Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

EPISODE SEVEN:

  FURY OF THE HUNT

  Famine sat a plate of dried barbeque flavored flesh chips and pus dip down on the family dining table. Behind him, Morrigan brought out a fondue pot with hot blood and rye bread.

  “Do you want this on the table, too?” she asked. Morrigan wore faded jeans and a simple blue t-shirt that read Keep Calm and Stay Dead. This was a change from her usual formal gowns and billowy silken dresses. Her mother, the Banshee, had lightened up a lot since the events at the Borderlands road and it hadn’t been a moment sooner.

  “No,” answered Famine pointing at the chips, “just put it beside the dip. These guys don’t believe in moving around much once the game gets started.”

  Famine didn’t bother conforming to any dress code. He pretty much wore what he wanted and no one have him grief. Since everyone else was going to be relaxed this evening, he decided to go with the flow. Instead of leather, he opted for a black tank top, gray jacket, and a pair of loose fitting khakis. Morrigan nodded and sat the pot alongside the bowl of dip. Famine pulled up two more high-backed wooden chairs from against the wall and placed them at the table. As he got them just where he wanted them, he snapped his fingers and almost shouted as a thought came to mind. “Ah! Tablecloth! I need to put out the tablecloth! Those guys are a bunch of slobs!”

  With that, he hurriedly left the room. Morrigan went back into the kitchen where the Reaper was preparing the rest of the snacks for his monthly card game. He was pulling slime covered pizza from the oven as she came in. There were bowls and plates laden with a variety of sickly looking fluids, decaying body parts, and bloody organs lying all about the countertops. The Omen of Death wiped his skeletal hands on his frilly apron as he sighed. He threw an empty pan into the sink where it landed with a loud clang.

  “I didn’t think you actually ate anything, Mr. Reaper,” Morrigan said as she sat on a barstool near the kitchen island.

  The Reaper uncorked two large green bottles and set them near the pizza. He turned to face Morrigan as he untied his apron and let the top of it fall around his waist, exposing his ribcage. Had the girl not known him she would’ve sworn he was topless now.

  “I don’t, but my friends do. They’re pigs.”

  “Some way to talk about friends.”

  The Reaper shrugged. “If I can’t insult them, what use is there to call them friends?”

  Morrigan plucked an eyeball from one of the small bowls and quickly gobbled it. “Who’s coming over? I’ve never met any of the other Horsemen.”

  The Reaper was taking wine glasses from a nearby cupboard and placing them on a small tray with the bottles he had just opened. He dipped his finger in a gravy boat filled with green ichor and gave it a taste before answering. “War and Pestilence are coming tonight. The real Famine has a charity banquet to attend. He’s one if the guest speakers.”

  “Really?” asked Morrigan.

  The Reaper picked up a vial of white powder and sprinkled it over the gravy boat, gave the contents a stir, and tasted it again. He nodded. “Yeah, something to do with helping end hunger. The rest of the fellas are always making themselves available for events like this. I just don’t have time.”

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping to meet him.”

  “There’ll be other times, Morrigan.”

  Llorona and the Banshee came into the kitchen laughing and talking just as Morrigan was about to ask another question. The two women were draped in long silver and black dresses with matching clutch purses. They looked like Greek goddesses. The Reaper gave Llorona a quick glance and went to working on a tray of rotting vegetable appetizers.

  “Going to the Parthenon tonight?” he asked mockingly.

  Llorona shot him an angry look. “The Banshee is taking me shopping if you must know.”

  “I’m taking her to the Luxurious Ghoul and Witchington’s. I thought an evening of refinement would be fun.”

  “Besides, it’s not like me to go out like this. Just wanted to do something different. I’ve spent the last fifty years playing cards with you and your buddies, anyway.”

  The Reaper grabbed the appetizer tray and the eyeball bowl, turned around, and headed towards the dining room. “The guys are going to miss you.”

  “Well at least they get to keep their money this month,” Llorona said smiling.

  Morrigan grabbed a few more of the Reaper’s food dishes and followed him out. He was setting them in various spots on the table, stepping back every few seconds to make sure their placement was just right. Llorona and the Banshee came out of the kitchen nibbling on human-finger sandwiches. Morrigan turned to them with a wide grin.

  “You ladies headed out now?” she asked.

  “Yes, I want to get the Witchington’s to have a quick bite before we start,” answered The Banshee. “The Reaper’s food is good but they have a nice little pastry shop that I think Llorona might like.”

  “I love a good blood red velvet cake.”

  “You two have fun. We’ll have a great time with the Horsemen I’m sure,” said Morrigan heading back into the kitchen.

  Llorona tapped The Reaper on the shoulder. He whipped around to face her. “Yes?”

  “We’ll be back before sunrise. Don’t let Famine have anything alcoholic to drink, okay? I know this is his first game with you guys, but I don’t want him getting sick. I want it to be fun for him. Not that getting drunk isn’t amusing…”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m hoping that you can make it to the Dance of the Dead in two nights,” The Banshee said to The Reaper, “I’ve gone all out this year.”

