Resurrection Road

by Hannah Marae

  The reaper’s eyes filled with white light, flashing so brightly Eden had to look away. A high-pitched squeal filled the basement, and the building shook around them. Louder and louder until it reached a crescendo.

  And then it stopped.

  Eden’s vision cleared, and she was back in the basement. Lazarus on the ground, his mother running down the stairs. The memory was over, looping back over itself in front of her eyes. At first, she was confused. She knew this story. He’d woken up to find his mother was gone, lost to the Good Night. Forever. Since that moment, he had been changed. If this was Lazarus’s memory, then why had it stopped?

  “Because it’s not his,” Eden realized as Lazarus’s mother bolted across the room and collapsed to her knees. “It’s hers.”

  “It was mine as well,” a sad voice echoed through her thoughts.

  Eden looked around as the memory cleared. The silver sands of the Memoriam reappeared. Her body seemed to unlock with a strange click, a supernatural weight lifted. She could move again. Eden quickly slipped out of the herd of souls to the valley’s edge, seeking the voice’s bearer.

  He stood at the bottom of the dune, the same reaper from the memory.

  Pyke.

  “You’re his—”

  “Don’t say it.” He held up a hand, sorrow painted on his face. “Especially here. One never knows who is listening, even in dark reaches such as these. Those words will set things into motion, things that he has no business being involved in.”

  Zeke said Lazarus had never known his father, that he’d died before he was even born. A hunting accident. A tragedy. All of that was a lie. “But how?”

  Pyke shrugged. “When a reaper loves a human . . .”

  Eden narrowed her eyes. “I see Lazarus didn’t get your sense of humor.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” He chuckled. “He got that from his mother as well. My Magdalene,” Pyke said, lips quirking in amusement. “They’ve all got names like that, the whole family. Never thought Lazarus would become so fitting for my—” He caught himself and went quiet. “Prophecy has a way of finding us whether we like it or not.”

  “What happened to her?” Eden asked. “Is she still in the Good Night?”

  Pyke shook his head. “Her time there was brief. My partner escorted her Above. Her soul lives on in Paradise.”

  “Your partner?”

  “The hound.”

  “Hades?” Eden’s eyes went wide. “Is that why he’s been following Lazarus and Zeke around all this time? Because of you?”

  Pyke shrugged. “He disapproved of me distancing myself and took it upon himself to play guardian. Until two days ago, I had not seen him since this night.”

  “What happened two days ago?”

  He smiled. “We’d better get going.” He turned on his heel, making his way up the shimmering dune.

  “Where are we going?” Eden rushed to catch up. “What are you even doing here? How did you find me?”

  Stopping, Pyke said, “I am here because of Mab. I’ve come to bring you back.”

  Mab. Of course. Eden should have known she could never leave it alone. Each of them would gladly spend an eternity in limbo if only to keep the other safe.

  “But the balance!”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  She crossed her arms. “If she’s trying to make a trade, you can just forget it. I don’t want anyone giving up their soul for me.”

  “Look around you. Nothing about this place is balanced. I will take care of it,” Pyke replied, more firmly. “We need to hurry.”

  “What about the others?” She looked over her shoulder at the army standing in their wake. “What will happen to them?”

  “Their flesh has long since passed. There is nowhere for them to go.”

  “The other reaper, he said they were fuel. Fuel for what?”

  Pyke chewed his lip, and in his pensive scowl, Eden could see Lazarus. “I will return to investigate this further. It might be possible to free these souls and place them in Purgatory. In the meantime, your friends are waiting.”

  She paused. “Friends? Like, friends plural?”

  With a wry smile, Pyke took her hand. “Come with me.”

  Lazarus watched Zeke’s eyes dilate, the whites going red as broken vessels flooded the sclera with blood.

  The shotgun dropped from slack fingers, clattering to the floor. His hands balled into fists then released, twitching as black talons sprouted from his nail beds. He heaved, chest convulsing as he breathed deeply. Then Zeke opened his mouth and smiled as a pair of fangs tore through his bloody gums.

