Girl on a Tombstone

by Mia Strange

  Out of habit, Jin reached up to finger the clockwork that Dark had made for her. Small and petite, like the girl herself, the watch hung from her neck on a delicate chain. Made of copper and gears, the watch bore the image of a small monkey, perched on frozen cogs. The animal held a skeleton key, wrapped tightly in little etched fingers, while its tail hung low off the casing and circled back in a perfect loop.

  The piece was pretty and whimsical and important. The skeleton key gripped in those tiny monkey fingers, held powerful magic. Magic that could turn a lock and set a demon free. And not just any demon, our demon.

  Without thinking, I reached for mine, and came up empty. The clock that Dark had crafted for me, the beautiful piece with the fleur—de—lis bail, was gone. Ripped from my neck by one of the Ignored too many hours ago to count. All that was left was a ragged welt, burned into my neck where the chain had raked into my flesh.

  All that was left was a deep ache in my heart.

  How could I tell him I lost it? Lost it to men like that? My throat closed with emotion as I acknowledged the truth. He already knew, didn’t he?

  I turned my attention back to Dr. Dark. There would be time for explanations later, when we were alone.

  A roll of thin copper wire circled Dr. Dark’s left arm. Trace wire, like the crumbs in a forest left by the fabled Hansel and Gretel, served as a lifeline when he traveled too deep and too far into a dead city. The wire would be anchored at the start, and spooled out during the journey. He’d find his way home by following the wire back. If need be, he could send his magic down the wire, to destroy whomever or whatever might be following.

  Dr. Dark’s bent form moved silently, slowly, letting his watch swing in huge, broad, sweeping movements.

  The watch was magnificent, ornately designed with etchings of angels. One angel, whose wings were portrayed as flames, tumbled from the heavens. A tiny skeleton key tumbled through the sky with him. Fallen and cursed, this angel was doomed to travel the earth as a demon. Just like Darius, the fallen angel and now demon, who traveled with us. The same demon we kept hidden in our engine.

  I shivered and some of that glorious heat went away. It was as if Darius knew I was thinking about him. I shivered again. I didn’t want to be on Darius’s radar. Not ever. I shook off the feeling and turned back to Dr. Dark. If anyone could keep us safe from a demon, it was him.

  Dark did not look up.

  He did not look left. He did not look right.

  He didn’t care about the threat of the few dead left shambling and shuffling and dragging their clanking chains around.

  In this moment, he didn’t seem to care about us.

  “Dowsing,” Jin whispered.

  I nodded. I pushed up from the tarp and sweeping my matted, sticky hair from my face, I struggled to sit up straighter. Like Jin, I wanted a better look.

  Few of us had seen this side of Dr. Dark; when his magic was at the peak of its power, when he was dowsing. Not dowsing for water or metals or precious gems, but dowsing for Ley lines. Magical lines we lived for.

  The lines that could make the dead stop walking. Make the evil in the blackest, darkest magic disappear. Lines that could make the world stop spinning in a circle of greed and the madness that went along with it.

  Quite simply, the Ley lines, the right Ley lines, could save the world, and in turn, save us. And only Dr. Dark knew how to find them.

  At times he’d disappear from the Troupe, traveling ahead of us, always dowsing, always Ley line hunting. Searching. Tracking. Wandering.

  He would scout far and wide, well beyond the lines of ancient trade routes. Alone he would venture into The Ash Lands, into haunted border towns, and sprawling acres of poisoned, dying farmlands. He would venture into The Rust, narrowly escaping the enraged Tinkers, who killed to often to protect their secrets. He would travel roads long abandoned by everyone but the rotting dead.

  Dark would look for the magic in the lines, for the ancient and sacred sites that led to hidden monuments and magical tokens, and pockets of pure, untapped, sparkling magic. He searched for the puzzle pieces, for the clues that would give us the answer to the always pressing question. The question of how? How do we save our world? How do we save ourselves from each other?

  And if Dr. Dark found something? Well that’s where the Academy came in. It usually took many of us, each with our own brand of magic and special talents, to retrieve a clue, or harness a pocket of white magic. Or capture something as dangerous as a demon.

