Dance of the Dead (The DeathSpeaker Codex)

by Sonya Bateman

  “Will do.” I didn’t smoke, but I had a pack of bar matches on me somewhere. I figured I’d tuck the thumb bone into the book before I burned it, just so there weren’t any bits of Zoria lying around.

  Thank you.

  I looked at the sky — clear and cold, free of impending demons. “Did we really save the world here?” I said.

  No, we didn’t. I sensed her smiling. You did.

  “Great. I think I’ll put that on my resume.” I smiled back, even though she couldn’t see it. “Well, I’d better get moving and try Abe. By now he’ll know I never showed up at the morgue, and he’s probably tracked down my van. He’s gonna kill me when he finds out I’m not dead.”

  I believe it’s time for me to go, too. There was a wistful tone in her whispered words. I’m glad to have met you, Gideon.

  “Same here,” I said. “Goodbye, Zoria.”

  Goodbye, DeathSpeaker.

  For a while after the pain in my head eased, I had a lump in my throat to replace it.

  Zoria was right about the western shore. I had almost a full bar of service standing at the rail of a crumbling concrete barrier, looking at the familiar Manhattan skyline and its ghostly reflection in the river as I waited for Abe to pick up.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Where the hell are you, kid?” he answered after a ring and a half.

  “Do you want the sarcastic answer, or the real one?”

  “Guess.”

  “North Brother Island.”

  That silenced him. Finally, he said, “So what’s the real answer?”

  “That is the real one,” I said. “I think I can see your house from here, actually.”

  “Gideon.” He managed to sound worried, relieved and angry all at once. “You’re not kidding, are you?” he said. “How in the name of Jesus Q. Christ did you get to North Brother Island?”

  “I’d tell you, but that’d only make you worry more.”

  “Too late.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m fine,” I said. “Just calling in a citizen’s arrest. Did I tell you that I’ve always wanted to do that?”

  “You did not do a citizen’s arrest.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly tell him I was arresting him. I just chained him to a tree.”

  “Who? Gideon, you’d better start explaining this shit right now, or—”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” I couldn’t help grinning, just a little. “Here’s the short version. I’ve got five bodies and one live murderer-slash-corpse-thief here, and we all need a lift across the river. Bring helicopters. I’ll give you the long version when you get here.”

  Abe let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s a good thing I trust you, kid, or I’d think you were crazy.”

  “Yeah, you don’t have to think that. You already know.”

  “North Brother Island,” he muttered. “I can’t wait to hear this one. Hang tight — and for Christ’s sake, don’t arrest anyone else until I get there. That’s my job.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want your job.” I smiled. “Thanks, Abe.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for not getting yourself killed.”

  “Any time. See you soon.”

  I ended the call and took a minute to breathe. Up until now, I’d thought the insanity would be mostly over when we beat Milus Dei. Sure, I had to deal with the fact that I wasn’t human, and with knowing the things that had always belonged in fairy tales and nightmares were actually walking around with the rest of us. But I figured I’d have time to adjust to all that.

  Except I wasn’t just any Other. I was the DeathSpeaker — and it scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t crawl back under the radar and pretend none of this happened. Not when I could change things for the better, and maybe save the world sometimes.

  I had a feeling life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

  Thanks for reading!

  If you enjoyed DANCE OF THE DEAD, please consider leaving a review on Amazon to share your thoughts. Reviews are a great way to help other readers find new books and new authors to enjoy.

  You can also join my mailing list to be among the first notified when new releases are available, as well as receive information about book sales, giveaways, and special offers.

  More books by Sonya Bateman

  THE DEATHSPEAKER CODEX series page

  THE CURSING STONES (Avalon Rising, book 1) – read on for a preview!

  IN THE SHADOW OF DRAGONS

  The Gavyn Donatti series:

  MASTER OF NONE

  MASTER AND APPRENTICE

  About the Author

  Sonya Bateman lives in “scenic” Central New York, with its two glorious seasons: winter and road construction. She is the author of the Gavyn Donatti urban fantasy series (Master of None / Master and Apprentice) from Simon & Schuster, and the House Phoenix thriller series. Under the pseudonym S.W. Vaughn, she’s the author of the Skin Deep paranormal M/M erotic romance series.

  Contact her at sonyabateman.author@gmail.com, or like and post to her page on Facebook.

  Preview: The Cursing Stones

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  Home is where the monsters are…

  Rhiannon 'Rain' Finlay sucks at being a druid. Her gift of communicating with animals works just fine, but she doesn't know a Thurisaz rune from a Wunjo, and she can't even cast a circle of protection without a cheat sheet. That's why she decided to leave her tiny village on the Isle of Parthas, North Sea, for a normal non-magical life halfway around the world.

  But when her beloved grandfather disappears along with a handful of villagers, she's forced to return home and use her gift -- and her crappy druid magic -- to help them. Unfortunately, she's not exactly prepared to face the very real monsters that are popping up all over, from mutant spiders to banshees, black dogs ... and worse.