  “I’ll have to see. I may have to send intermediaries.”

  “As long as someone’s there, that’s all that matters.” She paused and looked at her daughter. I’ll see you at home later, sweetie.”

  Morrigan grunted in response and with that Llorona and the Banshee walked through the threshold into the family room. A few seconds later, The Reaper heard the door of the mausoleum open and slam shut. Famine came walking into the room with two folded red tarps under his arm. He looked around and then nodded towards the front door with his head. “The ladies are gone now?”

  “Yeah. I never imagined Llorona going off shopping with The Banshee. If you had told me that two weeks ago, I would’ve said you were crazy.”

  “That’s good, though. I want you guys to get along.”

  Morrigan reappeared with her arms and hands laden with dishes. The Reaper rushed over to grab a couple of bowls from her. “Thanks so much, dear,” he said putting them down a few seconds later.

  Famine unfolded one of the tarps and laid it down over a small section of the table without any food upon it. He put the other on the chair directly near the first tarp. Morrigan put the remaining plates down and leaned against the wall near the kitchen doorway. She eyed the tarps suspiciously. “Are they that messy?” she asked.

  The Reaper sat down and crossed his leg over his knee, exposing his bare skeletal foot. “It’s just Pestilence. He’s always dripping and oozing all over the place. His little puddles stain and stink the place up if we don’t put something down.”

  “Yeah,” said Famine taking a seat near The Reaper, “we even keep a mop nearby in case he’s really festering. He doesn’t mean it, though. It’s just how he is.”

  “Sounds like you have some interesting friends,” Morrigan said.

  “You could say that.” The Reaper replied.

  There was a loud hollow knocking on the front door; everyone jumped up in surprise. Morrigan let out a small yelp. The Reaper rose from his seat and headed towards the entrance. “Speak of the devils…” he said.

  Famine and Morrigan gave one another a quizzical look and followed The Reaper. He was just opening the door as they came into the room. Standing on the other side of the door was a stout figure dressed in metallic gray clothes that resembled armor more than cloth. He had a shiny black rock-like face with heavy features and a long mane of equally b
lack hair. His eyes blazed yellow from beneath his brow. He reached out his hand and shook The Reaper’s. Famine was shocked to hear the voice coming from the being. It was incredibly soft and whisper quiet.

  “Death, my good man! Good to see you as always!”

  The Reaper responded jovially. “Wouldn’t be the same without you, buddy. Come on in! How have you been?”

  “You know how humans are, they’re always fighting so it keeps me busy. I’ve been looking forward to tonight. It’s always so peaceful and quiet here. Say, will Llorona be with us tonight?”

  “No. She’s gone out shopping with the Banshee if you can believe that.”

  War shook his head. “The universe is full of surprises.”

  Right behind the soft-spoken thing was a tall, lean figure covered in a stained rotting shroud. It noisily ambled inside the room, leaving a slight trail of slime-like material behind. The skin on the monster was an array of different textures; some of it was mottled and pock-marked, some was dotted with oozing open sores. The overall color was greenish-yellow except the areas that were lividly diseased. Those parts were purple and black. It slapped The Reaper on the shoulder with a sickening squish and spoke in a heavy Southern accent. The constantly dripping face and lips made the words sound like he was speaking through water.

  “How ya’ll are, Mistah Reapah?”

  The Reaper pulled slightly away but kept his tone friendly. ”I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking. How about you, friend?”

  “Oh, I can’t complain none. I’m sick but bein’ sick is all I know.”

  Famine and Morrigan stepped into the room more prominently. They wanted to be part of this weird but joyous reunion as well. The Reaper closed the door and was walking with his friends towards the dining room as he gestured towards the teenagers, “Guys, this is my boy, Famine, and his friend Miss Morrigan.”

  The stout being stepped forward and briskly shook Famine’s hand. “Pleased to finally meet you. I’m War. Your Old Man talks about you a lot.”

  Famine didn’t know what to make of this little man. This wasn’t the type of person he was expecting. He forced a smile as War let go of his hand. “All good stuff, I hope?”

  “Of course!”

  “I’m Pestilence,” said the dripping thing coming forward with an extended hand, “I’m told my reputation precedes me but I think it’s just mah smell.”Famine recoiled a bit but lightly shook Pestilence’s gruesome hand. “Could be worse. You could have no reputation.”

  Pestilence shook his head in agreement. “Never thought of it that way. Better to be known for somethin’ rather than nothin’.”

  The Reaper walked into the dining room calling over his shoulder. “Come on, guys. I have a lot of food already laid out. I hope you’re hungry.”

  After exchanging excited looks, War and Pestilence walked through the stone archway and into the dining room. Their loud voices echoed through the mausoleum as they started their feast. Famine took a seat on the nearby sofa and sighed. Morrigan came up behind him and patted him on the shoulders.

  “Not getting nervous are you?” she asked.