  Once retrieved, we needed a safe, secret, secure place to store and hide our findings, hide our prized puzzle pieces from The Gov spies that were everywhere. This is how our demon, Darius, ended up trapped and hidden in our engine. He was our second and most deadly clue so far.

  We found Darius in St. Louis, Missouri, among the ruins of a psych ward, a scant mile away from a church where an infamous exorcism had taken place. As the story went, the boy, who was about ten, had been saved. But the fate of the demon? Well, no one knew for sure.

  But we knew.

  We had been following Chapter Two, WHEN ANGELS FALL, in the Secret book of Dark Alchemists, A History of Transformation and Travels, and Time. Combined with the Ley lines Dr. Dark could find, we finally went knocking on the right door.

  We found the demon, and with wounds still bleeding from his ripped—out wings, plus an attitude born from Hell, Darius showed himself to us for the first time in centuries.

  It had taken all of us to fight such evil. We won. The surrounding area and buildings? Not so much.

  So, we hit the rails with a pissed off demon and a zombie in tow.

  Yep. That’s where The Bone Man had found our Phil, full name being Mr. Phillip Ernest Morton. Hailing from Missouri, US of A.

  Phil had been sitting in a near demolished kitchen, eating raw hamburger and slurping sour milk. We knew his full name because he was still wearing his name tag from the convention of Sewage Systems, specializing in Overflow, Backup, and Rooter.

  I even remembered when The Bone Man introduced him to me. “Hey, Skye,” he had shouted, quoting a favorite line from our pop culture classes. “Look who’s drinking milk?”

  A smile formed on my lips as the memory surfaced. Phil wore his milk mustache for days. After all, it’s pretty much impossible to get a zombie to wash. Still, I had mad respect for his livelihood. Nothing screams ‘Needs a Sewage Specialist’ more than when the world goes to hell and systems fail all along our rail stations. If Phil hadn’t been chomped in the men’s room at the diner, he’d be a flippin’ millionaire in this stinky new world of ours.

  I stole a glance at The Bone Man. His hands were placed flush against the invisible wall of magic. He looked like a mime. He caught my eye, pounded on the wall and glared. I gave him the universal shrug with palms up. That innocent, “What the heck can I do?” one.

  “Right,” he mouthed. He slammed the wall with both fists. It sounded like a drum. Whoa. The Bone Man did angry mime really well.

  I turned away. “Soon,” I said. “Soon.”

  “Dark doesn’t even see us,” Jin whispered next to me. “It’s like we aren’t even here.”

  “I know.”

  “Well don’t think it will get you off the hook, Skye. You’re still in big—ass trouble.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

  “Just keeping it real, girlfriend.”

  Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to Dr. Dark. I couldn’t deny I was damned relieved he was here. And even though we spent a lot of time waiting on him, tonight, he was right on time.

  Sort of. Kind of.

  I’d call it close enough. After all, there had been times when he was gone for weeks. Weeks that would melt into months. Once it was the better part of a year.

  That had been one of the worst and scariest times for all of us.

  “I’m so glad Dark’s here,” said Jin as if reading my mind. “Ya know, Skye, timing’s everything.

  “And you a
nd Pilot—”

  “Please,” Jin rolled her eyes. I had to drag him out of his railcar. “Let’s just say his internal compass leads only to the next mirror. That guy is vain.”

  Damn. She had a point. Still, I couldn’t blame him. Hair the color of sun—kissed wheat. Eyes the shade of rare spring grass, Pilot was smoking hot. Smoking. “I have faith in you guys. Always,” I tacked on.

  Jin thought for a moment. “Well. Maybe. But Skye,” she narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “I would still have to tell on you, ya know? It’s for your own good. It’s not like you will listen to me. Which is too bad, ‘Cause I’m always right.”

  I sighed. “Got it.” No point in arguing with Jin. No point at all.

