by Hannah Marae
“Well, all right,” she muttered, tucking the pen into her pocket.
When she was finished, Mab sauntered to the counter. She held the form up and cleared her throat, feeling her magic come to life within. The clerk looked up and studied the form with narrowed eyes, taking in Mab’s favorite sigil.
Illusion.
“Go on back.” He waved a hand, returning to his thrilling game of solitaire.
Heading toward the rear door, Mab wrenched it open. “Thanks!” she called back as she disappeared into the lot.
Ten minutes later, she drove out the open gate.
She went to the little motel across town, getting herself a room using the spelled credit card she kept hidden in the bike’s saddlebag. Eden would never approve, not of the illusion sigil, the card, or even speeding across town like a bat out of hell. But Josephine didn’t see fit to send Mab off with spending money, so magic it was. As for the ride over, she’d just spent God knows how long stuck in the Good Night. Mab figured she deserved a little fun.
After a quick—–okay, not so quick—– shower, she changed clothes and climbed onto the bed.
“So,” she said aloud, eyes turning up toward heaven. Or the ceiling. Whatever. “I’m not sure how this works. I’ve never been the praying type. But you said if I called your name, you’d hear me, so here I am . . . calling your name. Pyke, I need a favor.”
She waited, feeling more than a little foolish. There was no reason for the reaper to lie, but Mab couldn’t help worrying he’d played her for a fool. What if he couldn’t hear her? And, more importantly, what would she do if he never showed?
A full minute after her call, she looked up to see a suited man looming over her on the bed.
“Jesus Christ!” she yelped, practically falling to the floor.
Pyke stood with his hands at his sides, his eyes like embers. “Why did you summon me onto a bed?”
“I mean.” Mab climbed to her feet. “I didn’t know you’d appear on the bed. I thought you’d have the decency to teleport across the room or on the other side of the door or whatever.”
He scanned the room, eyes fading to brown. “It is an imprecise art,” he said as he stepped to the floor. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” She settled back onto the bed, crossing her legs beneath her. “Laurent brought me back.”
He gave a sharp shake of his head before sitting beside her. “That’s not possible, not for a mage.”
“It was Eden,” Mab said. “Somehow she found Josephine and convinced her to trade her soul for mine. Now she’s stuck in the Good Night, and I’m here.”
“Well, that was nice of her.”
“It was stupid.” She snorted. “And hold up, what do you mean ‘for a mage?’”
Pyke shrugged. “Mages cannot touch the veil, as I’ve said.”
“So she had help,” Mab realized. She thought maybe she remembered something as she was going under the first time. A dark figure resting a cold hand against her forehead. “Help from a reaper?”
Inclining his head, Pyke said, “A reaper could accomplish such a task if they were so inclined.”
A plan began to form in Mab’s mind, possibilities and problems presenting themselves. There’d be a lot to iron out, like the fact that the entire house was warded, including the vault, which currently negated magic. That wasn’t to mention the fact that the place was crawling with thralls. But Mab could figure all that out. The important thing was she had a reaper.
“I think maybe you’re inclined, Pyke.”
“Am I?”
Deepening her voice, she said, “The balance must be maintained. If a reaper is out there helping a mage steal souls, wouldn’t you want to know why?”
He bit his lip. “It is an intriguing mystery. I’m not sure who it could be, but I have some ideas. This doesn’t change the fact that a soul must be traded. Purgatory is—”
“Selfish, I know.” Mab thought about it, a wicked grin spreading over her face. “Hell, you want a soul? I’ll give you Laurent. The baddest one of all.”
“Fine,” Pyke replied. He climbed to his feet. “But I’m going to need my partner.”
“The mirror didn’t work,” Ignatius said through the speaker of Zeke’s phone. “I got into town, waited ’til nightfall, and then dug up the grave. Held the mirror high and nothing. No spirit. No nothing. Just me standing over an open grave looking like a jackass.”