  That's when she learns all the crazy stories her father told her growing up, about the old deserted castle on the island having belonged to King Arthur, might not be so crazy after all.

  The legends are real. They're returning to Parthas.

  And they have unfinished business with Rain Finlay.

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  1. Isle of Parthas; North Sea — Ogham Wood

  A quarter moon in a clear night sky did little to illuminate the woods, and the penlight he’d brought along wasn’t much brighter, but Danny MacCallan pressed on. He couldn’t risk a lot of light out here — not if he meant to find out what the druids were doing.

  Someone had to stop them.

  Strange things had been happening in the village lately. Unusual weather, tide changes, charms and lucky objects gone missing. And then yesterday, one of his spring lambs had been mutilated. Left in bloody bits all over the meadow. His da’ had started muttering darkly about the druids and the approach of the summer solstice, but he wouldn’t do anything about it.

  Well, Danny wasn’t about to stand by and watch more of their flock slaughtered. Whatever they were up to, it was going to end.

  He’d never understood why most everyone in the village still feared the druids. If there’d been an age of magic, it was long over. Technology ruled the world now — even this island, where the old ways had endured in some form for centuries, had cell phone towers and Internet access. The druid clan still inhabited the forest, but they’d stopped interacting with the village years ago, after that business with the female druid who’d run the apothecary. Closed up shop and withdrew, turned away anyone who came seeking their brand of help.

  But it seemed they had a few tricks left in them yet. A bit of magic up their creepy, robed sleeves. It was high time for the druids to fade away with the rest of the old world and make way for the new.

  Danny hadn’t told anyone his plans. He’d been sure he could find the clearing where they met to cast their spells, the nearly perfect circle in the center of the oak grove. But he’d been walking more than half an hour now and hadn’t come across the grove. It should have b
een much closer to the border of the woods.

  He considered whistling to fill the silence, despite the endless childhood warnings from his mum about how whistling through the wood was an invitation for the faeries to snatch him. It was one thing to believe the druids had some small measure of power, which they’d proven in the past, and another entirely to think the Fair Folk were real. So whistling should’ve been fine. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it — just in case the faeries had other ideas about whether they existed.

  At last, he saw something ahead through the trees. A faint, pulsing glow. He switched off the penlight and crept toward it, certain he’d found some druid ritual he could put a stop to. And he would.

  Danny MacCallan, village hero. It had a nice ring.

  The closer he got, the stronger the light. Gradually he realized that it was like no light he’d ever seen. It shimmered with every color, including some he couldn’t quite name — and focusing on those non-colors made his eyes water and his head swim.

  Finally he was close enough to see the clearing, but this wasn’t the oak grove. And there were no druids. In fact, there was nothing but the light, hovering in midair at the center of a rough circle of stones. Like a rip in reality.

  As he stared, mesmerized, he saw shadows shifting within the light. Fast and fleeting, but moving with apparent purpose. Then one of the shadows stopped and something started to emerge from the shimmering rip. A leg, followed by another leg.

  Then another. And another.

  Danny tried to back away, but his feet refused to obey. All four legs were attached to the same torso. So were all four arms. There was a face made of nightmares, covered in blotched and bristling skin. Glittering red eyes the size of softballs. For an instant the light threw the creature into stark silhouette — and then the glowing swath winked out entirely, like a candle flame snuffed in the wind.

  But the creature remained.

  It advanced with soft chittering sounds that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. With monumental effort, Danny pivoted and ran, thinking stupidly that his da’ had been wrong. That was no druid.

  The creature was on him in a heartbeat. His last sight was black, writhing lips surrounding the stained ivory fangs that descended toward his throat.

  2. Amherst College Campus; Massachusetts, USA – One Week Later

  The next time her roommate suggested a double blind date, Rain Finlay intended to turn her into a toad. Well, maybe not an actual toad. But Steffie was definitely going to be on laundry duty for a month after this fiasco.

  “So that happened in freshman year,” Rain’s so-called date, Martin, was saying. “And no one’s broken our record yet. One full keg in twenty minutes. Except I beat Luke by like five seconds.”

  Luke, who was Steffie’s date, scowled. “Because you cheated. You distracted me.”

  “Hey, I said there were naked cheerleaders. Is it my fault you believed that crap?”

  Rain rolled her eyes in Steffie’s direction. “We have to use the ladies’,” she said.

  “The ladies’?” Martin said, grinning. “Your accent is hot. You’re British, right?”

  “Wrong.” Okay, she changed her mind. She’d turn Martin into a toad. “Coming along, roomie?”

  “Um. Yeah.” Steffie slid off the bar stool, sending a purse-lipped glance at Luke. “You guys … order another round or something. But skip the cheerleaders, huh?”

  Martin let out a grating laugh. “Hey, maybe later we can roleplay,” he said. “I dig pompoms.”

  Rain couldn’t march Steffie away fast enough.

  When they were out of earshot, her roommate sighed. “I know, I know,” she said. “They’re giant douchebags. But in my defense, they are DG.”

  “And that’d be…?”

