Knell

by Olivia R. Burton

  Time passed, the sounds of nature and Finn’s pounding heart the only things he was able to observe, before he got up the courage to slowly raise to his feet. Voices called an order to follow, a front door slammed, and Finn realized the woman who seemed like she was in charge sounded upsettingly familiar.

  Calling up all his courage, Finn forced his legs into action, reminding himself that Benedict and Donald had both sworn to him that the entire property was warded and that, as long as he didn’t wander into someone else’s yard or into the street, no one outside of their small group would be able to detect his presence.

  Trusting that magic would protect him, Finn crept to the side gate, vaulting himself up as much as he could to stand on the beam at the bottom, looking out over the neighborhood, confused by the scene at first.

  It looked like some sort of block party, with neighbors of all ages and shapes congregating out in the street, making their way up the road en masse, but something felt off. Finn couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but when the group abruptly stopped at the exact same moment, he realized what the problem was. These weren’t happy neighbors gathering to celebrate with hot dogs and potato chips, to barbecue and laugh and give the little ones sparklers.

  These were fresh corpses under the control of a necromancer. A necromancer Finn recognized.

  Stefanie stepped out of the house across the way, an amazon of a woman, with big hair, beautiful, dark skin, and the style of a punk band singer straight out of the ‘80s.

  Finn swallowed thickly, unable to tell what her bright red lips were saying as she gestured to a dead-eyed man standing in the doorway of the house next door. It was bad, that much Finn could tell, but even this close, he couldn’t make out the sound over his pounding heart.

  Stefanie’s minion nodded, something zombies generally didn’t do, and turned to call to someone inside. She moved through the undead army as if they weren’t there, ordering them silently to make room for her as she stalked across the street in her tall boots, her gaze on the group of fresh zombies streaming out of the house.

  They didn’t all appear to be bleeding, which confused Finn, making him wonder why some looked gruesome and the others didn’t, but in the end it didn’t really matter. Stefanie was raising an army and there was no way it was a coincidence that she had chosen to do so in this neighborhood.

  Shaking his head, letting himself gently off the gate, Finn scurried inside, both because the position was uncomfortable and because he wanted the extra protection of the house. As he moved through the living room to peer out through the front window, though, he realized something odd: his necromancy seemed unaware of the corpses outside.

  This was unheard of, though Finn was glad for it. His power was greedy, demanding, often trying to force him into the position of raising the dead, even when he had no anchored connection to them. Now, however, there were dozens of the dead outside and he felt no more than had they been living, breathing, conscious people. It was confusing at the very least, but he was grateful for it. The draw on his necromancy of that many vessels would have driven him nuts.

  Perhaps it was the magic protecting the house that kept him separate from the horror happening around it. As Stephanie turned abruptly, angling herself toward the house on the opposite side of the one she’d just had her minion ransack, Finn held his breath, hoping she was as unaware of his location as it seemed.

  He really had no protection from her if she chose to barge in. She was ageless, a demon in Belial’s employ who’d been given necromancy as a tool, and she’d been tasked with training Finn when he’d first met Veruca. She was, as far as Finn was concerned, much better at raising and controlling the dead than he was. Worse than that, she knew his weaknesses, knew his tricks, and had seen the mistakes he typically made. If she chose to sic her army on him, he’d be toast.

  She moved on, though, as if the house he was in didn’t interest her at all. She didn’t look his way or peer into the windows. None of her minions came to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. No one seemed to know it was there at all, which relieved Finn more than he could say.

  His relief didn’t last long, however, as he realized that Veruca wouldn’t have the same protection as him once she came back. Darcy had moved them down the street to pull them into Fairy, and Finn could be sure, judging by the open doors and undead neighbors, that no other lawn or patch of sidewalk was protected the way he was.

  If Veruca reappeared before Stefanie made her way farther down the block, she’d be arriving back on earth in the middle of the opposition’s army. Trying frantically to come up with a way to help, Finn turned his attention to the spot where they’d disappeared, focusing on it so hard he was sure his eyes were going to cross.