“Maybe using it for the vision sent it back?” Zeke offered. He was leaning forward on the bench seat, fingers tapping against his knee. Outside the window, Missouri was becoming Oklahoma as they headed to Ignatius. He had failed to release his spirit but had somehow found another job in town.
“I think Eden pulled a fast one on me,” Ignatius grumbled. “Mages.” Lazarus could practically see him shaking his head.
When he’d called, the first thing Zeke did was fill Ignatius in on what happened with Booker and Josephine Laurent, finishing with the fact that Eden was gone. Their little group had fractured. Ig hadn’t seemed all that surprised, and now, with this new information involving Eden possibly filching a ghost, Lazarus didn’t know what to think.
He’d been telling himself that what happened next was her choice. Lazarus couldn’t do anything to change that. Had no business trying. But it nagged at him, ate away at his every waking thought. There was no way to help her get what she wanted, he knew that, but what if he had tried?
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Zeke said sadly. “Nothing good’s gonna come from her having that mirror.”
“Nothing good is coming from any of this,” Lazarus replied. He spotted a turnoff ahead and considered pulling around, driving back to Booker to find Eden and stop whatever she was planning. But what if it was too late?
He wrenched his phone from his pocket. He dialed Eden’s number and pressed the phone to his ear with one hand on the wheel. It went straight to voicemail, and he cursed, tossing the phone on the dash.
“I’m turning around,” Lazarus told Zeke, who sat up a little straighter. “Ig, we’re gonna be a little late.”
“Hey, you do what you gotta do, man.” He paused. “You know what, I’ll just head your way.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Listen,” Ignatius said, “I’m not letting you deal with a blood mage alone.”
Zeke shuddered. “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
“But if it does,” Lazarus added, “we’ll be glad to have you on our side. Thank you.”
“See you soon.”
Lazarus turned onto the exit. Through the rearview, he noticed Hades perk up in the bed. He seemed to taste the wind, tilting his head to the side as if picking up a signal. The hellhound collapsed into smoke.
“The hell?” Lazarus slammed on the brakes, sending Zeke’s phone sliding down the dash.
The black cloud grew, swirling like a storm to envelop the truck until the only thing they could see was darkness. Zeke pressed his face to the window, eyes wide, as Lazarus focused on getting them off the road. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Ignatius demanding to know what was happening.
Then the smoke cleared, reforming into Hades, who stood on the truck’s hood, red eyes gleaming. He jumped down.
Lazarus looked around. This wasn’t possible.
“Holy shit,” Zeke whispered. “I’ve never seen him do that.”
The truck now sat in the parking lot of Booker’s motel in front of the same bank of rooms they’d left a few days before. Across the lot, Hades bolted for the stairs, stopping to see if Lazarus and Zeke were following.
“Ignatius?” Lazarus fumbled around for the phone. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”
——
Lazarus climbed out of the truck, hitting the pavement on shaky legs. Once Hades was sure the Morgans followed, he turned and ran up the stairs to the second-floor walkway.
Dread tightened in Lazarus’s chest. He tried to
tell himself that if Eden was here, it couldn’t be that bad. Maybe she’d just spent the past few days fuming. Maybe he’d find her pissed off but safe and whole. But, if that was the case, then why was Hades in such a rush to get here? And why hadn’t she answered her phone?
It was Lazarus’s fault. He knew that. He had known from the moment she slammed the door and took off into the night. He believed what he said about the Good Night being the end, but he could have tried to do more. Or, at the very least, he could have been there for her. Instead, Lazarus had thrown his opinion around like it was gospel, giving her no chance to protest. To make her case.
To mourn.
If he found her—when he found her—he swore he would make it right.
At the top of the stairs, Hades lurched left, heading down the corridor. The hound ran past the bank of rooms and skidded to a stop near the row’s end. Sniffing the air, he whined and began to collapse into smoke.
“Hades, wait—” Lazarus reached out, but the black cloud slowly sunk to the ground, disappearing beneath the door and into the room.
Zeke caught up, coming to a stop beside Lazarus. “Did he just?”