  “Not really. I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself in front of pop’s friends.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine, honey. It’s going to be a fun evening.”

  Famine sat for a few more seconds before rising. “You’re right! Let’s just get in there and act like one of the guys.”

  The pair had just started for the dining room when another knock came. They spun around and regarded the door curiously. The Reaper hadn’t mentioned anyone else coming tonight so who could it be? There were never any visitors other than Ankou, so the identity of the knocker seemed even more mysterious. Famine gave Morrigan a quick glance and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’ll see who it is,” he said approaching and opening the door, “Can’t imagine who it’d be.”

  Standing on the landing was an extremely tall man in a long black trench coat and fedora. His face was slightly hidden under the brim of the hat and a pair of dark goggles but from what Famine could make out, it was ashen and gaunt. He reached out to Famine with a gloved hand and spoke in a dignified manner.

  “Hello, I’m Mr. Jäger. I’m a friend of Llorona’s and I’m here for the game.”

  Famine shook hands for the third time that night. He looked at the new man through narrowed eyes. “I see. She didn’t say anything about another guest.”

  “Oh, she invited me a few days ago and tonight was the first night I could get away. She said The Reaper was always looking for new players. May I come in?”

  Famine nodded. “I’m sorry. Of course you may.”

  Mr. Jäger stepped into the living room and looked around as he pursed his lips. The place was lofty with high stone ceilings. Masses of cobwebs were strung like a canopy from archways, and burning torches hung on the walls. An empty fireplace sat on the left side of the room, sitting on the mantle were a ship in a glass bottle and a small wood box with gold engraving. There were a few pieces of dusty and moldy over-stuffed furniture and dry-rotted tables spread throughout the place. It all looked incredibly ancient.

  “Nice place you have here. It’s very cozy,” Mr. Jäger said.

  Famine shut the door and walked up behind him. “Thank you. It’s a mishmash of styles Llorona and The Reaper have put together. They seem to like it, though.”

  Mr. Jäger pointed to a large rectangular painting hanging over the fireplace. On it were four blurry human-shaped figures standing in front of the mausoleum. “That’s very nice; a family portrait?”

  Famine regarded the comment with curiosity before answering. “Yes, Llorona painted it. It’s a hobby of hers. May I take your coat?”

  “No!” the man screamed clutching his garment.

  Famine and Morrigan looked at him in shock and surprise, each taking a step back. He saw their faces and forced himself to calm down. “I’m sorry. I have a medical condition. I’m always cold. The coat keeps me warm. I’d like to keep it on.”

  Famine nodded. “That’s fine. Everyone is in the dining room if you want to go in.”

  “Do you mind if I use your restroom first?”

  Famine looked at him as if he had six heads and was speaking Swahili. “My what?”

  Mr. Jäger was taken back. He waited a second before replying. “Oh, that’s right! You guys are dead and don’t go to the restroom. It’s hard to shake the old way I used to live.”

  “What are you, Mr. Jäger?” asked Morrigan walking up next to Famine. She stood straighter and held her head slightly higher. Famine knew that pose. She was suspicious, and this was her strong woman pose.

  “I’m a spirit of fear…a sort of ghost.”

  Morrigan gave him a look of uncertainty. “I see. How long have you known Llorona? I mean did you know her when she was a human?”

  “When she was human…yes. But that was a long time ago and it’s hard to remember everything. Now, may please have a moment to collect myself before I go in?”

  Morrigan touched Famine’s arm. “Sure. We’ll go on in. You can follow us whenever you get ready.”

  “It’s through that doorway,” Famine added indicating the archway, “Just take a seat and enjoy yourself. I’ll let the other guys know you’re here.”

  Mr. Jäger jumped forward and grabbed Famine’s hand. “No! I want my visit to be a surprise!”

  “Alright, keep your pants on,” answered Famine.

  “Why would I take off my pants, young man?” he asked.

  Famine started to explain but stopped himself. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Famine and Morrigan gave the man one last suspicious look before they walked away and disappeared into the next room. Mr. Jäger smiled broadly to himself and let out a small chuckle. He reached into one of the pockets on his coat and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Laughing a little harder, he swished the contents of the vial around and watched them change colors: from
blue to red then from red to purple. He repocketed the bottle, had a seat on a nearby antique chair, and looked up at the family portrait with malice and spite. “You’ll soon get what’s coming to you. Just you wait.”

  A burst of laughter caught Mr. Jäger off guard. He gasped and clutched his chest and turned to see who had made the noise. War and Pestilence were coming into the room with smiles on their faces. It looked as if they had just shared a joke and were enjoying the punch line. They stopped both walking and laughing when they saw the new guest.

  “Why hello there. I’m War and this is my friend, Pestilence,” said War extending a hand.

  Mr. Jäger smiled cordially and returned War’s handshake. “Hello, I’m an old friend of Llorona. Name’s Jäger.

  “Is that name German?” asked Pestilence.

  “It is of European origins, I believe. Say, is Ankou here?”

