Drop Dead (Tess Skye Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  I can almost smell the pages. That’s when I remember, at the bottom of the magical creatures encounters field manual.

  Do not engage. If cornered, shoot for the soft spot in the throat. Only the most skilled marksmen should attempt this maneuver.

  I pop out from behind the cot. Squeeze the trigger.

  The bullet glances off the beast’s hardened carapace. The golem roars in anger, his arms igniting in a roaring blaze. A fireball sparkles at his fingertips. The smoke coming off it is thick and noxious.

  We stare each other down, caught in a Mexican standoff. The floor rumbles as he takes another step closer. It feels like an earthquake is about to bring down the entire building.

  “Do not do it, human.”

  I smirk. “Better not miss.”

  The flame hisses as it hurtles through the air.

  The revolver barks. The golem gargles.

  Then his neck explodes in a spew of hot, gooey lava.

  Time itself seems to stop as I duck. The fireball tears over my right shoulder, searing the skin.

  Then it slams into the wall, sending a shower of fiery drywall chunks raining down around us.

  “Well, he’s pretty fucking dead,” I say and pump my fist.

  But no one shares in my victory celebration.

  When I turn around, I realize why. Finn is holding Miranda in the corner, whispering in her ear. Her eyes are barely open. The horn-rimmed glasses are bent and cracked.

  My own gaze is drawn toward the front of the shop by pounding footsteps outside the ruined door. Dom Rillo didn’t want to leave things up to chance—or a single pyre golem.

  There’s backup.

  Javy’s words echo in my ears: they’ll never let you out of their sight if they catch you again.

  This time, I’ll be true to my word. I’ll die before I work with Dom Rillo again.

  Which leaves me with one option.

  Nail his ass to the wall.

  “Go,” she says. “Out the back.” With a groan and some help from Finn, she reaches up and traces a sigil over a low-hanging Jimi Hendrix poster with her finger. A green glow pulses. And then the poster—and the entire damn wall—vanishes, replaced by a passageway that travels deep underground.

  I grab my blood sample and the ward-breakers.

  “Fuck that,” I say. “We’re not leaving you.”

  Miranda coughs, then gives me her friendliest smile to date—even going back over the past year, which I can now remember. “Good. Because I’m the only one who knows how to navigate the tunnels, dear.”

  Twenty

  Finn and I help Miranda limp into the pitch-black tunnel. I’m carrying her shotgun in one hand and propping her shoulder up with the other. He’s got the flashlight on his cellphone turned on. The hallway is cramped, unfinished, and musty. Dirt that hasn’t seen the light of day in years crumbles as I brush along the narrow walls.

  Shouts filter through from the burning thrift shop. The cavalry has arrived.

  Unfortunately for us, it’s Dom Rillo’s cavalry.

  “Please tell me there’s a way to close this,” I say.

  Miranda mumbles something that I think resembles Latin.

  Nothing moves.

  I say, “Uh, maybe a little louder.”

  “Close the fucking door,” she rasps out. Then her head slumps forward as she passes out from the exertion.

  Behind us, the magical guard spell seals off the exit, cloaking our escape.

  Definitely not Latin or the magical incantation I had in mind, but it wins points for being straight to the point.

  The tunnel narrows further, forcing me to take point. Finn shoulders all of Miranda’s weight. That’s the best division of labor since I’m still a bit wobbly myself from the psychedelic tea.

  “You okay, Gram?” Finn’s voice echoes endlessly off the tight walls.

  No answer.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Never seen her like this.”

  “Where’s the exit to this thing?”

  “Never been down here,” Finn says.

  I keep plunging ahead into the darkness until a faint gust brushes through my hair.

  “Feel that?” I call back. “Wind. Gotta be close.”

  “I guess,” Finn says. “I couldn’t tell you worth shit.”

  “Points for honesty.” I hold the shotgun tighter. Firing it in these tunnels would be a good way to catch a bunch of shrapnel from a ricochet. Not to mention permanently blow out your eardrums. But it still feels like clutching a life preserver in a choppy sea.