  When I’d arrived at Dark’s Academy, skinny, with sunken cheeks and a don’t—fuck—with—me attitude, I was in pathetic shape. It made me a target for all the mean kids who traveled the rails with us. Pilot knew only too well the feeling of being bullied, he only had one arm, a useless ragged stump. Boy did the bullies love that, especially the shifters in the last, and largest railcar. They could be brutal. Hell, I thought about Anastasia, they still were.

  But when he grew into a beautiful man, one that was lethal in ways most didn’t even know, they too backed off him. And he’d made sure they backed off me.

  Pilot had been deemed non—magical, so The Gov did what it always did, they sent useless kids to work out in the Ash. A death sentence. If the zombies and work details didn’t get you out there, the elements, brutal wind, acid rain and scorching, steaming sands, would.

  But not our Pilot. He hid his magic and labored away, looking for his chance to run. All that changed the day his right arm was damaged beyond repair. He’d been set free all right. He’d been left by the side of the rails, thrown out like so much garbage. Dark got to him just before death did, and for the second time, in Gov history, a powerful, magical kid slipped from their greedy fingers. The first kid? Was me.

  Dr. Dark was our legal guardian now. The Gov knew this. In their eyes, we were nothing more than a group of throwaways and misfits and freaks. Their words, not ours.

  Although in our defense, we were well—dressed, well—groomed ones. We were stage performers after all. I looked down at my torn skirt and bloodstained clothes. Okay. Most of the time we were well—groomed.

  To them, we were freaks that traveled the rails performing in a distasteful, cheap, sideshow. But the Gov’s ruling body, four incredibly powerful magic—wielders that oozed black magic, let us ride the rails at our own pace. Because, when you came right down to it, we were damn entertaining. Plus, we paid them a fortune in rail tariffs. I mean really, what’s not to love?

  They called themselves ‘The Bishops of Directions,’ because they had divided the country up into four regions. And you guessed it, they went by Bishop North, Bishop South, Bishop East, and Darks personal favorite, Bishop West. So original. But we were legit enough, and we were given a zombie permit.

  But all in all, we were worthless to them. With no magic to be found, they resented the food we ate, the water we drank, the ground we stood on, the air we breathed. . .

  We were nothing. And yet. . .

  We were everything.

  We were the strongest, most talented group of magical beings in the country. And according to Dr. Dark? Maybe even in the entire world.

  And The Gov, and the ‘Directions’ for all their arrogance, for all their infinite wisdom, for all their searching, didn’t have a fucking clue.

  Not. One.

  So, we ride the rails, and stayed hidden. Right in plain sight.

  11

  The healing had begun, but with it came new waves of nausea that washed through me. I crumpled and leaned harder into Jin. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Hang in, Sky,” she said. “Hang in.”

  “Hanging,” I said through gritted teeth.

  I had to give the kid credit. I’d put Jin through a lot tonight, and yet she was still here for me, holding on. At times too tight. . . I gasped as she hugged me, crushing my ribs against her. “Jin!”

  “Oops. Sorry.” Jin pulled back, but not before she snapped the piece of blue gum she was chewing loudly in my right ear. Ouch. No one snapped gum like Jin. She had made it into an art form. I didn’t even want to think about the size of bubbles she could blow. And what happened when they burst? I’d spent the last week scraping aqua blue bubble gum off the side of my railcar.

  Yeah. Good kid. The best. But the gum had to go. Really. And maybe, while I’m at it, the karaoke. Just saying. No one, living or dead, should be allowed to ‘interpret’ notes like that.

  “So. I can’t believe you let yourself get all beat up like this. Um, hello? Skye? You have a few tricks up your sleeves.” She looked at what I had on. “Or rather under your corset.” She giggled.

  “Jin. I had to—”

  “I know, I know. Protect the magic.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Right. You know this.” Dark had been working hard with Jin, trying to drive the concept home.

  Protect the magic, protect us.

  She frowned. “Yeah, okay. Still. Embarrassed for you.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. Yeah. It was embarrassing. I wasn’t used to losing. Or getting my ass kicked. And it didn’t feel good. Not one damn bit.

