Queen of the Dead

by Ty Drago

  “Mark Twain,” I echoed. Dad’s favorite writer. He’d read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn to me when I’d been very young. And he quoted Twain all the time.

  “News of my death,” Tom recited, “has been greatly exaggerated.”

  “I wish,” I muttered.

  “Me too, bro.”

  Actually, I found out much later in school that this wasn’t the original wording of the quote. What Twain really said was, “The report of my death was an exaggeration.” My dad got it wrong.

  But I like his version better.

  For a couple of minutes, we stood in silence, side by side, studying the old photo.

  I looked like my father? Mom had always said so, but the idea that the resemblance could be so strong that someone would mistake us—well, that had simply never occurred to me.

  Tom said, “It ain’t just a physical resemblance. When you came to us four months ago, you were a scared kid…and with good reason. But since then, you’ve gotten tougher day by day. We all seen it. It’s why me and Sharyn made you the youngest-ever Angel trainee. You’re a born leader, like your dad. And like him, you don’t really know it.”

  I stared at Tom, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

  He tilted his head and regarded me, “You still don’t get your role around here, do you, bro?”

  “My role?”

  But then the Chief waved his hand, as if dismissing the whole topic. “I think Ramirez knew your dad, and maybe that’s connected to why the Corpses took him. Anyway, when he wakes up, I need to make him understand that the dudes that got him now ain’t the ones who originally took him. That’s he’s been rescued. That’ll be the easy part. But then I gotta tell him stuff he ain’t gonna want to hear. And I’m hopin’ that you being there might make some things a bit easier for him to take…because you’re Karl Ritter’s son. It’s a shot in the dark.”

  “What is it you have to tell him that he won’t want to hear?” I asked.

  Tom laughed again. As with the last one, it sounded sad and hollow. “That after saving his butt from the Deaders…I can’t let him go.”

  Chapter 14

  Opportunity Knocks

  Two hundred feet directly above Karl Ritter’s memorial, Lilith Cavanaugh checked her reflection in the small, tasteful mirror that hung on the wall beside her office door. Her Cover was perfect, her blond hair expertly styled, her dress flawlessly tailored, her makeup impeccably applied—the very picture of professional, political womanhood.

  Then, for a moment, she examined the body underneath.

  Definitely time for a replacement.

  The skin was turning from gray to splotchy purple. Her hair had begun to fall out, and two of her teeth felt loose.

  I’ll have to have Pierce make arrangements for a new host.

  She’d lost count of how many she’d occupied since that first night when she’d crossed the Void. At first, obtaining replacements had been fairly easy. Her minions controlled the city morgue and made sure to notify the Queen each time a young female body in good condition reached their tables. Better still, once a particular body had decomposed beyond its usefulness, it was a simple thing to have it cremated at the city’s expense.

  Convenient.

  Unfortunately, young female deaths—at least the right sort of deaths—had proven difficult to come by. Fire and car crash victims, after all, just wouldn’t do. Too gauche.

  So toward the end of last year, Lilith had instituted a new “policy.” She’d ordered carefully selected minions to go out into the city night in search of promising candidates—young women who lived alone and would not be missed. It was a radical approach and not without its risks, but the flow of fresh hosts had proven worth it—for a while.

  But over the last few weeks, she’d been forced to abandon it. Despite all their best efforts, the human media had begun to take notice.

  This left Lilith in the deplorable position of having to wear these loathsome human bodies far longer than she would have liked.

  It was degrading!

  Still, life went on. Pasting a broad smile on her painted lips, the Queen opened her office door.

  “Mrs. Ritter?” she asked.

  Her visitor looked up. The woman’s face was awash with complex emotions: desperation, terror, despair, hope. It was really quite amusing.

  Ritter was tall, almost as tall as Lilith’s Cover. Her long hair was blond and her skin smooth and flawless, though her makeup was minimal. She wore department store clothes that seemed chosen more for comfort than style. But she wore them well, and when she stood and approached, the Queen couldn’t help but admire the grace with which this human creature moved.

  Interesting.

  “Yes,” she said. “Susan.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Susan,” Lilith offered her hand, which the woman accepted. “I’m Lilith Cavanaugh. Please, come into my office.”

  Susan Ritter followed her. “Thanks for seeing me like this, Ms. Cavanaugh…without an appointment, I mean.”

  “Not at all,” the Queen gestured to one of her visitor chairs. Then she settled herself beside her desk. “As it happens, you caught on me a slow day. Only six hours of meetings between now and five o’clock.”

  Ritter did her best to laugh but didn’t quite manage it.

  Too much on her mind perhaps.

  Poor thing.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Ritter?” she asked.

  “Susan,” the woman repeated.

  “Yes, of course. Susan.”

  “You can help me find my son,” Susan said.

  “Your son?”

  “Will. He disappeared from school back in October. He and a girl named Helene Boettcher. Nobody’s seen them since.”

  Oh, they’ve been seen. Just not by you.

  “I see,” Lilith replied. “I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with the case. Missing persons are, of course, a police matter.”