  The breeze intensifies as I press onward.

  Then the toe of my shoe hits against a baseboard just before my knee collides with solid concrete.

  “Son of a bitch.” I reach out and feel for a lock, a latch, anything that I can open. The breeze is coming from this direction, but it’s nothing but a dead end. I keep pressing against it, searching for a way to get past, but find nothing.

  A slow panic swells in my chest, tightening like a boa constrictor around my sternum.

  “What do you see up there?” Finn asks.

  “Nothing.” I pull out my phone, but the battery’s finally given up the ghost. Can’t blame it; if this is its swan song, it had one hell of a life and was a real trooper.

  “Take the light.” Finn awkwardly hands me the phone over Miranda’s shoulder.

  Illumination blooms across the wall as I sweep the flashlight over what looks like solid concrete.

  “Your battery’s almost shot.” I eye the dwindling icon in the corner of the screen.

  “Then I guess we’d better hurry,” Finn says.

  I press my nose up almost to the wall to inspect things as I perform a second pass with the light.

  No markings.

  No secret keyholes.

  I rap my knuckles against the concrete.

  A dull thud. Sturdy as hell.

  But the breeze is still coming from this direction. So there’s something behind it.

  “Care to chime in, Miranda?” The old woman is leaning against my back, cheek smooshed into the folds of my tank top. I shake her gently. “Hey, you awake?”

  There’s a faint breath on my neck, but no response.

  Not going to get much help here.

  Finn says with worry in his voice, “She’s out. I can’t wake her up.”

  There is one thing I can try. “Open the fucking door.”

  I wait.

  Nothing moves.

  Finn snorts. “That was wishful thinking.”

  “Worth a shot.”

  “This could just be a bunker,” Finn says. “A place to hunker down and wait out the storm.”

  “More like a tomb.” The phone’s battery indicator blinks, indicating it’s dropped to 10%.

  I turn off the flashlight to conserve the remaining juice.

  The ensuing darkness is all-encompassing and absolute. The type of inky black that seeps into your soul, makes you think that you’re nothing but a wraith passing through empty space, rather than a human with an actual body.

  “Miranda never mentioned anything about this tunnel?”

  “No.”

  “You worked in this damn shop.”

  “Part time.” Finn shoots back in the dark.

  “Should’ve spent less time smoking weed in the back and more time asking about special magical features.”

  Finn’s chuckles bounce off the closed interior. It brings a little warmth to the cramped corridor. “That probably would’ve been helpful right about now.”

  My fingertips trace over the rough concrete. I’d give up, sit down, and accept that it was a wall if it wasn’t for the breeze. But if there’s a chance it’s not, then I can’t just wait things out.

  And besides: Miranda herself said we’d need her help navigating the tunnels. A dead-end isn’t much to navigate around.

  “If it’s an actual bunker why not make it an actual damn bunker,” I say. “Not a three-foot-wide gauntlet.”


  “The support beams look pretty old. Civil War-era, maybe.”

  “Didn’t know you were such an architecture history buff,” I say.

  “Passageways for magical beings were common before the Great Reveal,” Finn says. “Allowed for a quick escape if someone discovered them and came hunting.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “The Big Zipper has been in the family for a couple hundred years. Used to be a general store, turned into more of a thrift shop through the generations.”

  “Is she a Navigator, too?” I pick at a concrete burr in the wall with my nail.

  “No. Gram’s all human. But her family’s always been involved in magic-related affairs.”

  A loud thud above us interrupts our discussion. Dust sprinkles from the ceiling, showering my hair with dirty grit.

  Hunkering down and hoping for the best is no longer an option.

  “They’re gonna tear this place apart brick-by-brick,” I say. “So spit out whatever you’re thinking.”