  “Zeke?” It came out as a whisper—a question.

  The vampire snarled, launching himself over the barricade. Mab’s shots ceased, and the coyote beside her shifted back into Ignatius. In the middle of the throng, Zeke was a whirlwind. Talons ripped through flesh, sending sprays of red mist into the air. An inhuman shriek pierced through the room, and Lazarus couldn’t tell who it came from.

  His mind flashed to that night in the field. He saw Zeke pushed against the trailer by the newly born vampire, gritting his teeth as Lazarus buried his blade in its heart. He’d come away clutching his arm, blood dripping between his fingers. Just a scratch, Zeke had promised. Lazarus wondered if his cousin had really believed that or if he’d known all along.

  The thralls lashed out in unison, grabbing at Zeke with bloody fingers. The vampire wrenched away, a storm of talons and fangs and waterfalls of blood.

  It lasted a minute.

  It lasted an eternity.

  Then the last thrall fell, bloody and broken, to the floor. Zeke crouched among a bloody pile of bodies, shoulders tensed and head down, breath coming in quick, heaving gulps.

  The room was silent. No one knew what to do. Lazarus realized that he hadn’t fired a single shot, hadn’t done anything but stare dumbstruck at what was happening before his eyes. But, if ever there was a time for action, it was now. He knew what he had to do as a hunter and as a friend. Zeke had been turned. By all rights, he was a monster.

  Lazarus pictured himself reaching for his knife, rushing over and driving it into the vampire’s heart. He looked down, turning the blade around in his hand before letting go.

  The knife clattered against the floor.

  Taking a slow step forward, Lazarus reached out a steadying hand. “Zeke?”

  The vampire jerked, head whipping in Lazarus’s direction. He bared his bloody fangs in a warning, hunching low as if to strike, talons jagged lines into the cement floor.

  “Zeke.” Lazarus shook his head. “I know this feels like the end. Like there’s nothing left but this. It’s the bloodlust, right? Same as the new vamps in the field. But you’re different. You’ve always been different.” He laughed softly. “Because you’re you. This doesn’t change that.”

  He took another step, watching Zeke watch him move.

  Lazarus held out his arms. “Not a scratch on me. Not on the others either.” He jerked his head back to where Mab and Ignatius stood watching. “Because you’re not like them, Zeke. You’re strong. And I think you know that.

  “This is not how it ends.”

  Zeke stared at him for a long moment, his eyes wavering, talons twitching like he was itching to attack. But then the red in his eyes cleared, talons withdrawing, fangs retreating back beneath his gums.

  “Laz?” Zeke was shaking, his eyes glassy. He took a slow look around him, brows furrowed in disbelief. “Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He sunk to his knees, arms wrapped around himself.

  Rushing over, Lazarus knelt down. He placed one hand on each of Zeke’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. You’ve followed my ass around for five years, you’re not stopping now.”

  Zeke let out a bitter chuckle, reaching up to wipe at his bloody face. “I didn’t know. I promise you, Laz, I didn’t know.”

  “I know. It’s fine. We’re gonna figure this out.” And he meant it too. Lazarus wo
uld tear this world apart for Zeke, and that wasn’t going to change. They’d figure it out together.

  “Listen,” Mab drawled. “I don’t mean to interrupt this heart-to-heart, but we should probably be thinking about some sort of plan.”

  Ignatius nodded solemnly. “Whether it’s more of them,” he indicated the thralls piled around the room, “or the blood mage, someone will be coming.”

  “And I don’t think we can count on Dracula here to bail us out next time,” Mab retorted.

  Zeke climbed shakily to his feet, leaning on Lazarus for support. “Yeah, I gotta go take a nap in my coffin. See you in a decade.”

  Lazarus went to the platform where Eden slept. Gently, he wiped away a few drops of blood that had splattered against her cheek. “What are we going to do?”

  “Well”—Mab crossed her arms—“now that the coast is clear, we could grab her and make a break for the front door. Pyke can find us when he’s ready.”