  “I’ve been to the police,” Susan insisted. “Called all of my husband’s old friends on the force when it first happened. They promised to move heaven and earth to find Will. That’s a direct quote. And maybe they did. But it didn’t help. They never found him…and lately, I’ve come to think they’ve stopped looking.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case.” In fact, Lilith knew the opposite to be true. Her minions on the police force were very eager to locate young Mr. Ritter.

  But the boy, like all the Undertakers, seemed very good at staying hidden.

  “Well…maybe not. But I’m done waiting,” Susan said firmly. “I took a day off work. I’ve just spent my entire morning walking around Center City…looking for him. I knew it was crazy. I knew it made looking for a needle in haystack look easy. But I did it anyway.”

  Susan rubbed her perfect face with her perfect hands.

  “I never really expected to find Will, but it was worse than that. I saw him everywhere. Every time a boy in a hoodie went by, I was convinced it was him. A couple of times, I was so sure that I actually grabbed a stranger by the shoulder before I realized my mistake.”

  “This must be terrible,” Lilith said.

  Susan fidgeted and nodded. “Finally, it occurred to me to come here…to you. I know that finding lost kids isn’t your job. And I know all this happened before you even came to Philadelphia. You didn’t know my husband, and you certainly don’t know Will. But I’ve seen you interviewed, Ms. Cavanaugh. Time and again, you’ve talked about your ‘open door’ policy and about being the city’s ‘friend in need.’ Well, I’m in serious need.”

  It was a public reputation the Queen had carefully cultivated. The formula was a simple one: the more the people of this city trusted her, the more damage she could do.

  “Of course, Susan. And I’d like you to call me
Lilith.”

  “Do you have any children, Lilith?”

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t,” the Queen replied. “I’ve never married. Too career-minded, I suppose.” Then, after a moment’s calculation, she added, “I can’t pretend to understand your pain, Susan. First, your husband…yes, I am new to the city, but Detective Ritter’s reputation lives on…and now your son.”

  Susan’s face twisted up, and for one delicious moment, Lilith thought she might cry. But she steadied herself. “I have a little girl. Emily. She’s five. That’s just old enough to understand what’s happened to her brother but too young to be able to make any sense of it…not that I’ve been able to make any sense of it. And after what happened today…”

  The Queen said, “And if I may ask, what exactly did happen today?”

  Susan reached inside her jacket and produced a DVD, which she laid on the desktop. “This happened.”

  Lilith picked up the unlabeled disk and examined it.

  “A message from my husband. He apparently left it with a lawyer two years ago to be delivered to my son on his thirteenth birthday. That’s today.”

  The Queen’s manicured brows knitted. “Really? Detective Ritter must have had a flair for the dramatic.”

  “He may have had a ‘flair’ for more than that,” Susan replied, sounding almost bitter. Then, sighing, she added, “I think Karl may have been delusional.”

  “Delusional?”

  “Unbalanced? He talks about some kind of secret invasion. And about ‘seeing’ things that most people can’t see.”

  If Lilith had possessed a living spine, a chill might have run along it. As it was, all she felt was surprise—and anger. This Ritter family was proving to be quite a nuisance. No wonder Booth, vain fool that he’d been, had taken such an interest in them.

  Now across from her sat the wife and mother of two of the Malum’s most troublesome enemies. Susan looked half exhausted from worry and grief. But despite all that, she remained poised and resolute, a perfect specimen of human womanhood.

  I could launch myself across the desk…right now. I could take her throat and apply just enough pressure to kill her. No broken neck. A broken neck would render the body useless. It would require precision and a certain delicacy of touch. But in five minutes’ time, no more, I could be wearing that fine body.

  No one knows she’s here.

  “Unbalanced?” Lilith asked gently. “I may be a relative newcomer to this city, but the idea of Detective Ritter having some kind of mental illness seems…unlikely. Can I see for myself what’s on the disk?”

  Susan nodded.

  Lilith loaded it into the player beside her office’s television.

  The mother and the monster watched the short recording together in silence.

  Karl Ritter spoke calmly. He looked directly into the camera lens, his tone frank and almost apologetic as he left this message for a son who, if Lilith had her way, would never live to see it. As Karl spoke, Lilith thrilled to see a single unconscious tear roll down Susan’s cheek.

  Human suffering was so…tasty.

  When the DVD ended, Lilith said, “I can understand your concern.”

  Susan replied, “I lived with that man for eleven years. I loved him. But now I’m wondering if I ever knew him at all.”

  “I can appreciate that,” the Queen said. And she meant it. Lilith always appreciated human closed-mindedness. It shielded her people.

  It made things so easy.

  “But that’s not the half of it,” Susan went on. “My son’s been missing for four months! And the only word I’ve received is this.” She produced a folded sheet of paper, which she handed across the desk to Lilith. “It came about a month after his disappearance. The handwriting is Will’s. I’d swear to it!”

  Frowning, the Queen unfolded the paper, noticing as she did the splotches of decomposition fluid her finger left on the table. The stains posed no danger, of course. Unlike her husband and son, Susan could neither see nor feel them. But they were irritating nonetheless.