  “Delta Gamma. You know, the fraternity?” Steffie looked at her feet. “Er, one of the small ones. I think they’re off campus.”

  Rain smirked. “Way off.”

  “Okay, so how do we ditch them?”

  “Throw some cheerleaders and run.”

  Steffie laughed as she followed Rain toward the restrooms at the back. “Looks like you and me will have to celebrate alone,” she said. “One more year down.”

  “One more to go.” Rain smiled at the thought of tomorrow, the first day of summer break. Third-year sociology had been the hardest yet, and she was looking forward to temporary freedom from classes and papers and research and studying. Not that she was leaving campus — she had nowhere else to go. But at least Steffie would be here with her. “You still taking those summer courses?” she said.

  “Yup. I need to pass a math, and summer’s the only time they have that elective I want. Modern cinema.”

  “You mean it’s the only time Professor Lyons is teaching modern cinema.”

  “Well, there is that,” Steffie said with a grin.

  Rain stopped in front of the restroom door and looked back toward the bar. The two buffoons they’d brought were chatting up a couple of blondes, showing off their fraternity pins. “You know, I don’t think they’ll miss us if we slip out the back door now,” she said.

  “Good, but I really do have to pee. You?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll wait here.”

  Steffie went into the bathroom, and Rain leaned against the tiled wall to close her eyes for a moment. She was more tired than she thought. She’d been having dreams lately — disturbing, half-remembered, the kind she should probably worry about. Dreams that weren’t the normal, harmless variety.

  But she was well out of it. Had been for years. If something was happening in the place she’d left behind, it wasn’t her concern anymore.

  She’d nearly fallen asleep standing up when her phone buzzed.

  Even as she decided not to answer it, she was pulling the phone from her pocket. The screen showed no name, and the displayed number was a long string of zeros. Not suspicious at all. But she felt compelled to take the call — and it unnerved her, because the feeling wasn’t new. And it wasn’t natural.

  She thumbed Accept despite her best attempt not to. “Hello?”

  “Rhiannon.”

  The single word brought a flood of memories she didn’t want. No one had called her that since she left the island — and the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to the reason she’d left. The reason she’d never go back. “I’m busy,” she said in her coldest tone. “I don’t know how you got this number, but lose it. And don’t ever Compel me again.”

  “Yer Poppy’s been taken.”

  Her stomach clenched. Leave it to her father to be painfully blunt, yet impossibly vague. There wasn’t a subtle bone in Lachlan Finlay’s body. “Taken,” she repeated.

  “Him and three others from the village. It started a week ago.”

  “What started?” she said. “Taken where?”

  “I knew that, I wouldn’t call ye.”

  She let out a long, careful sigh. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Come home. Find them.”

  “No.” She said it reflexively, but her resolve had already cracked a bit the instant he mentioned Poppy. Her grandfather, Ewan Tavish, wasn’t the most powerful druid — and that was probably part of the reason she loved him the most. Leaving him had been painful. The rest of the clan, not so much. “Who took him?”

  “Not who,” her father said. “What.”

  “This again? They’re not real—”

  “Ain’t them. Something else.”

  “So what, a wild animal?” She really wasn’t in the mood for her father’s mystic babbling about faeries and witches and black dogs and King Arthur, and other things that didn’t exist. “Look, maybe Poppy just left,” she said. “Or if it was an animal, he’s probably … done for.”

  “Rhiannon Dawn, ye know that’s not possible.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Ye do. Can’t run from that, girl.”

  She sighed again — this time because he was right. Even halfway a
round the world, she would’ve sensed it if one of the clan died. Especially Poppy. And the dreams she’d been having weren’t of death.

  They were omens. She’d known that for weeks, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “So it’s settled then,” her father said.

  “Wait a minute. Let me repeat — what am I supposed to do?”

  “Use yer gift. We’ve already talked to all the humans.”

  Great. Her father wanted her to drop her entire life and travel a few thousand miles to a place she never wanted to set foot in again, so she could interrogate a bunch of sheep and cows. Maybe a raven or two for good measure. “Glynis has the same gift,” she said. “Why didn’t you get her to do it?”

  “Not as good as you. Besides, she’s gone.”

  “Did she get taken too?”

  “No. She’s left the order.”

  She shivered. Glynis had been a friend. She’d run the apothecary, selling herbs and potions and other friendly magic to the villagers. Rain had worked with her there for almost a year before the relationship with her father completely fractured, and she had to leave or go crazy.

  Glynis was absolutely committed to the life, the customs and rituals and spell work. She lived and breathed the clan. Loved helping people with magic. Rain couldn’t imagine anything that would make her leave. “What happened?” she said.

  “Never mind that,” her father said sharply. “Come home. Before it’s too late.”

  And then he was gone.

  The old rage filled her, and it was all she could do not to smash the phone. He was still doing it — commanding and manipulating her, treating her like an idiot child, refusing to explain himself or anything else. But the anger drained just as quickly, because Poppy really was in trouble. She couldn’t deny that. Her father never would have called if he wasn’t desperate.

  She had to save Poppy, and she couldn’t do it from here.