Pay Dirt (Lost Falls Book 2)

by Chris Underwood

  “I know you want the keys,” I said. “I don’t think that’s your primary goal—that’d be hunting down the folks trying to break into the tomb, right? But here’s the thing: you stay here long enough, I’m going to find a way to kill you. Or, I dunno, destroy you, I guess, since I don’t think you’re really alive.”

  The thing let out a creaking growl. It was a sound like bones grinding.

  “Or maybe not,” I said. “Maybe my arm will get tired. Maybe I’ll drop the sword for a second and you’ll lop my head off and continue on your merry way. Let’s call it fifty-fifty odds.”

  In reality, I figured my chances were much lower than that. Even as light as the sword was, my arm was already starting to ache. How long could I keep this up? Thirty minutes? An hour? I doubted it.

  “Or we could do it another way.” I continued to blindly rummage through my bag. “You could leave. No point throwing your existence away here. Not when you’ve still got work to do. After all, it cost Morley an awful lot to splinter his soul and create you, didn’t it?”

  My hand closed around what I was looking for. I drew the small round mirror out of my bag, keeping its reflective silver surface pointed toward me. The creature hissed as it saw what I was holding.

  “Let’s take a look at you, huh?” I said.

  I brought the sword close to my chest and held the mirror at arm’s length, still pointed toward me. I angled it until I could see the sword blade in the reflection of the silver mirror. And in the shining steel blade, I caught a glimpse of the creature’s reflection.

  Only this time, I wasn’t just looking at the thing’s indistinct shadowy figure. Now I could see beyond the veil, to the creature’s true form.

  I’d expected to see something hideous and decrepit. Instead, the face I found myself looking at was strikingly handsome. Beautiful, almost. The man had full lips and sharp cheekbones and slender, expressive eyebrows perched above piercing eyes. He had no beard, but he sported perhaps the most impressive set of sideburns I’d ever seen. He skin held a ghostly blue hue that kept me from determining his true skin color. In one moment he appeared to be a youth no older than seventeen, and in the next he was in his mid-forties, and in the next he was the same age as me. No matter his age, it didn’t impact his good looks—in fact, it looked like he’d only become more handsome with time.

  “Morley, I assume,” I said. “Or what’s left of you, at least.”

  He looked at me through the reflections. Looked into my eyes. And in that moment I realized he could see as much of me as I could see of him.

  “Your soul is damned, Osric Turner. You are a witch, and you will die a witch’s death.”

  “Not today, wraith.”

  I flipped the mirror around, aiming it directly at the creature’s shadowy form. The thing screamed in terrible pain and recoiled as its reflection pulled at it.

  I stepped forward, holding out both the sword and the mirror. The wraith stumbled back, its form being pulled in two different directions at once as it was assaulted by its twin reflections.

  “Leave!” I yelled at it as I advanced. “Leave, or be torn apart. Leave, or suffer forever!”

  With one last hiss, the thing turned and bounded away from me. It scurried up the factory wall as easily as a spider. I kept on after it. Its form seemed to be growing more translucent as it weathered the assault of its reflections.

  It stretched out as it reached the shattered windows at the top of the wall, growing thin enough to slip through one of the small openings. For a second it blotted out the night sky.

  And then it was gone. All that remained were the electric blue patches on the metal window frame where it had pulled itself out.

  I stood there for several seconds, mirror and sword still raised, listening to the sound of wind whistling through the broken windows. I strained to hear anything else over the beating of my own heart.

  Slowly, I lowered the mirror and sword. Both felt like lead weights in my hands. My muscles had turned to jelly. It took all my strength not to collapse to the ground.

  You’re not out of this yet, I told myself.

  Slipping the mirror into my pocket, I quickly pulled on my coat and slung my bag across my shoulder. A quick pat down of my coat pockets seemed to confirm that most of my stuff was still there, barring the ingredients I’d had York bring to me. I didn’t bother going to gather them up. They were replaceable.

