Grave Things (Grave Things Series Book 1)

by Lindsay Mead

  Thinking of the blood money and the souls she was supposed to help, Viola's head lulled to the side. If she focused hard enough on the sin now inside her, she could hear the voices of the victims and see the terrible things that had been done to them. These nameless people had needed her. They'd reached out, begged her to save them from their eternal torment. But she'd thrown them away—

  No, she hadn't. Viola was still an exorcist. There was still time for her to free them. Who could begrudge her one final job?

  As if in answer, Viola's vision came into sharp focus on an old shovel. Propped up against a groundskeeper's shack, the tool looked handmade. It wasn't long like some shovels, but it appeared sturdy. Made for hard digging. It reminded her of the shovel that stretched the length of her grandpa's arm.

  Suddenly the tug hit her, yanking so hard that it nearly pulled Vi off her ass. Symbols passed before her eyes and a new desire wrapped around her heart. Viola had to have that shovel. Discarding the whiskey bottle, she scrambled across the grass and dirt. Her hand wrapped around the triangular metal handle. It fit perfectly in her palm.

  She swung the tool up and let the wooden hilt land in her other hand. It was flawlessly weighted, somehow conjuring the image of a sword. Though slightly rusted, the blade's edges were sharp. The power of its age and experience zinged over her skin. This shovel was a gravedigger. It had toiled in sacred ground for decades, perhaps longer. More importantly, it was ingrained with pure energy from years of putting souls to rest—and it was meant to be Viola's.

  Pulling a pocket knife from her jeans, she dropped back to the ground with the shovel's blade resting in her lap. Viola started carving. What came out was a circular sigil, much like the one on her chest. She scraped for more than an hour, drawing a seven-pointed star in the center and surrounding it with images of moons, arrows, and a broken infinity symbol. To finish the carving, Viola added angelic script around the circle.

  Her wrist and muscles ached from the repetitive motions, her fingers cramping from the rigid hold. But she kept on, letting the sounds of the festival fall away from her. She recited the angelic language while she worked. Repeating again and again, the words tumbled from her lips and swept her into a trance.

  As she scratched the final letter, the knife slipped from her hand. Still reciting, she forced her sore fingers wide and splayed them over the fresh carving. The blade was shockingly cold. Illuminating the contours of her face in hues of green, the amulet tattoo on her chest started to glow.

  The sound of great flapping wings arose a strange breeze that tussled Viola's hair. Not wanting to disrupt the ritual, she glared resolutely on the markings beneath her hand and kept chanting. Booted footsteps crunched on the dirt. Vi's heart pounded with nervous anticipation. A large hand wrapped around her wrist touching the blade. As the angel knelt beside her, she dared to look.

  Azriel.

  His lush, dark hair was pushed to the side, allowing her to see his beautiful face. He met her gaze with a stare of unwavering determination. Viola couldn't help being intimidated by him. She felt his power, his presence. By comparison, she was a sparrow caught in a hurricane. Not letting go of her hand—his fingers stretched clear to her knuckles and his thumb gripped her wrist—Azriel joined her chant.

  His voice was deep, smooth like the night sky. When he spoke, the chant became a song and it carried her voice away. Her chest tattoo brightened, sending angelic power along her arm and into the shovel. She was now a conduit for Heavenly power that electrified her veins. The emerald light ignited around her carved sigil. But the power was coming fast, growing at a rate that her body wasn't made to handle.

  Viola clenched her teeth against the pain, grinding out the angelic words. Azriel's hand grew hot. A blackness shimmered along the seams of his spotless white wings as he called upon his deadly power. Her skin began to sizzle under his touch. Vi tried to pull away, but the angel gripped her tighter.

  You are strong, Azriel said in her mind, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Grasping onto his encouragement, Viola found a new gear. She chanted harder, louder. Azriel matched her in kind. His pupils sparked with silver lightning and his wings stretched out, spreading wide around them. Tears slid down Viola's cheeks. Her skin was flayed, burnt away beneath his hand.