  “No,” answered War shaking his head, “He was going to be but had an emergency at the last moment. It’s shame because he’s such a bad card player. It’s always fun playing with him.”

  He looked disappointedly at War. “Yes, that is a shame. I was hoping to see him tonight. There was something I wanted to give him.”

  “There’s always other game night. I wouldn’t fret. We were just going out to the cemetery for a breath of dead air. Would you care to join us?” asked War.

  “No thanks. I think I’ll just go in.”

  Pestilence broke away from War and opened the front door. “We’ll see you back in the dinin’ room. I look forward to talkin’ to you.”

  War smiled and followed his friend out into the cemetery. After the door had slammed shut, Mr. Jäger went into the dining room. The Reaper was sitting in a chair in the middle of the table while Famine and Morrigan sat on the end nearest the kitchen thumbing through a large weathered leather bound book. The Reaper was shuffling a deck of cards. He looked up and waved.

  “Hello. How are you, my good man? Please take a seat.”

  The new guest took the seat closet to him. “Thanks very much. I’m Jäger. I’m a friend of Llorona.”

  The Reaper stopped shuffling the cards and stared at him. “Really? I’ve never heard her mention you.”

  “We go way back. I think she’d forgotten me until we bumped into each other a few days ago.”

  Famine set the book to the side and leaned with his arms on the table. “Where was that? Where did you see her again?”

  Mr. Jäger fidgeted with a napkin that sat directly in front of him. He didn’t look back up at Famine, keeping his voice neutral. “I was haunting a stretch of land in the Borderlands when she happened to be floating by. I think she said she was on her way to see The Banshee.”

  “That would have been last week, I think,” said Morrigan reaching out to take a piece of dried brain from a bowl, “it was right after the dinner at the Blue Crypt.”

  “Yes, I think she mentioned that. I hope I’m not intruding. I’m not used to being interrogated like this. I will leave if you want me to.” Mr. Jäger said.

  The Reaper cut the deck of cards and sat them near himself. “No, don’t be daft. You can stay. I’m sure Famine and young Miss Morrigan have more than enough information now. This is a time for fun after all.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “No problem. Help yourself to some food. There’s plenty of it.” said The Reaper.

  “I think I will, thanks.”

  Mr. Jäger looked over the selection of appetizers carefully. He picked out a few pieces of moldy bread coated in pus and a slice of pizza. He took a bite from the pizza and gave a thumbs up to The Reaper. “Very good!”

  The Reaper nodded. “Thanks kindly. I like to think of myself as a budding gourmet. I’m glad it shows in what I cook.”

  War and Pestilence came into the room talking and took seats on either side of the Reaper. War scooped up some dried flesh chips and began munching on them with delight. He waited until he had chewed them before speaking to the new guest. “Say, Jäger, what line of business are you in?”

  Jäger finished his last bite of pizza and dabbed his lips with the napkin with which he had fidgeted earlier. “I guess you can I say I am in the haunting trade. I used to be a collector of sorts myself until an unfortunate incident took place. Sort of ruined that sort of work for me.”

  Pestilence wiped a stringy piece of slime from the side of his face and wiped it on the tarp. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you can get back to your old line of work one day. Nothin’s worse than doin’ a job you hate. I think you have to like what you do. Makes doin’ it easier.”

  “Thank you for your concern. I’m planning on making a come back very soon.”

  “Glad to hear that, old man. Now do you all want to eat a little more before we start a game?” asked The Reaper.

  “Let’s eat first. Hate playing on an empty stomach,” said War.

  War and Pestilence filled little saucers with various rotting and oozing appetizers. Morrigan had piled her plate with black seaweed covered with little dead fish. Famine reached over to a plate of twisted decaying human hearts, took a couple, and handed the rest to The Reaper.

  “So, what’s new with you, Famine? I’m told you keep pretty busy doing things. Something nice and quiet, I hope?” asked War.

  Famine had his hand over one of the hearts; a steady stream of bright blue light flowed from the organ to his palm. “I go out with Uncle Ankou. He’s taught me a lot about soul collecting. I never knew it was so involved. We haven’t been in the last couple of nights, though. He’s been occupied. But that’s okay, I think I need a little rest.”

  “Tired already, son? Can’t wear yourself out too soon,” Pestilence said.

  “It’s not that. I just need some time to myself for a bit. Need to get my thoughts together. I’m not any good to Ankou if I’m a mess.”

  “Spoken like a true teenager…all angst and hormones,” said The Reaper jokingly as he finished one heart and went to another.

  Famine smiled uneasily and glanced at Morrigan. She was in the middle of chewing her salad but managed to give him a friendly grin. She patted him on his shoulder. Pestilence swallowed a dried flesh chip and began coughing. After a few seconds he looked at The Reaper and spoke in a raspy voice.

  “Are you going to let us have something to drink or do we need to start growing our damned grapes for a glass of wine?”

  “Yeah, Pop,” said Famine in a mocking matter-of-fact tone, “Don’t let the guests thirst to death.”

