammered.

  He grabbed
her throat. His sharp fingernails pressed into her flesh until she gasped and clutched his hand. His eyes glowed brighter. “Don’t lie to me, girl. I see the stain on your soul. The two you killed. The first one was an accident, yes, but the second one, you got a taste for it.”

  “H-how do you know that?”

  His tongue caressed the woman’s cheek. “I can smell it on you. Your soul will always bear the stench. Get out of here and never come back.” He flung her off his lap onto the floor. His face changed from the suave, collected man Darria had first encountered to the flash of a skull and the energy he kept hidden. She sensed the death around him, but he wasn’t a harvester. The power within him had a gritty feeling that rubbed against her skin. The skull showed him to have long, sharp teeth, but his eyes never changed color. The waitress ran out of the room, and he settled his gaze back on Darria.

  “Going to send her soul to hell?” she asked him.

  He sipped his drink. “I like you. I can see why Hekate reached out to assist you when she hasn’t done that in ages. I, on the other hand, interact with the undertakers of my line. Marie was one of the best. Please sit so we can talk, and you can go back to your dreams.”

  When he dropped Marie’s name, it dawned on her who this man was. Darria slid onto the sofa and stared at the man. She took his glass and brought it to her lips, taking a sip of alcohol and tasting gin. She made a face at the harsh flavor. She set it down and waited for his reaction. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  “I can get you one if you want it.”

  “No. I’m good, thanks. You’re Papa Legba. I thought you’d be taller or more ... imposing.”

  He tapped his nails on the surface of the table. His power washed over her. Darria let him inspect her. It wouldn’t be good to have him on her bad side, and besides, he intrigued her. “Does this form not please you? I can be something else if you wish.”

  His hair was cropped close to his head. His cheekbones were angular and his eyes so wide that it gave him an exotic book. She couldn’t help but feel the magnetism he put off. “You can choose to be whatever you wish, but—”

  “But this one does please you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. He brushed his fingers over the top of her right hand and let out a small moan. She looked up, and Legba leaned back in his chair, his fingers crackling with purple energy. Her hand tingled from where he had touched it. When he let out a breath, it was tingled purple. “Enjoying yourself?”

  She leaned over, playing the part. “You never asked me the question. You just assumed.”

  “I guess I did.”

  “You wanted to talk about the one I wounded.”

  “I’d love to learn more about you if that’s possible. You intrigue me, more so than most humans I have to deal with and more than any of the undertakers in my line. Would you consent to me calling upon you after all this is over? If you survive, of course.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Darria murmured.

  “Don’t take it personally. Many things are changing, and the Fates have knots for the future. Lovely ladies, by the way.”

  “You’ve talked to the Fates?”

  He raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his drink. He handed it to her, and she took another drink, not breaking his gaze. “Of course; you’re talking to me, aren’t you? You’re playing in a much bigger pond than you were before. You’re not a small-town undertaker anymore. I’m not talking about the necromancer bit, either. That bit got amplified.”

  “What am I now, then? Who did I wound? Answer some of my damn questions.” Darria picked up his drink and threw it across the room. It exploded into shards of ice and glass. The gin dripped down the wall like liquid crystals. Legba remained quiet. Even his hired goons didn’t come in to defend him.

  “Calm yourself, Darria. I’ll answer your questions, but I want something in return. This is how it works with me.”

  She threw up her hands. The frustration he caused frayed her nerves. “I’m not selling you my soul, sharing my power with you, or offering myself up for a night of pleasure or some favor.”

  His smile spread wider as he stood before her, bowed at the waist, and extended his hand. “One dance and maybe a kiss at the end if you’re satisfied with my answers.”

  She eyed him, waiting for the punch line. “Just a dance?”

  “Just a dance. You have my word, and my word is unbreakable,” Legba promised her.

  “You’ll answer all my questions honestly, no half-truths?”

  “You do drive a hard bargain, but yes. On my word, I will answer all your questions truthfully this one time, but in return, I want a dance and a kiss. A kiss gives me a taste of the soul, and if you wish for the complete truth from me, I desire this in return. Do we have an agreement?”

  Darria didn’t think she would get a chance to have her questions answered again. Although she wasn’t going to let her guard down, even if she did find the demigod handsome. “We have a deal.”