  The power surrounding them, within them, grew and grew. Filling her, filling the shovel. The light was too bright, forcing Vi to close her eyes. Fear gripped her heart until, finally, it all burst. With a deep boom, the power exploded, and a shockwave of emerald light swept past them and into the graveyard. Viola's hair lifted from her shoulders, trees and flowers swayed from the divine force.

  Azriel's free hand cupped her cheek, sending a wave of calm energy through her. Her heart slowed, and she sucked in a soothing breath of night air. It was over. She'd survived.

  "Thank you," Viola croaked and opened her eyes.

  The angel was gone, yet she still felt his touch. Glancing at the shovel, she watched the glow fade as Azriel's power settled deep into its fibers. Viola lifted her hand from the metal with a cringe. The charred shape of Azriel's hand now graced her skin, much like the one left on her shoulder by Uriel.

  "Marked by two angels. Never saw that coming." Viola mumbled, turning her attention from the fresh burn to her new sacred weapon.

  Her body creaking, Viola pushed to her feet and swung the shovel onto her shoulder. That's when she noticed the people gawking. Their eyes were wide, mouths gaping with shock.

  Letting her shoulder hold the weight of the shovel, Viola leaned into her hip. "Could you all see the angel?"

  To her surprise, they each nodded. A few made the sign of the cross over their chests and kissed their fingers. Well, what do you know? It seemed the end of the sacred holiday might have thinned the veil to the otherside, allowing people to see things they normally wouldn't. She also now realized that the angel's presence hadn't shifted her outside of normal time and space. Did Azriel do that on purpose? Whatever his reasons, Viola didn't have time to ponder it. She had work to do, and Vi had to do it before she remembered that her husband was dead. Otherwise, she might lose her will.

  Her gaze pivoting to the dead tree and pile of bones across the road, it was time Viola freed those souls.

  26

  Standing in front of the rusty iron fence with her new shovel still propped on her shoulder, Viola opened the locket around her neck. Beams of turquoise light beckoned a swirl of blueish-black sand from within. It twirled into the air, expanding and building on itself.

  Row upon row, particle by particle, the sand gathered on the lifeless ground beyond the fence. The form of a majestic canine began to take shape. When each bit was in place, from thin tail to pointed ear, the sand solidified. Beautiful Anubis stared at her with his kohl-lined eyes. Viola smiled, feeling more at peace in his presence, and he greeted her with a gentle caress on her mind. He was happy to see her as well.

  Ignoring gasps from the onlookers who'd followed Vi from the graveyard, Anubis shifted his attention to the piles of well-laid bones around him. Viola half expected him to pick one up and start gnawing, but she had to remember that jackals and dogs weren't the same. He lowered his head, dragging dust into his nostrils with long sniffs.

  Many souls reside here, he said in Ancient Egyptian. Trapped.

  "I know." Glancing at the few spectators, Viola decided that none of them were likely to stop her. "I'm going to free the souls, but I may need you to shepherd them to the otherside."

  It always pleases me to assist you. With that, he moved off to the side, giving her space to work.

  "I swear, Anubis, if you ever became a man, I'd probably fall in love with you." Grabbing onto the fence, Vi vaulted over the top spikes with ease.

  She landed without disturbing the bones and checked the watching locals. They gawked at her and Anubis with wide eyes but remained motionless. Sometimes shock was a very helpful emotion.

  Perhaps in the next life, my exorcist. His smooth voice rumbled w
ith amusement.

  Ian's face leapt to the front of Viola's mind, causing a painful ache to constrict her chest. She clutched her shovel and forced his face away. Vi had to focus on her work. The sorrow didn't go far though, hovering at the edge of her consciousness. She'd fall apart later.

  I'm sorry you have lost your lover. The mirth in the jackal's voice was gone, replaced by a gentle sadness as he read her thoughts. Does he need to be guided to the otherside?

  "No." Vi glanced at him, fighting the urge to bury her face in his fur. "He's exactly where he's meant to be."

  And with that, the conversation was over. Gripping the shovel in both hands, Viola mentally prepared herself for the ritual. She had to clear her thoughts. Focusing on the thrum between her ears, on the tug at her soul, Vi let herself be guided by Heaven's power.

  "And He shall purify this land." The Latin words came to her unbidden. "Through His grace, no evil shall tread."