  The Reaper got up and started towards the kitchen laughing. “And here I was going to let everyone shrivel up into dust. You’re just too smart for me, guys.”

  Mr. Jäger rose and met The Reaper half-way. “Please sit down. Just tell me what to get and I’ll bring it out. Let me show some hospitality, too.”

  The Reaper stopped and looked at Mr. Jäger curiously. “I couldn’t ask my own guest to get the punch from the kitchen. That’s not very host-like.”

  “I’ll get it, Pop” said Famine walking past them both.

  “I’ll go with you, young man,” offered Jäger.

  Famine walked into the kitchen without acknowledging him. A large glass punch bowl filled with a bright red liquid sat on the counter. Next to it were several small matching cups. Famine had just picked the bowl up when Mr. Jäger came up behind him and pointed out the window directly in front of them,

  “Look! It’s The Jazz Zombies!”

  Famine automatically peered out of the window with narrowed eyes. While he was occupied searching for the undead musicians, Mr. Jäger quickly unpocketed the vial and poured the contents into the punch bowl. He had just brought his arm back when Famine turned to him with an angry look on his face. Mr. Jäger quickly hid the vial under his sleeve. “I don’t see anything out there, mister.”

  “Oh,” said Jäger looking out of the widow, “I must have been mistaken. I think it was the tombstones I saw.”

  “You thought the tombstones were zombies
? Do you need glasses or are you just stupid?”

  Mr. Jäger laughed. Famine pointed to the cups and spoke quickly. “Just get those cups and bring them out.”

  He walked out of the kitchen while Mr. Jäger grabbed the cups. As the two joined the others in the dining room, The Reaper was just finishing a story of some type. Everyone had their full attention on him.

  “And that’s about the time the old ghoul boys found out the corpse was really a dummy. They were furious!”

  Everyone chuckled as Famine sat the bowl in the center of the table. Mr. Jäger sat the cups near the bowl and the two returned to their seats.

  “I can’t stand humans, plastic or otherwise. What’s their charm?” asked War stroking his hair.

  Pestilence looked perplexeded. A glop of pus and slime fell from his mouth as he smiled. “I know! They’re just so…plain.”

  “They have a certain charm. Don’t forget my boy used be human,” said The Reaper ladling up some of the punch from the bowl

  “I think you’re, Mr. Reaper. Humans are actually quite nice. You just need to look close enough,” said Morrigan reaching for a cup.

  The Reaper took a swig of the punch. “I did that once already, dear. While I’m glad that I took the boy, I don’t think I could stand more than one of them in the house. No offense, son.”

  Famine shrugged. “Whatever, Pop. How is the punch?”

  “It’s actually pretty good. Everyone please take some.”

  Morrigan was about to fill her cup when War protested. “Do you really think a young woman your age should partake of such a strong substance?”

  Morrigan gave the man a “how dare you” look. She then sat the cup down and forced a smile. “Of course, Mr. War, you’re right. I’m much too young for a cocktail.”

  War filled his cup and it drank it all down in one gulp. “Mighty fine drink, my good man. Mighty fine drink. What’s in it?’

  “It’s a take on the blood Chardonnay I usually bottle. I’ve added some spinal fluid, scorpion venom, and a bit of bile into the mix.”

  “Scorpion venom! That’s what I taste,” exclaimed Pestilence as he downed his cup, “I love punch with a bite...or sting. Not quite a refreshing as blood julep, but tasty just the same.”

  The Reaper just finished his second cup. He slammed it down on the table with relish. “Thank you! Thank you very much!”

  Famine and Morrigan regarded The Reaper with curiosity. Morrigan leaned in and whispered into Famine’s ear. “I think there’s a little more than scorpion venom in there if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, he does seem a bit different.”

  Mr. Jäger sat back with his arms folded and observed the other guests filling and refilling their cups with the liquid from the bowl. When War offered him some, he just waved his hand dismissively. Pestilence stood up, turned to The Reaper, and shook his cup for emphasis. As he talked, pieces of putrefied flesh and gangrenous tissue flew from his hand and arm.

  “I do declare, Mistah Reapah! Ya’ll is about the best friend a man could get! Ya’ll are always sayin’ nice things to me and showin’ me kindness. A lot of folks don’t like me. They say I make a mess wherever I go. But you let me your house and have supper with your family. That’s a good man!”

  War stood and walked unsteadily to Pestilence’s side. His speech was a bit louder than it had been minutes before. Famine could swear he was slurring his words. “He’s right, man. You’re the glue that holds this operation together. Without you, we’d be just a lot of skinny, diseased warmongers! Too bad Famine isn’t here. He’s missing out on some good times!”

  “Yeah! Screw him!” Pestilence agreed.

  The Reaper moved his chair between his two friends and patted them on the backs. “No, you’re the best friends a man could have! You’re always there for me! You’re pals and buddies in every sense of the word! You’re such nice friends, I’m going to show you how to make wine like this!”