  I didn’t leave right away, however. I had to check one thing first.

  I moved quickly through the dark factory, grabbing a fallen flashlight on the way. As the beam sliced across the floor, I could almost convince myself that the motionless forms littering the factory were nothing but piles of empty clothing. I didn’t know how many cultists had got out alive, but judging by the number of corpses I had to step over, I couldn’t imagine there were many left. One thing I was sure of now: I was the last living person still in the factory.

  I stepped around the overturned witch’s brazier, giving it a wide berth. Finally, my flashlight beam touched on a slumped form that was a little more lumpy than the rest of them. With a deep breath, I crouched down and rolled Stuckey’s body over.

  He still felt warm to the touch. Somehow, that made it worse.

  “You stupid bastard,” I whispered. “Why the hell did you have to go do a thing like that, huh?” I shook my head. “Stupid bastard.”

  Sighing, I lifted the flashlight and shone it around the immediate vicinity. There was no sign of York.

  My grip tightened around the sword. “Fuck,” I muttered. Then, louder: “Fuck!”

  My empty curse echoed through the factory. I listened to it repeated back to me over and over, mocking me. Then silence returned.

  I stood up and shone my light around once more. After a few seconds, the beam touched the leather scabbard. The silver filigree shone in the beam. I laid my flashlight on a table and picked up the scabbard.

  I brought the sword up, looked at my reflection in the flat of the blade. My blotchy, bruised face and the black rings around my eyes didn’t make a pretty picture.

  But my eyes were steady. Determined. Angry. That was what I needed to see.

  I slammed the sword back into its scabbard. I wasn’t done with it yet.

  24

  I carried Stuckey’s body out of that goddamn nightmare factory. He was heavy and I felt like my muscles were made of rubber bands and dental floss, but I carried him anyway, one step after another, until I found the main entrance and emerged into the cold night’s breeze.

  I found myself standing in an industrial park somewhere on the outskirts of Lost Falls. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was, but it wasn’t anywhere fancy. Only a few street lights still burned here. The roads were empty. So were most of the other factories and offices nearby, by the look of things. Industry had taken a tumble here over the last couple of decades, which made this area a pretty good hiding place for anyone who wasn’t in the market for a three-bedroom with a nice picket fence.

  I scanned the nearby rooftops for any sign of Morley’s wraith. There was none. Maybe it’d been weakened by the mirror. I hoped so. I wasn’t in any condition to fight it if it came back.

  My phone was out of juice. Using some spare twine from my bag I fashioned a strap so I could sling the sheathed sword over my shoulder. I buttoned my coat and pulled my collar up to activate the spell that would help hide myself from unwanted eyes. Then, with Stuckey’s headless corpse over my shoulders, I started walking down the silent street. I stuck to the shadows as best I could, which wasn’t hard. I counted myself lucky York and his cultists hadn’t decided to set up shop in a more populated area. Even with my magic, a guy walking down a crowded street holding a body would draw notice.

  After walking a few minutes, I found a set of street signs. I didn’t recognize the names, but it gave me something to work with. I picked a direction and kept walking.

  About fifteen minutes later I found a pay phone. It must’ve been my lucky day. I didn’t
know we even had any pay phones left in town. I thought they’d all been ripped out years ago.

  I laid Stuckey’s body down on the pavement. There was so much graffiti on the phone I could barely see the numbers. I fished some coins out of my wallet—thankfully York hadn’t decided to steal my change to buy himself a Coke from the vending machine—slid them into the slot, then crossed my fingers and prayed that the phone still worked. I picked it up and dialed Early’s home number.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened. My heart started to sink. Then the phone clicked and began to ring. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Someone picked up. I clutched the phone tight to my ear.

  “Early?” I said.

  “Ozzy, is that you?” Not Early’s voice. Lilian’s. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

  I looked down at Stuckey’s corpse. For a second, I found it hard to breathe.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think I’m all right at all.”