  The only way I could have won against such odds was to unleash my Chaos Magic and kill them all. I could have done it. The blackest part of my magic had told me so. Had snuck up behind me and whispered in my ear. It called for their blood and pain and death. The magic had called for everything chaos. But there had been so many of them, almost a mob. And if even just one escaped? If even one told?

  And what about the residual magic that was always left behind? The same magic that trailed after you like a stream of toilet paper stuck on a shoe.

  A nagging, lingering memory surfaced. My years in Gov care flashed bright and bloody, before my eyes. And then? The vision was gone. But the glimpse had been enough.

  I blinked and looked at little Jin. Her long ponytail swung as she chomped gum and twirled a can of paint. I knew what they would do to her in there. As tough as she was, they would break her. She wouldn’t survive. With that thought, a fresh wave of nausea swept over me.

  Tonight, I had been willing to die to protect the Academy’s secret. To protect the magic. This near—death experience was the price I had paid for it. But it wasn’t just my life on the line. It was everyone who mattered to me. Including this wisp of a kid who had just hung on to me like she would never let go. Most were family now. And the few that weren’t? Never would be.

  I now had something and someone, to live for. I had a safe place to go, a place to call home. I had an Academy to attend. A solid, amazing education. A Troupe to perform with. As our acting guardian, Dark kept us safe in our travels along the rails. He made sure that we were protected citizens, a benefit to society he would say. We were counted, labeled, and registered. In his care, we were safe. As safe as anyone could be in this dangerous, rotting world.

  And in his care, we were home.

  I truly loved him for it. We all did.

  And now? After tonight? Dr. Dark wouldn’t have to go it alone. He wouldn’t have to risk everything. . .

  Because . . . because I could go with him.

  Why?

  Because I could see the Ley lines. See them just as clear and brilliant as the steam magic.

  Tonight, I could trace the perfect, straight line that led into the mouth of the Georgetown Morgue. The steam magic painted the line in sparkles and fantastic colors and rich, amazing smells.

  That’s right. Smells.

  Like vanilla and chocolate baking in an oven. Like cinnamon and cloves in hot apple cider. All memories from my youth.

  I moaned with the want for it, I longed for the memories long past. Memories of my mom’s kitchen and our backyard with the tire and rope swing. Memories of Emma, laughing as she flew up in the air, riding that tire better than me, better than anyone
.

  Unable to stop them, hot tears spilled from my eyes as the magic, so poignant and powerful, wrapped around us. I physically collapsed against Jin and gave myself over to it. Jin sat back, plopping down next to me cross—legged, looking dazed and confused. Tears of her own trickled from the corners of her eyes.

  A can of paint rolled from her limp fingers. A canister of Cherry—Bomb—Red rolled past me as the melted pools of streetlights sputtered and spit to a close. The metal can clanked an uneven tune as it rolled off into the darkness.

  A handful of zombies stood dazed among their fallen, rotting peers. The dead littered the street. There was now only a sea of rancid, decaying bodies, smoldering and burning and riddled with arrows. Those left standing were no match for magic like this. They slinked away into the shadows and were gone.

  “What the hell, Skye?” Jin said. “A zombie surrender? With us sitting around as salty snacks? That just doesn’t happen.”

  “I know. I know.” I reached over and squeezed her knee, knowing full well she could not see what I did. But she could feel it. And let me tell you, this new magic, powerful enough to chase zombies away, felt like…like everything.

  Everything. And yet? Nothing.

  The magic felt like spring rain, soft and misting, delicious on my lips. It felt like puppy fur and Chinese silk and soft down feathers, brushing against bare skin.

  It felt like the caress of a man. A man not much older than myself, but who was more important to me than this world we were trying to save.

  And yet . . .

  It felt like nothing.

  Nothing you could touch and hold, except in your heart. It was a feeling, like you were cocooned in peace and serenity and love.

  Like you were safe, and always and forever would be.

  At last.

  Pilot thumped down from the top of The Madison. His satin theater cape flared out behind him and settled around my back.

  I didn’t see him coming and with his steel—toed boots, and rock—solid frame, plus a mechanical arm that weighed like a ton, it felt like a meteor had fallen next to me. The ground shook, and my heartbeat went into overdrive.