  ****

  Leaving Justin behind was hard, but he didn’t seem bothered. Bronte was delighted by his presence, even when he seemed incapable of hearing her offers of food and drink and wandered off toward the sheep rather than answering.

  Benedict didn’t comment or seem to have an opinion on the separation, though Veruca hadn’t expected him to. He was a professional through and through, and Veruca imagined, from what she knew about him, that he wouldn’t have objected if she’d announced they were sacrificing him as payment rather than just leaving him in Fairy.

  It was a good quality in a mercenary, even though it did make him a rather lousy person.

  The boat seemed to move swifter through the water and back toward the spot on the shores where they’d entered Fairy, and Veruca was glad for it. She had no idea how long it had been since she’d properly rested—either in Fairy or on earth, since time on either didn’t often match up—but her body considered it too long, regardless. She wanted to rest, to clean up, to let Finn take her worries away, even for just a few hours, and then get to the task of helping find Darcy a permanent safe space.

  Benedict stepped close as Darcy took a breath and prepared to open the portal, and Veruca caught him watching her. His eyes held a look she couldn’t read, an inscrutable intensity that she could have equally interpreted as admiration or contempt. His judgment held her attention as the portal opened, as they were swept through, and as the world changed from a relaxing, sunny beach scene, to a grisly nightmare that Veruca’s brain refused to entirely accept for a few moments.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Everything went to shit in an instant.

  Veruca and Benedict were captive before the portal had entirely vomited them out onto the sidewalk, Darcy was denied the chance to scream by the knife slicing across her throat, and Veruca was once again covered in blood that wasn’t her own.

  Benedict handled the transition like someone used to being in mortal danger, lifting both hands calmly, leaning back slightly from the blade at his throat.

  Veruca struggled against the arms at her back, not as practiced as Benedict in the art of being denied freedom. She growled, fought, working on instinct more than logic, suddenly worried not only for her own life, but those of Darcy and, distantly, Finn. Darcy was clutching at her throat, unable to cry out even in pain, bowing forward, as the siren’s body reacted to the nasty injury. Her appearance changed, her face thinning, her nose taking on a bird-like length as her nails went to talons.

  Refusing to be distracted, Veruca continued to fight, pulling at every defense she’d been taught, aiming to free herself, to grab either of the weapons nearby and turn them on their attackers.

  “Veruca,” a voice called, delight ringing clearly through it. “The boss got your message.”

  Veruca froze, rolling wild eyes toward someone she’d previously considered an ally, baring her teeth as Stefanie closed in, towering over them all in her leather boots. She took her time, attention fixed on Veruca, savage glee in her expression. Baring her teeth, Veruca straightened up, ceasing her struggle out of rage, rather than politeness or curiosity.

  Belial had betrayed her, it seemed, exactly as Darcy had predicted, and now she was trapped on a suburban street, surrounded
by an undead army large enough to pick her apart and swallow her whole.

  ****

  Finn almost made it to the street, before pausing, realizing that going those extra few steps would be a phenomenally stupid idea. Though he usually championed phenomenally stupid ideas like no other, he had the good sense to reconsider before flinging himself right into harm’s way.

  Stefanie still seemed ignorant of his presence, her dark gaze locked onto Veruca as she sauntered down the sidewalk, close enough that Finn could have chucked his shoe at her head and probably managed to hit her. For the moment, he was safe, invisible to her and her army, and he needed to use that to his advantage.

  How, he didn’t know, but it was a boon he couldn’t afford to reject.

  Veruca noticed him then, the animosity in her expression flickering for a moment, before she diverted her attention away from him and back to the demon necromancer striding closer as if she owned the world.

  “I’m gonna save you, my love,” Finn called, risking detection because he couldn’t help himself. Veruca had to know she had his support, had to feel something other than the impotent anger warping her lovely features. The magic around him held, keeping Stefanie and her army oblivious.