  “Simple spells were much more common in those days. The world becomes more complex and advanced. Magic is no different among skilled practitioners. In the absence of transparency, it was difficult to trade secrets with others. Knowledge was slow to get passed along.”

  “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”

  “I’m not braindead, Tess.”

  “All I remember you is flirting with me and trying to pick up chicks,” I say.

  “Girls love this shit.”

  “I think they like those eyes,” I say. “And ignore everything coming out of your mouth.”

  “Whatever works,” Finn says. “Either way, I think this is some sort of simple illusion spell.”

  “Meaning the wall’s fake.”

  “Bingo,” Finn says. “Give me my phone back.”

  I hand it to him.

  A wave of relief washes over me.

  But it’s temporary as debris rains down from the low ceiling. A chunk of plaster hits me in the head.

  My initial hope starts spiraling into doomsday scenarios. Dispelling the illusion still demands some level of skill. Or the correct incantations.

  Skills or incantations that, as far as I can tell, neither Finn nor I possess.

  There’s a long silence punctuated by more thuds from above.

  “They’re ripping the place apart,” I say. “Don’t think we have much time left.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  I nudge Miranda gently. “Hey, if you’re in there, now’s a good time to cast a spell or something.”

  She remains basically out on her feet, however, and says nothing.

  Finn is flicking through his phone like a madman. But whoever’s after us isn’t resting on their laurels. A loud scraping noise replaces the thuds.

  “They’re moving something.”

  “Uh-huh,” Finn says, lost deep in thought.

  The scraping stops.

  Maybe just a piece of furniture being moved. A cabinet, the cot. I delude myself into believing that fantasy for a moment longer.

  Until the entire corridor starts rattling like we’ve suddenly boarded a cruise ship in the middle of a Cat 5 hurricane.

  My teeth chatter as I brace myself against the wall. A jackhammer pounds away at the ceiling above us.

  “F-finn.”

  “On i-it,” he says, still buried in his phone.

  The noise intensifies as the drill burrows deeper.

  “H-how do they know where to l-look?” My abs tense as I try to maintain balance and help prop up Miranda.

  “I don’t think they do,” Finn says. “They just know we can’t disappear into thin air.”

  At any moment, I’m sure a diamond studded jackhammer tip will plunge through the ceiling and rip through my skull.

  My knees smash together. Nausea rolls through my body like tidal waves.

  One moment Miranda is leaning against my back, then the next we’re tumbling in slow motion to the dirt floor.

  She hits the ground first with a solid thud, Finn unable to catch her with the sudden change in weight. I follow suit, crumpling in a heap.

  Finn checks on his grandmother. I’m too tired to move. I just sit there as the tunnel quakes. The rhythmic buzz is almost relaxing.

  “Gram. Hey, Gram, can you hear me?” He’s shaking her.

  No response. The ceiling is shaking violently.

  A crazy thought flashes through my mind. I dismiss it out of hand, but then dirt cascades down the wall, sending me into a coughing fit, and I reconsider.

  “You have a knife?” I ask.

  “I grabbed Gram’s hunting knife off the floor,” Finn says. “Been in the family for generations.”

  “Give it to me.” I hold my hand out. “Handle first, please.”

  Finn picks up his cellphone, and a ghostly glow illuminates the space over Miranda. Cautiously, he outstretches the knife handle first.

  I take it from him. I hold it over my forearm.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Throwing a Hail Mary.” Carter bit me while on death’s door, and the Vitalysm in my bloodstream turned him into a supercharged monster. Judging from my reaction to it, it doesn’t have the same effect on humans. My abilities differ being a Soulwalker, but for all intents and purposes my physiology is the same as a garden variety human’s.

  Then I slice. Blood drips down, and I hold it over Miranda’s mouth.

  She moans, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Have you lost it?”

  “It’s got the serum in it,” I say, squeezing my skin so the blood drips faster. “Might bring her back.”

  She mumbles some words.

  A faint light appears on the wall, glowing yellow.