  Famine faced Morrigan. His face was a mask of concern. “Okay, now I know there’s something wrong. He never offers to show anyone his wine-making secrets.”

  Morrigan nodded in agreement. “I wonder how powerful he made that stuff. He was fine until he drank some.”

  Famine was about to say something but stopped when he saw The Reaper, War, and Pestilence stand together with their arms around one another’s shoulders. They began to sway back and forth as they sang.

  “Past time with good company

  I love, and shall until I die

  Grudge who will, but none deny.

  So God be pleased, thus live will I.

  For my pastance:

  Hunt, sing, and dance,

  My heart is set!

  All goodly sport

  For my comfort,

  Who shall me met?”

  Famine and Morrigan stared in awe at the singing trio for a few more seconds. They went into a second verse, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Morrigan stood up and leaned over to pick up the bowl. “Okay, they’ve had enough. I can’t take the sight of this. Grown death beings shouldn’t be singing like that!”

  Just as she put her hands out, a raspy whispered voice caught her by surprise and she jumped. “Get your hands off the bowl, you little wench!”

  She and Famine turned their attention to the other side of the table. It was Mr. Jäger who had spoken. He was still leaning back in his seat and smiling. Something in the voice struck Famine deep within his heart. He had heard it before. He just couldn’t make himself believe it was what he thought it was. Morrigan put her hands on her hips and looked down at Mr. Jäger, her face contorted in anger.

  “What did you call me?”

  Mr. Jäger laughed manically as he stood up. His form began to change. The clothes, and even the goggles, he wore began to shimmer and swirl like mist. His face was undergoing a similar transformation. The features melted into a flat, elongated and gray tattered mask. Famine gasped. The thing that began to materialize before his eyes was a familiar as the new voice it had. Within seconds, the man that had been there before was gone. Standing in his place was a tall thin being made up of a whitish, opaque, cloud-like material. His body flickered from within with a low light, illuminating the faint traces of the foxhunting uniform it wore. Morrigan let out a small scream and stepped back. Famine eyed the ghostly intruder with maliciousness.

  “YOU!” he shouted.

  The ghost smiled and hovered above the table. It folded its arms again and looked down at Famine with spite. “Yes, it’s me, boy. I bet you’re surprised.”

  “Who is this ass, Famine?” asked Morrigan thumbing in the direction of the being.

  “This, Morrigan, is The Hunter. He’s the leader of the Wild Hunt. Uncle Ankou and I met him on our first night out. He was after our stuff but we made an ass of him.”

  “You make it sound like I was doing something bad. You need to tell all sides of the story. It isn’t fair. The young lady here might get the wrong impression.”

  Morrigan shouted up at The Hunter. “You just called me a wench, buddy! That made a good enough impression already!”

  The Reaper, War, and Pestilence started singing a new song. They didn’t notice any of the activity going on a few feet away. Famine regarded them with annoyance before turning his attention back to The Hunter. “What did you do here, Cloud Boy? Looks like you made them drunk!”

  The Hunter floated down and near the singing trio. He glanced at them, and then returned his gaze to Famine. “Drunk is a human word, but use it if you must. I’ve incapacitated them. I’ve made them useless and unable to serve their purposes. I was hoping to get Ankou into this, but that’s fine. I have The Reaper and that’s all that matters. He’s the most important.”

  “I guess it’s obvious what my next question is,” said Famine sarcastically.

  “Is it?” asked The Hunter settling floating around the dining room. He stopped every few seconds to admire a piece of furniture or décor.

  “You’re
stupider than I remembered. Why did you do this?’

  Something was now different. Famine looked at The Reaper, War, and Pestilence. They had now become quiet and they settled into their seats. Within a few seconds, they were snoring. Morrigan floated over and checked them. “They’re fine. I think they’re just asleep.”

  The Hunter was turning over a large ceramic vase that resembled a tree trunk covered in winding vines. “They’re down for the count, as the saying goes. But getting back to the question at hand, young man, the reason I did this is for revenge. I thought you would have guessed that by now.”

  Morrigan had joined Famine and the two followed The Hunter as he continued to go around the room. Famine’s patience was wearing thin. “That’s too simple, you transparent jack-ass. You’re still mad about the stunt with Uncle Ankou? You lost that bet fair and square. How did you find out about the game anyway?”

  “I was at the Dead Fair. I saw you and that unbearably dull uncle of yours and followed you around. I was one of the masked dancers in the parade. That made it easier to spy.”

  “What did he want?” asked Morrigan stepping closer to Famine.

  “He was after all the souls and corpses in The Deadlands. He made a bet with Uncle Ankou and lost because he didn’t listen closely enough to the terms. I guess he’s still upset because we made him feel bad.”

  The Hunter threw the vase he was holding to the ground and it shattered. He dove at Famine and stopped short a few inches from the boy’s face. His voice was raspier and more forceful. “It was more than that! It was about my honor!”

  “What honor? You’re just the leader of a bunch of horse-riding pansies. What did they do? Make you ride at the back?” asked Famine.