  “If he finds her,” Lazarus said. He couldn’t accept the fact that this could end any other way.

  Mab gave him a look of understanding. “When he finds her.”

  Lazarus turned back to the platform to find the reaper standing on the other side. “Pyke. Did you do it? Did you find . . .”

  The reaper gave him a funny look. “Yes. I have found her. She is well.”

  Pushing forward, Mab said, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

  “He needs a soul.” Lazarus looked around the room. The plan was to use Laurent, but he didn’t think that was possible now. If they were going to bring Eden back, someone would have to make a trade. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “I do not need a soul,” Pyke interrupted. “Not this time.”

  “But the Good Night needs balance.” Mab mocked the reaper’s deep voice. “That’s all you freaking talk about.”

  Pyke nodded. “That would be true if she were in Purgatory, but the place she was sent is not a place of balance. And I have no interest in sending another soul there.”

  Goosebumps pricked Lazarus’s arms. Not in Purgatory? But if Eden wasn’t in the Good Night, then where was she?

  Pyke continued. “She is ready. I will guide her across the veil, and it will be finished.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, slowly, purposefully, like someone taking an evening stroll. The air took on a strange vibration, pressure mounting, buzzing in waves.

  Josephine was a blood mage, he remembered.

  Lazarus looked around him. All he could see was red.

  The spilled blood of the thralls shot upward, gathered into small, glistening orbs.

  “She’s coming,” Mab whispered, her eyes wide with fear. She turned to Pyke. “Do it now!”

  The reaper placed his hand on Eden’s forehead, and a high-pitched whine filled the room. Josephine Laurent came stalking around the corner, her knowing smirk going to rage as she spotted the reaper. She raised a white hand.

  “Get to cover!” Mab yelled.

  Lazarus dove behind the nearest platform as the blood orbs collapsed into a thousand needles. With a flick of her wrist, Josephine sent them shooting toward the reaper. Hades collapsed into smoke, hovering in the air to shield his master. The blood magic sent angry coils of red through his form—a pained yip echoing through the room.

  Growling in frustration, Laurent ceased the attack. She looked around and grinned, raising her hands high. The room began to shake, the sound of thunder cracking overhead. Lazarus watched as the blood on the floor around them seemed to withdraw, seeping back into the thralls’ broken bodies.

  One by one, they began to stand, stumbling on shredded limbs, eyes glazed crimson. Lazarus reached over the edge of the platform, firing a shot at the nearest thrall. Mab and Ignatius followed, but it wasn’t enough. They kept coming, regardless of pain or injury. There was no place to run. No retreat. Nothing to do but last as long as they could manage. As long as it took for Pyke to bring her back.

  Across the room, Laurent laughed and drew up a spear of blood. And then it was hurtling toward him. Lazarus flinched, but Hades was there, the cloud of smoke erupting into nothing.

  The room rocked, the piercing whine growing louder and louder until Lazarus could feel it vibrating in his bones.

  He ducked to reload, fumbling as the room shook around him. Even if Pyke could get Eden through the veil, they were never getting out in time. The mage was unstoppable, cackling as she sent wave after wave of bloody spears overhead. Thralls were shambling closer. Zeke looked shell-shocked beside Mab and, nearby, Ignatius swore as his pistol clicked empty.

  Lazarus closed his eyes. He had always known he’d go out fighting, he just never knew what—who—he’d be fighting for. If this was the end, then he decided right now that it was worth it. He looked to the platform, to ready himself for what was coming. To remind himself what it was like to care.

  On the platform, the mage took a breath and opened her eyes. Then she turned, tilting her head, eyes searching. The thunder faded into the background, the shaking room seemed to steady. Spears of blood flashed above his head, but all Lazarus could do was stare as her eyes met his own.

  And then she smiled.

  Black smoke separated them, growing to fill the room. A strong wind whipped through his hair, and a crack sounded somewhere in the distance. The smoke swirled around him, and through it, Lazarus could see everything he cared about. Everything he’d ever wanted.