  The army was the key, he thought, scanning the dozens of them, the way they were spread out and preventing escape or real mutiny by Stefanie’s captors. Finn knew they could be his army, if he could manage to connect himself to them. He’d have to step out of the protection of the safe house, but that was small potatoes compared to what it would be like to command an army of undead.

  He’d managed a fair amount in the past, both willingly and under duress, but this would be pushing his abilities past a point they’d gone before. It was possible, he knew, but difficult, not only because having that much input in his head would be dizzying, but because it would also require anchoring himself to the zombies he wanted to control, which seemed impossible from where he stood.

  His usual method was the string in his pocket, tied around the throat and knotted. When he’d first begun raising the dead this way, he’d needed the boost of extra string around each of the limbs, but as Stefanie herself had worked with him, and as he’d had more and more occasions to raise the dead under duress, he realized that he really only needed one point of contact.

  Quicker than string, though, was blood. If he could get his blood onto the zombies, he’d have a chance at controlling them. It would require wrestling with Stefanie, their powers going head to head and his coming out on top, but for Veruca he was willing to try it. For Veruca, he was willing to slice himself open, spray his blood over an enemy army of corpses, and grapple with a demon.

  Turning on his heel, Finn ran back into the house, straight for the kitchen, yanking open drawers and searching for a blade sharp enough to do the job. He didn’t have an idea, yet, where he’d cut himself to let blood flow, nor how he’d stop it from killing him once he did. but he knew he had no choice but to improvise. The connection was paramount, absolutely necessary to turn the tide in their favor.

  It wasn’t until he was out on the lawn, blade against his wrist that he realized that perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Lifting his gaze to Stefanie as she paused to wave one of her zombies out of the way, Finn took a deep breath, preparing himself for an even more perilous bet than cutting open his own wrists.

  ****

  Veruca could barely concentrate on what Stefanie was saying because Finn looked more and more like he was about to do something stupid.

  The demon had sauntered over within feet of Finn, though she had no idea, and Veruca didn’t want to open her eyes to the fact that he was so close. She’d been keeping her attention half on him without looking directly at him because, while she’d been promised the wards kept the safe house off the radar of anyone who wasn’t welcome, she didn’t want to threaten his well-being.

  He had no such qualms, it seemed.

  Stefanie had strolled closer, smirking like a cat who’d cornered the fattest mouse, her attention sticking solely to Veruca, even as Darcy bled a river and collapsed into the street. Veruca could see her soul working its own healing magic, congregating around the wound and doing its best to repair but, compared to other souls she’d seen at work, this looked positively glacial. Luckily, it didn’t seem that losing blood at such a pace put the siren’s body in any real danger.

  Not having the siren’s vocal chords intact, however, did present a danger, which was likely the point.

  “Long time no see,” Stefanie said as she paused, staying far enough away that Veruca couldn’t swipe at her with hooked fingers, but close enough to speak normally. Grin still smug, she went on as if the situation were normal. “I hear you’ve been busy, that our boy’s gotten quite adept at his craft. I’m a little surprised he’s gone, to be honest. Did you stash him for safe-keeping? I’m sure I’ll be able to pay him a visit when we’re finished here.”

  “You won’t hurt Finn,” Veruca growled, aiming the order at Stefanie, but hoping Finn understood it to mean he was to stay right where he was and keep himself safe. To her surprise—though she held her expression in check, so as to not show it—Finn turned and ran back into the house. Relaxing slightly, Veruca took a breath, straightening up, baring her teeth at Stefanie, hoping that she’d take it as a threat equal to that of Belial himself. “Whatever Belial has planned, he won’t get far.”

  “He won’t get far?” Stefanie spat, outrage mixing with amusement on her impressive face. “You don’t get to threaten him in my presence. He’s been nothing but good to you—you of all his Reapers. You, whom he gives preferential treatment, whom he lets have a pet necromancer who should have been put down at birth for sheer incompetence. You, who betrayed him for this banished creature, you have the gall to menace him with your pathetic empath and then stand in my presence and accuse him? I would have gutted you the moment you stepped out of Fairy, if only it were up to me.”