  The Hunter pulled away and began floating around the room again. “When I came back empty-handed, I was disgraced in front of my men. They laughed at me and said that I was no longer able to be a good leader. I was stripped of my position and banished from the hunting party. The Rider who was with me told stories about the encounter between me and Ankou. He made me sound like an empty-headed fool. What good is a fool for a leader?”

  Famine wasn’t backing down. He remained steadfast in his questioning. “They threw you out because of that? Hardly seems likely.”

  “It was the last mistake they would take. I had messed up before and they distrusted me. I thought that taking over The Deadlands would have taken care of that and they’d see me differently. Instead, they used my defeat as the catalyst for my ousting. What last bit of honor I had was taken from me.”

  Morrigan now took the chance to question The Hunter. “I don’t get it. Why is honor so important? Sounds like some shit my mother would talk about.”

  “A leader is not good without things like dignity, respect, and honor, dear girl. My past captures earned me the esteem of my men and put me in the greatest position of the Hunt. No one questioned me. No one thought ill of me. I would go down in history as one of the best Hunters of all time. Instead, I became a dancer in a two-bit carnival. It was all I could do.”

  Famine walked over to the Reaper and examined his face. The great Omen of Death remained still and snored the loudest of the Horsemen. The boy was quiet. His face went from one of relative calm to one of outright rage. He had never felt such deep seated rage.

  “How dare you do this! I don’t give a damn how much you lost! You don’t come into my home and do this kind of thing! I don’t have much but I love what I do have and you can’t waltz in here and take it away!”

  The Hunter stood behind Famine gloating. “But I did and there’s nothing you can do about it. The effect is permanent. They’ll stay like this forever.”

  Morrigan marched up to him. Her anger matched that of Famine. “Now what, buddy? Huh? I guess that leaves you free to do whatever the hell you want!”

  “That’s right. Without these idiots, I’m free to take all the souls I desire. Ankou is nothing without his big brother here, so I’m not worried about him. Once I have control over the dead, my honor will be regained. Those fools of the Hunt will pay for getting rid of me! I’ll be the greatest soul collector to ever exist. Humans will grow to fear me!’

  Famine turned to The Hunter. The boy’s face was growing paler and paler. A fierce, steady glow came from his eyes. His body shook and he was finding it hard to keep his voice steady. “You haven’t earned to right to even be alongside the likes of The Reaper! He’s the ultimate face of death, not some reject jockey like you!”

  “Insults will do no good. I have conquered this ultimate as you call it. I will now be your father.”

  That was it. Famine screamed and rushed towards The Hunter with his fists flying. Fiery wisps and trails of bright white light came from his whole body. Morrigan gasped at the sight of her friend having just turned into a sort of human comet. His voice echoed throughout the house and shook the walls and ceiling. This must be Dead Light she thought. It was spectacular and frightening at the same time. The Hunter wasn’t solid and the beating Famine attempted to lay upon him was useless. The boy’s hands simply went through him. Famine ended up punching holes in the wall behind The Hunter. He turned around, his body glowing and heaving with emotion. His eyes still glowed and there didn’t seem to be any direction in which they faced.

  Morrigan grabbed one of the torches hanging on the wall. She thrust it through The Hunter’s wispy body. He screamed and turned to strike her. She thrust the flames at him again and he stepped back.

  Famine shuddered. His fists fell and his eyes returned to normal. The burning that had seemingly come from deep within his body had disappeared. After a few seconds, he stood up, regained his composure and joined Morrigan. She stared at him in awe. That was a sight to say the least…one she had no explanation for. The Hunter had retreated to the kitchen doorway.

  “Fire?” asked Famine breathlessly.

  “Yeah, I remembered how the sun burns off the clouds. Old Misty over there is a cloud…thought maybe the heat would burn him off.”

  Famine looked impressed as he patted Morrigan’s back. “Good thinking!”

  The Hunter scowled. “Playing dirty is common amongst you dead things, I see.”

  “That’s just how we deal with people who piss us off.” Morrigan said as she put the torch back.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m in control now. There is no more death. There’s only The Hunter!”

  Famine held Morrigan’s hand and the two stood closer together. The Hunter withdrew from the protection of the doorway and bent over the sleeping Horsemen. He took a ghostly pen from his ghostly clothes and began drawing ghostly moustaches on them. He gave The Reaper a large handlebar one. Morrigan let go of Famine’s hand and floated up to him. She was about to let the man have it when Famine spoke. His voice had become calm.

  “So, you’re the only one left, right,” he asked.

  The Hunter finished putting a beard on War. “That’s right. I thought I made that clear.”

  Famine started chuckling. The Hunter’s head snapped up and he glared at the boy. “What’s so funny?”

  “Answer me this, you soggy son of a bitch. If there is no Death, how can anything die?”

  The Hunter was silent. Morrigan started smiling. She joined Famine at his side. “Yeah. You’ve sort of cut off your own bollocks on this one, Hunter.”