“Yeah.” He cringed as a voice within bellowed in surprise, a voice that was most decidedly not Eden.
The door flung open, and a woman leaned out. She was small with milky skin and long red hair. She looked out the open door with dark doe eyes that narrowed as they fell upon Lazarus and Zeke. Planting her hands on her hips, the woman widened her stance.
“Is that your dog?”
“Yeah,” Lazarus stammered, trying to come up with a plausible way Hades could have gotten into her room.
“Holy shit.” Zeke stepped forward. He looked like he had seen a ghost. “Mab?”
She gave him a strange look. “I know you?”
“Wait.” Lazarus frowned. “Mab? As in . . .”
“As in the woman I last saw unconscious in the vault? Yeah.”
The woman—Mab—crossed her arms. “You’re not with that bitch, are you?”
“Laurent?” Lazarus asked. “No! We’re with . . .”
“We’re with Eden!” Zeke finished.
She bristled. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Zeke echoed.
“And, if you’re here,” Lazarus began, “that means she . . .”
Looking them over, Mab sucked in a breath. She let it out with a long hiss and jerked her head back toward the room. “You guys better come inside.”
She parked them side by side on the end of the bed with Hades lounging behind them. Pacing the room, Mab listened as Lazarus relayed how they’d come across Eden back west and agreed to help her find her wayward friend. Zeke described going to Laurent’s manor, finding Mab in the vault and discovering she’d been sent to the Good Night. As they spoke, Mab seemed increasingly annoyed. Once Lazarus had finished, she blew out a breath and sunk onto the other bed.
“Eden,” Lazarus said. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow he’d already known. The moment she walked out that door—no, the moment he’d failed to follow—it had been too late. “She went back and got Laurent to trade her soul.”
“Damn.” Zeke bit his lip, taking a slow breath. “I can’t believe she actually did it.”
“Never underestimate what someone will do out of love,” Lazarus murmured.
Mab came to a stop in front of them. “Exactly. Love. That’s why I’m gonna get her back.”
He let loose a bitter chuckle. “And whose soul will it be this time? We can’t just play carousel, going around and around trading souls forever. Trust me. I’ve been there. I know the rules. There’s no way around it.”
Scowling, Mab crossed her arms. “We’re not trading shit. We’re going in there, and we’re gonna bring her out.”
“Impossible,” Lazarus shot back. “Not even a mage can touch the veil. I don’t know how, but Laurent must have a reaper on her payroll.”
“She does,” Mab replied, matter-of-factly. “Luckily, I’ve got some tricks of my own.” Brown eyes turning to the ceiling, she called out, “Pyke? You mind putting in an appearance?”
On the bed, Hades perked up as a man in a pristine black suit seemed to appear out of thin air. The hellhound went immaterial, launching himself off the bed to cloud around the man.
“Hey.” The man in the suit knelt down as Hades materialized, ruffling the ghostly hound’s ears. “I was starting to think you didn’t get my call.”
“Is that a—?” Zeke said, his eyes going wide.
Mab grinned. “My very own reaper? Yeah. Meet Pyke. And it seems you’ve had his hellhound. How’s that for fate?”
The reaper untangled himself from Hades, who hopped back on the bed. “This is a favor, not fate.” He turned to Lazarus and Zeke, a strange expression passing over his dark eyes. It vanished quickly.
“You’re the one Eden saw in her visions,” Lazarus realized.
Mab pulled a face. “Visions?”
“A few times,” Zeke offered. “She passed out, and all this weird light came out of her connection sigil. When she woke up, she said she could see glimpses. You in the Good Night”—he jerked a thumb at the reaper—“this guy with glowing red eyes.”
“Maintaining a connection through the veil is not a good idea,” Pyke said. “It’s far too easy for things to slip through.”
“Yeah,” Mab replied. “She came to see me. Twice. Didn’t know she saw the other shit.”