  “What’d she say?” I ask, suddenly energized. I squeeze tighter to increase the blood flow. “Keep doing that.”

  “Gram,” Finn says. “Don’t push too hard.”

  She mumbles something again, but doesn’t get up. The glow gets stronger. A sigil starts pulsing on the wall.

  “She’s unlocking it,” I say.

  The murmuring continues.

  Another chunk of plaster crashes into the cramped space. I squint as a sliver of light cuts through the darkness, shining through the crack like sun through a magnifying glass.

  The jackhammer stops thudding. Excited shouts trickle in from above.

  “Better hurry,” I say.

  “Don’t push her,” Finn says.

  “I think we’re all gonna be dead if she doesn’t.”

  “It’s okay, Finnegan.” The voice is resolute. Then she strongly recites the incantations.

  A fierce glow washes over the tunnel, so bright that I have to shield my eyes. Then the concrete wall dissolves in a burst of white light.

  The passageway continues, the breeze whipping through my hair.

  “Hell of an illusion spell,” I say.

  Miranda coughs and weakly wipes at her mouth. “What is that foul taste?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I withdraw my arm. “What spell is that?”

  “It’s a barrier illusion, dear,” Miranda says as Finn and I help her to her feet. “The actual physical presence stops people from going further.” She smacks her lips. “Am I bleeding?”

  “Probably,” I say. Better to keep things on the downlow while she’s still in recovery. “Will that spell hold them?” We hobble forward.

  “For a few minutes,” she says. When all three of us are on the other side of the threshold, she recites the incantations again.

  Before she can finish, I say, “Wait.”

  “What, Tess?” Finn cocks his head.

  “Give me your phone.” I put out my hand expectantly.

  “Ohhhkay…” He places it in my palm. When I smash it against the dirt wall, he says, “What the fuck!”

  “That’s probably how they’re tracking you.” I toss the remnants onto the other side of the threshold. “You can finish, Miranda.”

  She mu
tters a few words, then a burst of light again washes over the hallway.

  And then, just like that, the concrete wall has returned.

  On the other side, I hear the jackhammer start again.

  But we’re walking away, headed forward once more.

  Headed toward freedom.

  Twenty-One

  When we reach the end of the secret tunnel, Miranda recites another illusion spell to dissolve a chunk of asphalt, and we climb into the morning light. The passageway has taken us to the parking lot of a convenience store some three blocks away.

  There’s no one in the lot as we emerge. Stroke of luck, I suppose—although magic isn’t exactly a secret. Still, seeing someone climb out from solid ground when you’re just trying to grab a gallon of milk has to be disconcerting.

  The midday summer sun beats down from the sky, heat simmering off the scorching blacktop.

  Miranda rasps out a few words. The hole in the lot disappears. And then she collapses to the pavement.

  “Gram!” Finn kneels beside her. “Hey, wake up.” He shakes her. “Give her more blood, Tess.”

  “I don’t know about the side effects.”

  “Just do it.”

  I nod and hold my forearm out again. Blood drips into her mouth.

  She doesn’t stir.

  “She needs a doctor,” I say. The Vitalysm must be too diluted in my bloodstream for its effects to last long when drank by a human. Or it’s wearing off and she’s getting a tiny dose.

  Either way, it’s not going to be anything more than a band-aid.

  As I take my arm away, Miranda rasps out, “No…doctors.”

  Out here in the daylight, I can see that part of her shirt has been scorched off by the pyre golem’s fiery blast. The skin along her ribs is red and angry.

  Finn talks quietly back to her and then says, “An apothecarial healer. That’s what she wants.”

  “Sure you don’t want a surgeon?” The outside doesn’t look great, but I’d imagine she’s got some broken bones from being thrown into the wall by the fireball.

  Finn leans over close to hear her words. “No. Gram wants an apothecarial healer.”

  “Where the hell do we find one of those?”

  Miranda whispers something to him. He nods. When she’s done, he says, “It’s a phone number.”