  Lilian picked me up twenty minutes later. She brought her car squealing to a halt in front of me in a cloud of smoke. It smelled like burnt rubber and melting clutch.

  I’d once vowed never to let Lilian drive me anywhere ever again. She was a maniac behind the wheel—as shown by what she’d done to my poor van outside the museum. But at that moment, I didn’t have the strength to protest.

  She looked fresher than the last time I saw her. She’d changed clothes into what I was pretty sure was a pair of men’s slacks and one of Early’s old shirts. She pulled it off well.

  She didn’t recoil when she saw Stuckey’s body. Being dead herself, she seemed to have little revulsion when it came to corpses. She silently helped me lift him into the trunk of the car. Then she turned and took me by the shoulders, her eyes boring deeply into mine.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  I swallowed, shook my head. “We have to get moving. I’ll tell you on the way.” I unslung the sword from my shoulder and threw it into the car.

  “Wait, is that a sword?” she said.

  “It’s a long story.”

  We clambered in and took off at Lilian’s typical breakneck speed. For once, I was grateful for it. I kept sneaking peeks out the windows at the nearby rooftops, but I saw no sign of pursuit.

  As we drove, I began to relax a little. Only then did I start to tell her what had happened since my capture.

  I was tired, so it was hard to keep the story straight. Several times Lilian had to ask questions to make sense of my ramblings. Finally, she started to get the picture.

  It was while I was telling her about being forced to break Early’s curse that I was struck by a sudden realization.

  “Early didn’t answer the phone,” I said. “You did. Is he—?”

  “He’s doing okay now, I think. But yesterday evening something happened to him. One minute he was fine, and the next it was like someone had driven a truck into him. I thought he’d had a heart attack or something. Nearly called an ambulance. But he told me not to, and he got the witch to fetch him some lotions and potions.”

  “Isidora? She stuck around?” I was surprised. I had figured that—wounded or not—Isidora would bolt again as soon as she got the chance.

  Lilian nodded. She didn’t look happy that the witch hadn’t left yet. Isidora seemed to have that effect on people.

  “Early managed to get her talking. She gave us a sob story about her missing sister. Tried to get Early to give up any information he’d gathered while he was captured. Before he could say much, though, he had his episode.”

  “She’s with Early now?”

  “You sounded so desperate on the phone I didn’t have much choice. Early said it was fine.”

  I had to admit, it left me feeling a little uneasy to have the old man incapacitated around the witch. I didn’t think Isidora had any reason to harm him, but still…

  Lilian glanced at me. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

  “No,” I said. “I did. It’s my fault Early’s in a bad way. That episode he had was backlash from when I broke the curse. I did what I could to protect him from it, but something must’ve slipped through.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it was ideal working conditions. Early will understand that.”

  Sure, the old man wasn’t going to bust my balls for it. But I still felt like shit. Making mistakes I can handle. Making mistakes that hurt other people, though, that stung. And it seemed I’d been making a lot of those kinds of mistakes lately.

  To take my mind off it, I dug around in my pocket for the things Stuckey had slipped me. I left the coins where they were—no point distressing Lilian further.

  My fingers brushed against the hoop that York had embedded in Stuckey’s skin. Perhaps, if I could get to Holden, I could use the talisman to help shield him. If I could fashion something similar for Ursula, I might be able to get everyone out of the tomb and into hiding. If I could find the tomb, of course.

  Sighing, I released the hoop and pulled out the piece of paper Stuckey had given me. I hadn’t been able to examine it earlier, what with the wraith decapitating people and all.

  I switched on the car’s interior light and held the paper up. Instantly, I realized that it was one of the scraps of Habi’s journal I’d given Stuckey. Specifically, it was the torn map Habi had sketched after venturing into the mines. Before, I hadn’t been able to make enough sense of it for it to be of any use. But now it was annotated in red ink—both the front and back of the page were dotted with Stuckey’s writings.