  With Anubis and others observing quietly, she went to the first corner. Vi held the shovel before her with the blade pointed toward the cursed ground. She felt its innate power, the sanctifying capabilities worked into it over the decades, and the immense holy magick gifted to her by the Angel of Death himself. They mingled together as one, spreading emerald light to the symbols that she'd carved into the metal.

  Viola's chest tattoo responded to the angelic power and glowed vibrantly against the night. The light came with a blazing heat. Painful, but nothing she couldn't handle. Certainly, nothing compared to before. Her burned hand throbbed, as if it felt left out.

  Clenching her teeth, Vi's knuckles turned white as she put all she had into the ritual. "Ego sanctificabo!"

  Viola slammed the shovel downward. Its blade pierced the dry ground, forcing the dirt up and around the sharp metal. Power surged from Vi, through the shovel, then into the earth. A wave of glimmering light swept beneath her feet cleansing part of the shrine, making it sacred. From heavy and unbearable, Viola felt the darkness on her soul pull upward. She inhaled, closing her eyes to enjoy the brief relief.

  The sound of beating wings caused Vi to turn. Azriel appeared at the front of the shrine, his wings coming to a rest at his sides. An onlooker fainted, two dropped to their knees in tears. This time the angel carried a sharp, ebony scythe inscribed with strange golden runes. Perfect for reaping.

  Just as Viola's new sins were repelled by the sacred ground, so were a few dozen iridescent ghosts. They rose from the bones, unmistakably human—except see-through and with outdated clothing. Thanks to Viola's blasphemous sin-eating, the spirits were detached from the blood money and all the evil they'd done in its name. Now, they were also free of their formerly unholy graves.

  Azriel opened his arms to them. Anubis watched with interest, waiting to see what the ghosts would do. But they had no desire to linger in the land of the living. One by one, they walked into Azriel's outstretched arms. It looked as if he would hug them, but as they reached his embrace they passed through with a short burst of pure light.

  Not wanting to keep the angel waiting, Vi moved to the next corner while Azriel ushered the final souls onward. The moment she left the newly sacred ground, the sins fell back on her shoulders. A wave of exhaustion and nausea rolled through her. She pushed it down, using it as motivation to sanctify more ground.

  The same Latin words from before came to her lips. She lifted the shovel and rammed it into the ground. The atmosphere changed in an instant, the blast of power forcing the dark weight from her body. Vi glanced at the new rising souls. As Azriel opened his arms to them, Anubis jogged to herd a few hesitating spirits toward the angel. But unlike the growing crowd of gawkers, she didn't wait to watch.

  Viola was draining fast. Sanctifying ground was no small thing. To clear each corner, Viola had to channel more Heavenly power. It left her raw, totally tapped from the inside out.

  Continuing to the next corner was a struggle. Every time she stepped from holy ground the sins hit her like a dozen chains. They dragged on Viola, telling her that she wasn't strong enough to finish this. She was selfish and weak, and had no right to attempt something so big.

  You are not weak or selfish, Azriel's voice echoed in her mind. You are the exorcist marked by two angels.

  Steeling herself, Viola poised the shovel over the ground. His choice of words was not lost on her. The exorcist marked by two angels—which meant there were no others. That realization both emboldened and terrified Vi.

  Afraid her body might give out, Viola rushed through the chant and drove the shovel into the dirt. The power reverberated around Vi, forcing her to clutch the shovel's handle to keep from collapsing. This time she didn't revel in the lightened atmosphere. If she hesitated now, her body might not let her finish.

  "Et purgabit terram hanc," Viola forged on, stomping hard across the dry earth. Dust kicked up around her feet. The land was so cursed that apparently not even rain could touch it. As Anubis growled at a wondering soul, Viola took her final position. "No evil shall tread."

  She wiped the sweat from her brow. This was it. Her last act as an exorcist. At least it was a good one.

  Arms shaking, Viola struggled to lift and hold the shovel aloft as power seared through her chest tattoo. She had to hurry. Vi let out a battle cry, fighting her weakening state, and drove the blade deep into the earth.

  Panting, she finished the ritual. "Sanctus terram. So be it."