  Legba extended his right hand a little further and snapped his fingers. The room transformed into a large ballroom with mirrors on two walls. A phantom orchestra played some kind of waltz, the same melody but a little creepier than the first one she had heard when she had entered the dream realm. The room had an old-world feel to it. His skin was like velvet against her palm when she slid her hand into his. She quivered from the meeting of their flesh. He placed his other hand on her hip. The music took a faster pace as he whirled her around. Her clothing changed, and she was dressed in a form-fitting, black-and-purple gown.

  “Beautiful. You shouldn’t hide your figure under all those unflattering clothes. If you were mine, I’d make sure you knew how appreciated you were.”

  “But I’m not yours.” Darria couldn’t help but blush at his comment. It was nice to have someone pay attention to her, even if he was some mysterious death god.

  “No, but you could be. You yearn for someone else, and yet, he’s spurned your heart out of fear.

  “How do you know that?”

  Legba spun her around before pulling her close and dipping her. His lips hovered above hers as he brought her up and held her against him, making it very clear he was more than a demigod; he was also a man with a toned body in all the right places. She caught the scent of sandalwood and the deeper aroma of anise. “Death is easy to read, especially when you know the language. I can answer these questions all night, but I think you wanted to know more about the one who was after you.”

  “I do. First, though, we had a hunter, Gerry, with your sigil tattooed on his back. He tried to kill me. Did you send him there with the fairy to kill me?”

  He pressed his cheek to hers. They clasped hands as they marched toward the ghostly orchestra, which had switched into a tango. “Gerry was one of my hunters. I mark them with banshee blood so I can track them and make sure the sidhe can collect them if they mess up. The queen and I have an understanding. He must’ve been hijacked by the one who was after you. I did not send Gerry to kill you.” Legba purred and turned his head until his lips were only centimeters from hers.

  “What about the slip of paper with the numbers we found on him?”

  Legba chuckled. “Gerry was a gambler with all things. I would take a guess those were the next numbers he was going to play or something to that affect. Satisfied?”

  Darria kept thinking about Oliver. She understood that he didn’t trust her powers, but she loved him. She needed a chance to tell him that, to have a relationship with him. It didn’t matter that Legba was paying her some attention. He was sure to have some hidden agenda at the end of all of this.

  “Yes. Thank you. Who is after me and trying to keep the other undertakers from being instilled?”

  He turned her again, and the music slowed. They swayed together. Legba let go of her waist and presented her with a black rose. He took her right hand and found a spot on her vine to press it into her flesh. A raven shifted in her tattoo, so it c
ould sit on top of the rose. “The one after you is Ankou. Never thought it would be him wanting to eliminate all the undertakers. He was okay with the way things were, but things change over time. He garnered enough power to make his move. The others, Hades, Hel, Meng Po, and Mictlantecuhtli, are dead. Hekate and I were among the oldest on the council and had more followers, so we were stronger. He must’ve done something to get so strong. It’s turned the universe on its head. The undertakers are woven into the lattice of the universe. You were given this position to make it right again.”

  “I’m trying. I found Evangeline. Now I have to put the other undertakers to rest and gather their relics.”

  “I might be able to help you with that last bit to make it easier on you.”

  “How?”

  He spun her around, and the music died down. “In a moment, you had another question you wished me to answer. I can sense it on your lips, beautiful lips that I wish to taste.”

  Darria ignored his last comment. “The murdered undertakers came to me with their rotting shells and their spirits attached to their flesh. Was this Ankou?”

  “No. I sent the undertakers to you so you’d be aware of the dire situation. Their spirits lingered close to the veil, where they watched and waited for someone to gather their relics.”

  “Dire point taken. I’m working on it. Ankou resurrected a cremated werewolf that had been put to rest in a harvester graveyard. Its ashes were used in the ritual to make me an undertaker. How can he do that?”

  Legba’s brows furrowed. The troubled look in his eyes made her wonder. He was a demigod. From all her experience with them, Darria knew they had their own agendas. “I don’t know. Are you sure?”

  She separated from him. “Pretty sure. You think I’m lying?”

  He waved his hand, and the band disappeared. They were alone in the room for a few moments until she sensed another presence. Darria glanced behind her and spied Hekate at the other end of the dance hall. “Why is she here?”

  “Legba thought it’d be best since you pointed out something we had missed,” Hekate explained.