  I scanned the page, my eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

  “What is it?” Lilian asked.

  I looked up at her. “He figured it out. He figured out where the tomb—”

  Headlights flashed through the driver’s side window, blindingly close. An engine roared. Terror gripped my heart. Instinctively, I brought my arms up in front of my face.

  Then the vehicle slammed into us. It smashed into the driver’s side of the car, crumpling the back door. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. Tires screeched. My head snapped one way and then the other, all the blood rushing from my brain as we went spinning around. For a second I felt the tires on one side leave the ground, and I was certain we were going to flip. But the wheels came slamming back down again, and we continued to slide. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see. All I could do was hold on.

  There was one final crunch as we smashed against a lamp post. And then, finally, we stopped. The stink of smoke burned my nostrils. Groaning, I lifted my head and tried to bring the night into focus.

  The vehicle that had crashed into us sat in the middle of the road. One of its headlights was smashed, but the other still shone, dazzlingly bright. Its engine was still running. I heard car doors opening and closing.

  I licked my lips and tasted blood. I’d bitten myself. Pain tore through my chest where the seat belt had pushed against my already bruised ribs. I fumbled for the buckle, but my fingers were too clumsy to release me.

  Groaning, I flopped my head to the side. “Lilian,” I mumbled. “Lilian, are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. She sat with her head turned away from me, her hands laying limp against the deflated airbag. Her side of the car was crumpled and twisted. Shards of safety glass were embedded in her hair. They glistened like stars in the light from the other vehicle. It was strangely beautiful.

  “Lilian.” I coughed, sending a spasm through my chest. “Lilian!”

  Footsteps crunched on broken glass. I tried to peer through the windscreen, but it had become a spiderweb of cracks.

  I fumbled at the seat belt again, and this time managed to get myself unbuckled. The haziness in my mind was starting to clear. I reached over, touched Lilian’s shoulder.

  Her head lolled toward me. She wasn’t as beautiful from this angle.

  The side of her head had caved in. Her cheekbone and the bones around her eye were shattered. The flesh was torn, but there was no blood. It wasn’t blood that sustained Lilian.

&nb
sp; I stared at her. “No,” I said. “I once saw you take a spear through the chest. You don’t die that easy, Lilian. Open your eyes.”

  She didn’t answer me.

  “Open your eyes, Lilian. Wake up. Goddamn it, wake up!”

  Through the cracked windshield I saw three silhouettes approaching our car. They seemed in no particular hurry. Voices murmured softly to each other.

  “Lilian!” I unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over, and tried to haul her over to me. Her arm caught in the seat belt, and her head flopped against me. She was cold. Colder than the night air. Colder than ice.

  “Not so great when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” came a voice from my broken side window. I turned and found the Viking looking in at me. Behind him stood two more of York’s cultists.

  “But don’t worry, heathen,” the Viking sneered. “You’ll be with her again soon.”

  25

  I released Lilian’s lifeless body, my hand darting to my pocket. I pulled my revolver free and swung it toward the Viking’s face.

  But my limbs were still moving slower than I needed them to. The Viking grabbed my wrist and slammed it back against the window frame. My finger squeezed reflexively on the trigger. The boom of the gunshot split the night as the bullet whipped harmlessly past the Viking’s head.

  With a snarl, he slammed my arm twice more against the window frame. As pain shot up my arm, he ripped the gun from my hand. He rubbed at his ear with a scowl.

  “My ear’s going to be ringing for days.” He looked at his buddies. “Help me get him out of there.”

  One of the other cultists wrenched the door open. I tried to kick at him as he came for me, but it was a weak, clumsy strike. The Viking and a female cultist grabbed me by the legs and dragged me out of the car.

  My tailbone hit the road, sending another shock of pain up my spine. I narrowly avoided smashing my head against the ground. The crash had left me too dazed to put up much of a fight. They dragged me over to the sidewalk and dumped me there.