  Then the storm ceased, smoke withdrawing to coalesce back into a happy black dog perched on an unmade bed.

  Lazarus looked around at walls covered in kitschy paintings. Across from him, Pyke set Eden down on the bed. Ignatius emerged from the bathroom, and Zeke popped out of the closet, covered in coat hangers. Mab let out a squeal and ran to the bed, hopping on to grab the mage in her arms.

  The motel. They were back in the motel.

  Somehow, they had actually done it.

  They had won.

  “This honestly might be the most fucked up thing that’s ever happened to me,” Mab drawled.

  Eden sighed and rested her hands on her knees. They sat on the top of the stairs leading down to the parking lot. Below, Lazarus and Zeke sat on the truck’s open tailgate. She could only imagine what they were talking about, but she had a feeling their conversations were following similar lines.

  It had only been an hour since Hades brought them back to the motel room. Pyke was already gone, taking the hellhound with him. Back in the room, Ignatius snored in bed, exhausted after shifting so many times. They’d have to move on before too long. Already, Eden was itching to leave, to get as far away from this place as she could.

  But, for now, she was grateful for the quiet moment.

  “I hated to see you like that, Mab,” Eden said. “You were there but not really there. Just a husk. And then, there in the Good Night, you were you, but you were different. The last time I saw you, I knew there wasn’t much time left.”

  “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.” Mab shook her head. “Goddammit, Eden, I’m still a little mad at you. I don’t know what you were thinking, going after me like that. I’m the one who saves your ass, remember?”

  Eden raised a brow. “Really? You called me in the middle of the night begging for help.”

  “I don’t beg,” Mab retorted. “And I didn’t know the bitch was about to take my soul. If I did, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. All I wanted was to say goodbye, to hear your voice one last time. God, don’t make me get sappy, Edie. I fucking hate it.”

  “Stop, you love it.” Eden nudged her with an elbow. “And the sigil still would’ve lit up whether you called or not. I still would have looked for you. Besides, you would do the same for me and you know it.”

  Mab put a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Then I guess we better call it a truce. No more getting into trouble.”

  “I’ve had enough trouble to last a lifetime,” Eden replied honestly.

  Mab wrapped an arm around her, and Eden
leaned her head against her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she breathed out a happy sigh, like all the tension of the past few days—the past year, really—was leaving her body. They were okay, the two of them, together again and mostly safe. It was all she could have hoped for.

  Still, her time in the Memoriam weighed on her, lurking beneath the surface. Every time Eden closed her eyes, she imagined she could still see them. The memories in the sand. They flashed before her eyes like a vivid dream, one that refused to fade. Worse was the image of the army of souls in the valley of sand. She could still hear the reaper’s words, ringing out as clear as if he were speaking in her ear.

  Fuel. For what is to come.

  She’d shared all this with the others in the minutes following their escape. Pyke promised he would look into it. Free those souls. Maybe that was what he was doing now. She tried to take comfort in the thought of him and Hades banding together to free all the people Josephine had hidden away. In a way, that was exactly what Lazarus did. The spirits he captured in glass were lost souls and, in freeing them, he sent them home. It was beautiful in a way she could never have imagined.

  Below, the rising sun bathed Zeke and Lazarus in warm light. Eden watched them, taking in Zeke’s dark curls, tracing the lines of Lazarus’s back. Pyke was his father and he had no idea. What did it even mean? Was he some sort of hybrid, half-human and half-reaper? She wondered if he felt he was different, if he wondered if there was something strange about himself that he couldn’t explain.

  More than anything, Eden wanted to tell him. Lazarus deserved to know the truth. She believed that. But Pyke’s warning stuck in her mind. Those words would set things into motion, he’d said, things that Lazarus had no business being involved in. That scared her. All of it. The Good Night. The Memoriam. Reapers. She’d had her fill. Eden trusted Pyke’s warning, but how could she possibly keep something like this from Lazarus?