  New energy reverberated through the shrine, tying each corner together. Time slowed. Gravity inverted. Viola felt her body and soul become weightless. Strands of her hair lifted, and dust particles rose into the air. Vi closed her eyes. She embraced the ethereal sensation, loved the freedom of being unburdened.

  With a soft boom, time returned, and gravity came rushing back. Viola crashed to the ground, too exhausted to land on her feet. Elation bubbled in her chest, battling with all of the darker emotions she held at bay. Lying in the dirt, Viola grinned. She'd done it. She'd created a true cemetery with sacred ground and all.

  Anubis came to sit at her side, looking regally down at her. The Angel of Death waits for you.

  "Well, that's ominous," Viola grumbled, the burst of ecstasy rapidly disappearing.

  Her body creaked and burned as she clambered to her feet. The world spun, causing her to sway dangerously. Thanks to the slow rejuvenating effects of sacred ground, she managed to stay upright…for now.

  Viola's gaze fell on the crowd, which had doubled or tripled in size. They stared in a daze without reaching for their phones as if they'd forgotten about them; there was a reason no physical proof of angels existed. The people could merely watch in awe and utter fascination. Later they might even doubt what they'd seen.

  Still in his original place, Azriel studied her with no telling expression. Streaks of darkness shimmered along the edges of his wings before fading entirely. Viola bit the side of her cheek as uncertainty agitated her nerves. Whatever he wanted with her, it probably wasn't good.

  Dusting herself off, Vi kept her distance. "Thank you for coming to help."

  "When souls move on, there I will always be," he answered simply, his scythe gleaming in the moonlight.

  The energy rolling off the angel's staff was death itself. Fighting the trembles it caused, she shoved her hands in her pockets. She'd seen Azriel before when Anubis herded souls. It was always brief, and he'd never spoken to her. Why in the world he'd choose to now was an utter mystery. Maybe marking her changed things…or maybe he'd decided to punish her for sin-eating after all.

  In a blink, Azriel was in front of her. Viola gasped, her muscles seizing painfully. But she didn't—couldn't—move away. Azriel lifted his hand, sliding his fingers along her jaw until he cupped her cheek. Just as he'd done earlier in the night.

  Viola's heart thundered, but the nearly all-powerful being peered down at her in a way that was soft and… paternal? "You did well, my exorcist."

  Pride flashed in his eyes, leaving her dumbstruck. Viola opened her mouth to thank him—
she stumbled backward, suddenly released from his powerful gaze. Azriel was gone. Just like that. Her eyes swept the area, heads swiveled in the crowd, foolishly searching for him. Of course, there was no trace of the angel.

  His words—My exorcist—sat at the front of her mind. Did that mean she was somehow tied to him, like she was to Anubis? They were all in the business of death. Perhaps Azriel was her boss while God was his. Man, that was a strange way to look at it. Death Incorporated.

  A painful itch yanked at the back of Viola's soul, drawing her out of her meandering thoughts. Now that the shrine was soul-free, and the humming between her ears gone, a new nagging sensation begged for Vi's attention. Really? Already? Couldn't a girl get a five-minute breather?

  A rattling growl rolled from within the crowd. Someone screamed. The others turned. Then, all at once, people scattered. True fear lit their faces, causing them to nearly trample one another. As the crowd parted, Viola saw what they were running from.

  "Exorcist," hissed the strigoi. "You do not have the sword."

  The demon stood in the middle of the vacated street, while the crowd took refuge nearby. Hood pushed back, its pale, bald head glistened in the moonlight. Threateningly, it splayed thick black claws at its sides.

  "You're right." Twisting on her heel, she walked casually toward her shovel. It wasn't like she could outrun the demon anyway. "But I've got something better."

  Its blood-red eyes tracked her every movement.

  Viola's fingers wrapped around the shovel's hilt. She pulled it from the ground, finding that she suddenly had an extra reserve of fight left after all. With a smile stretched across her face, she hefted it onto her shoulder. The motion felt good. It felt right. As she walked to the iron fence, the strigoi displayed its four long fangs. A forked tongue slid from its gaping mouth, like a serpent testing the air for the shovel's scent or maybe for Viola's fear. It would be left wanting if that were the case.