  The paper was a brief letter. It read:

  Dear Mom,

  I’m okay. I’m sorry I can’t come home yet. I’m also sorry I can’t tell you where I am. There’s this stuff I have to do—important stuff. I know you’re sad. I’m sad too. I know you’re probably real worried about me. But I really really want you to trust me. Scary things are happening, and I have to fight them. It’s a fight that Dad started before he died, and now it’s my job to finish it. I know you don’t understand, but it’s really safer if you don’t.

  I’m not alone. I’ve made some good friends, and we’re all working real hard so I can come home.

  Until then, you’ve got to be real careful, so burn this letter. Take care of my sister and try not to worry too much. I know I used to tell you to stop babying me. That I wasn’t a kid anymore. Well, it wasn’t true then. It’s true now.

  I miss you.

  Love,

  Will

  How sentimental these humans were. The child’s letter warns his mother to be careful, warns her to burn the letter. And yet, here she sits, showing it off to a person she’s only just met.

  “My son’s joined some kind of…cult, Lilith,” Susan said, her voice cracking. “Karl mentioned the Undertakers. I’ve heard of them. They’re supposed to have been involved in Kenny Booth’s death last fall.”

  “Yes,” the Queen remarked thoughtfully. She read through the letter a second time. “I’m going to need to keep this, Susan. And the DVD. For analysis.”

  The woman visibly paled. “Do you have to? They’re all I’ve got. I…didn’t think to make any copies.”

  “I’m sorry, but if you want my help, it’s important that we find out as much as we can about your husband and your son…and their involvement in this street gang.”

  “So…you’ll help me? I know this isn’t in your job description. But—”

  The Queen went to the woman and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Susan looked up and offered Lilith a small, grateful smile. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  It would be easy. Do it correctly, and her neck won’t break. So easy.

  “Susan, my ‘job description’ is to be whatever the good people of this city need me to be,” the Queen said, smiling. “Of course, I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can. I promise you. For now, go home to your little girl…Emily, was it?”

  “Yes,” Susah sighed. “Emily.”

  “Go home to her and wait. It may take a little time. But I’ll call you the moment I know something.”

  Susan rose from her chair and hugged Lilith, the gesture as sudden as it was unwelcome. Lilith actually heard some of the bones in her current body crack, felt the tendons tear. The Ritter woman had just cost her two or three further days of use. Thanks to this ridiculous display of gratitude, the Queen would require a new, proper cadaver by nightfall.

  Nevertheless, she smiled.

  “Thank you. Oh God…thank you,” Susan said, crying openly. Then, collecting herself, she let Lilith show her to door.

  Karl Ritter’s widow was smiling when she left.

  As soon as the door to the outer office closed, Lilith said to Pierce, “I need a new body…right away.”

  “Yes, Ms. Cavanaugh.”

  “And have D’Angelo come see me. I have a mission for some of his better minions.”

  “Of course, mistress.”

  The Queen of the Dead considered chastising her assistant for using her Malum title. But right now, she simply felt too good.

  A fortuitous day indeed!

  Chapter 15

  Agent Ramirez

  As I’ve said, Tom kept two rooms for himself. The outer one included a desk, a conference table, a bulletin board, and a few chairs. This was where he di
d his “Chief” stuff. The inner one, separated by a blanket hung across the opening, had a bed and small dresser in it.

  It also—now—had a gurney.

  We both sat in silence, Tom on his bed and me on a folding chair, waiting. Just waiting. Something I’d never been good at. Agent Hugo Ramirez stirred and murmured. He even rolled over a couple of times, but it was almost sixty minutes before our—what? Guest? Prisoner?—finally came around.

  Ramirez swallowed dryly. His eyes settled on me. He blinked. I half-expected him to call me Karl again. But instead, he whispered, “Water?”

  I got up and offered him a plastic bottle, holding it to his lips. He drank some and then nodded and lay back.

  “Mi duele la cabeza,” he muttered.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Usted va a estar bien,” Tom replied.

  I looked at him. “You speak Spanish?”

  “A little,” he replied with a shrug.

  The sounds of our voices seemed to rouse the FBI guy a little further. The next time he spoke, it was in faintly accented English. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tom Jefferson,” the Chief said. “This here’s Will Ritter. He’s Karl’s son.”

  Ramirez digested this news. His dark eyes regarded me thoughtfully. “Where am I?”

  “Someplace safe,” Tom replied.

  Ramirez’s laugh turned into a cough. He tried to sit up on the gurney. That was when he noticed the handcuffs fastening his right wrist to the gurney rail. He scowled at Tom. “What’s this?”

  “I’m sorry,” the Chief told him. “We…need to keep you here for a while.”

  “We? Look, kid…”

  “Don’t call me ‘kid,’” Tom said flatly. “I’m the Chief of the Undertakers.”

  “The Undertakers,” he echoed, as if he knew the word.

  Tom nodded. “We’re the ones who saved your life today, Agent Ramirez. You’d been snatched by a group of cops who are part of an…organization…we call the ‘Corpses.’ Getting you away from them wasn’t easy, and my sister got herself hurt doin’ it. So I’m looking for a little respect from you.”