  Empath, Veruca thought, her heart thudding, terror freezing every nerve ending in her entire being.

  Donald hadn’t followed Finn out of the house. Donald wasn’t peeking through the windows or crouched in bushes looking for the perfect shot. She couldn’t feel his presence at all, though Benedict had said that was part of the wards, the blocking of even soul magic. He could have been inside, fine but scared, or asleep, unaware of what was going on outside. Perhaps Finn had been running back inside to get Donald, so they could formulate a plan together now that Veruca and Benedict were back.

  In her heart, she knew it wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to believe anything else.

  “Belial wants to know why,” Stefanie said, taking another step forward, lifting a finger to drill it against Veruca’s chest. “I don’t care, personally. You’re not the first of his Reapers to betray him and I’m sure you won’t be the last. I didn’t have the pleasure of dealing with the other, but I’m really hoping he lets me deal with you.”

  “Jealousy doesn’t become a creature of your power,” Benedict said, his tone mild. Veruca glanced at him, surprised he’d spoken at all, figuring him for someone who’d remain silent and save his own ass when it came down to the nitty gritty of it. “Neither does petty showmanship.”

  “I’m not supposed to kill you, either,” Stefanie said, turning her attention to Benedict, though the look she saved for him was much different, filled with intrigue rather than disgust. “You could be a valuable asset. We’ll talk later.”

  “Maybe,” Benedict said, before taking a deep breath as if preparing to deliver bad news. “If she lets you live.”

  A familiar thread of soul closed in from Veruca’s right, tugging at her awareness, distracting her from her animus toward Stefanie, her worry over Donald, and her confusion over Benedict. It wasn’t a whole piece of soul, but it was familiar, and it was loosely wrapped around the heart of its host body in a way that Veruca recognized as an indication of necromancy.

  She turned, the pounding of her heart making her vision narro
w to a tunnel, as she let out a sob. There, walking toward her, freshly dead and inhabited by a twist of his own soul tangled with Belial’s, was Donald. And then, before she could fully experience the emotional sight of one of her most beloved friends being puppeted toward her, Finn did exactly as she feared he’d do. Letting out a nonsense yell, he crossed out of the safety of the house’s wards, running full tilt right at Stefanie.

  ****

  It was a gamble like Finn had never taken before, but if anything, he considered himself a lucky man. He’d never been good at games that required any skill past bluffing, couldn’t count cards if he’d been handed two of them and asked to subtract one, but that didn’t mean he always ended up down and out.

  Connection was the key to necromancy, anchoring his power in the chest of a corpse and using bits of his own soul to control it. He’d done it most of his life, even when he’d tried to avoid it and even before he’d realized exactly what was happening.

  He and Veruca had a connection and she’d used that in the past, calling on his power to augment her own or using his necromancy to save his life. He’d never tried to use her power for himself, but the concept of a connection had sparked an idea in him that at once had the chance to work and backfire horrifically.

  Veruca was in danger, though, and Finn was willing to chance throwing snake-eyes and bet on the concept of connection in order to save her.

  Veruca wasn’t the one with the connection he needed, though. As good as she was, as strong and smart and capable, it wasn’t her power that had called to the dozens of corpses and brought them into the street to witness more death. It was Stefanie’s blood that anchored her soul in their chests.

  Ergo, Finn thought—hoping he knew the real meaning of the word—it was her blood he needed, not his own.

  His plan was stupid for more reasons than he could count, chief among them that he wasn’t even sure she used her own blood to call the army. She’d used it back when training him, but that didn’t mean she’d done it this time. There was also the fact that Stefanie’s power could pummel his the instant he tried to oust it from the hearts of the zombies. She’d been a necromancer for ages, had been given the power by the Prince of Hell himself. For all he knew, she was ten times the necromancer he was and would quash him like a bug the moment he left the safety of the enchanted lawn.