  The Hunter threw his pen down. His face was still a mask of confusion. “What are you two getting at? I don’t understand.”

  “You say that you can now collect all the souls and take over The Deadlands,” Famine said striding up to The Hunter proudly, “But if there is no Death, nothing can die. That being the case, there won’t be any souls to collect! Everyone lives!”

  The Hunter glared at Famine for a long moment. Morrigan shifted her gaze back and forth between the two. At last The Hunter clenched his fists and screamed. “DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!”

  Famine stepped back, pleased with himself, and smiled at Morrigan. “That’s right, buddy, you can’t do a t
hing. Without your greatest foe, you’re useless. What do you do now?’

  The Hunter anxiously floated back and forth from one end of the room to another. He was pacing, ghost style, Morrigan thought. At last he stopped. “I have to bring them back. I hate to, but I have no function without them. I don’t want to go back to dancing with skeletons and zombies, it’s just too degrading.”

  Famine grabbed a slim black umbrella from a stand inside the entry to the dining room and sat. He leaned forward on it and rested his chin on the question mark shaped handle. “You’ve proven your stupidity yet again, Hunter. What’s this now? Zero and two?’

  “I thought you said you couldn’t bring them back.” Morrigan said.

  The Hunter stopped and looked at her as were a small child. “Don’t be silly, of course I can reverse it. I was just being dramatic. It was just a simple potion I got from a witch in the Borderlands. I studied it and made my own version. Hers uses swamp water, mine uses zombie blood. The body absorbs it quicker.”

  “Which witch?” asked Morrigan pulling a cell phone from under her shirt.

  Both Famine and The Hunter looked at her, stupefied. They had never seen anything like it: the object was black, rectangular, and thin with a gaudy flowered patterned case. “What is that?” asked Famine pointing to it.

  Morrigan shrugged. “It’s called a cellular telephone. The mortals use it to communicate. I got it off someone mother killed last week. Azazel rigged it to get reception to and from all the realms. Now which witch did you use?”

  “Baba Yaga,” answered The Hunter still giving the phone a quizzical look.

  Morrigan quickly punched in a phone number and waited. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and talked over it. “I know all the local witches. Baba Yaga is a close friend of the family anyway.”

  Famine and The Hunter just exchanged confused looks. After a few seconds Morrigan talked into the phone. “Yaga? Hey! It’s Morrigan! How are you? Oh, she’s fine. He’s fine, too. Hey, listen, I have a question. I need to knowhow to reverse a sleeping potion of yours. No, wait, I’ll ask.”

  Morrigan once again covered the mouthpiece. She addressed The Hunter. “Hey you, what color was it?”

  “Well, it turned different colors but I think it was blue to begin with.”

  “Okay,” said Morrigan getting back to the phone, “It was blue. Okay. I see. Okay, we can do that. Okay, hey, thanks Yaga. I’ll see you at the next Grand Ball. Good bye.” She put the phone back with the same composure that used used to remove it.

  Morrigan looked at Famine. “She says we can use some cemetery water. That should bring them back.”

  Famine breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, good.”

  The Hunter was wringing his hands. “So that’s it?”

  Famine straightened up and pointed the umbrella at The Hunter. “That’s right. Now I suggest you take your ass as far from here as possible, mate. I wouldn’t want to be here when The Reaper wakes up if I were you.”

  The Hunter stopped wringing his hands and stared at Famine with cold eyes. “This is the last time you’ll humiliate me, kid. You think you’re so smart but you’re not. I’ll show you one day.”

  Famine lowered the umbrella and thought for a bit. “I hardly think that’ll happen.”

  The Hunter floated to Famine and looked down on him with malice. “I’m not one to run from a fight.”

  Famine pushed him away. “Fine, fine. Now I asked you to leave, so kindly do so. If I do ever see you, I promise it won’t be good.”

  The Hunter stood up and nodded in Famine’s direction. He put up his right arm, closed his eyes, and disappeared upwards in a streak of bright mist.“We better get to making the antidote,” suggested Morrigan.

  “Oh, I’d let them sleep a bit longer. They never get any rest. Besides, think about it. For right now, no one or nothing is dying, fighting, or sick. I’ll give the mortals a gift. I think they deserve it.”

  That was a gesture Morrigan hadn’t expected. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn the kid was showing a human trait. Instead of pursuing it, she walked into the family room, leaving her friend to ponder further. She returned a minute later with an armful of dusty black blankets.

  “That’s a good idea,” Famine said coming out of his thought cloud.

  “Yeah, I remembered seeing these in the corner earlier.”

  She began covering up the three sleeping Horsemen.

  “You’re a wonderful friend, Morrigan,” said the boy, helping cover up War, “I’m glad that I have you.”

  She turned to Famine. “It’s quite okay, that’s what I’m here for. That should take care of them,” Morrigan said, indicating the sleeping Horsemen with a thumb. “Let’s go upstairs and pick out some clothes. You’re going to have to look good for the dance.”