Pulling back the collar of her shirt, Mab revealed a heart-shaped tattoo, glowing red in time to what Lazarus presumed was Eden’s heart. His eyes felt stuck to the mark, watching the beat flicker on and off. It meant she was out there somewhere. Alive.
“All the more reason to retrieve this soul as soon as possible,” Pyke stated.
Zeke perked up. “And you can do that, right? We’ve got a chance?”
“Taking the soul is easy,” Pyke said. “The body is another matter. If I have nowhere to place her soul, she will become like a spirit, and that will be the end.”
Lazarus pushed to his feet, walking to the door and back. “Will Laurent keep her body like she kept yours?”
“I think the body is what she wants,” Mab revealed. “It makes sense, right? The souls go into Purgatory where they belong, but she keeps the bodies in the vault.”
“So, what?” Lazarus chewed his lip. “The souls are just a byproduct?”
Pyke shook his head. “Balance must always be maintained. For a reaper to take them, they must also set one free.”
“So,” Zeke drew out the word, “the reaper helping Josephine might be letting spirits loose on purpose.”
“Or they are placing them somewhere other than Purgatory,” the reaper finished. “Both of these possibilities are unsettling.”
“Look,” Mab spoke up. “I don’t give a shit about this mystery reaper or their motives. I just want to get Eden back.”
Lazarus glanced at Mab, trying to place her in his memory of Eden’s stories. He could picture them laughing together in an empty theater, eating popcorn, and watching old movies. He thought he understood it now, the urgency and the lengths Eden was willing to go to be reunited with Mab. Now it was his job, and Lazarus would see it to the end.
“So what do we do?” Zeke asked. “Storm the manor?”
Lazarus nodded at Pyke. “Can’t you get us in?”
The reaper shook his head. “I have tried. There is warding there that even a reaper cannot break. The knowledge was likely given by whoever is taking these souls.”
“They don’t want the other reapers to stumble across the place,” Lazarus realized.
“Indeed.”
“So”—Lazarus held up a finger—“all we’ve got to do is break into the manor, avoid the acolytes—”
“Thralls,” Mab said. “She’s a blood mage, remember? Their souls are gone, but the corpses are walking around like puppets while Laurent watches through their eyes.”
“Great.” Lazarus sucked in a breath. It wa
s a good thing they had a reaper on their side. “So we definitely avoid the thralls, and then we take down the wards in the vault. That all?”
“We’re still gonna need a soul to trade,” Mab said, shrugging apologetically. “And I’m thinking it’s gotta be Laurent’s.”
Eden opened her eyes.
She lay on her back beneath a black expanse that overflowed with glittering stars. Her breath slipped out in a cold cloud, eyes brimming with icy tears.
So this was it.
It was colder than she imagined, the air frozen and sharp. She could feel frost pricking her skin like a thousand tiny needles, but she didn’t feel cold. Mostly, she felt nothing.
Sitting up, Eden pulled back the collar of her shirt. For the first time in days, the connection sigil was dormant, nothing more than a heart-shaped tattoo inking into her pale flesh. “It worked,” she whispered. Mab was no longer in danger. She was free.
And now this.
The Good Night.
Eden scanned her surroundings. She expected to find herself in the same gray forest she had witnessed in her visions of Mab. But this place was different. There was no dark canopy, no twisting path or starlit clearings.
All she saw was sand.
Endless sand glittered silver in the light of a million stars. Like waves in a vast sea, the dunes rolled toward the horizon, meeting the dark sky in every direction.
Eden brushed the grit from her jeans and spun in a slow circle. Before, it had comforted her knowing where she would end up and that she might walk the same path as Mab. Now, she was unsure. She remembered Zeke saying this place appeared differently for everyone. That what a person saw was a reflection of her soul. What did it say about her that all she could see was nothing?
Lazarus told her a soul remained in Purgatory until it moved on. When she walked into Josephine Laurent’s manor to give up her soul, Eden had a plan. Staying here or, worse, becoming a ghost, held no appeal. She knew she belonged somewhere. She’d always known. Now she just needed to figure out how to get there.