“If he wants theatrics that’s what he’ll get.” Lucian wasn’t too happy to find himself talking to an empty room again, but he was finding it hard to stop.
There was chalk resting on the stand with the large, intimidating tome. Lucian grabbed the chalk and blew the dust off the book, flipping through to find the right page. All he needed now was something basic to get him started. It was always harder to do things ‘by the book’ after years of perfecting your own rite, one that usually worked better. Finally on the right page, Lucian found the marks he needed and gave a second look at the floor. The last thing his father had done. If he thought about it long enough that should have made him feel more connected to his predecessor. The man who would have killed anyone who came to him with the kind of deal Kristopher proposed. The whole thing was a bad idea, and getting worse with every public appearance. The life of celebrity. Still tempting though. As long as he could stay one-step ahead of the people he was working with. Lucian re-chalked the symbols on the floor. He supposed that, as the head of the state’s soon to be leading religion, he should know the meaning of every detail or at least what the symbols meant. His father had known everything, but Lucian was always better when it came to execution. Things were more than a science to him, they were second nature. It seemed wrong to dumb things down like he was, but that was what had to happen. He should have seen this coming. Religions always got watered down when they became mass marketed to the public. Not just the public though, this was more of a massive media takeover. Well, there was work to be done, zombies to make. Life goes on, then it ends, then you bring them back and it starts all over.
Lucian lit candles and placed them strategically around the symbolic chalk drawings. The excess chalk dust went into braziers and was mixed with an ancient, ashy powder Lucian lit with one of the stray candles. This caused colored smoke to billow out from under the doors, filling Kristopher’s base outside. The bones Lucian had placed in the center of the chalk drawings and candles began to shift, not really a ghostly rattle, more of a cellular manipulation. They began to graft their own skin, then grow, slowly turning into what looked tall and human.
“You will obey this voice, only this voice, and only my commands. If I should give permission for anyone else to have control of you, you will disregard those orders. You will defend me with whatever life you have left because I am the one who allows you to have it.” Lucian’s voice sounded different, it was ancient and commanding, nothing like his usual satiric apathy towards life. It was commanding enough to make the dead listen.
Two things stood in the center of the chalk symbols where the bones had been. They looked human, but there was a sense of inhumanity about them. They weren’t monstrous, no bolts or fangs or sudden desire for brains. Their eyes were glazed over and they didn’t seem capable of much thought, but they looked strong. Strong enough for Kristopher to give Lucian a second thought. They would do everything they were meant for.
“Help me up.” Lucian was leaning heavily against a bookshelf, his legs were shaking slightly, and one of the creatures came over and offered an arm.
“Can you speak?”
“Yearrr?” The thing half-croaked half-spoke, then looked up at Lucian eyes wide and begging for some kind of recognition.
“I guess that’s close enough.” Lucian gave a halfhearted smile and patted the thing’s head. Its skin felt strange, it wasn’t actually human skin. The pieces not present before their birth were created by the forces which brought them back. This was an exhausting process for Lucian, but it created an eerie effect. “You, other one, water.” Lucian gestured to a basin that looked like it should have been part of a ritual and filled with blood, but it was just very old water. Not the best thing to help Lucian collect his strength, but he couldn’t go on without something, and being in a room filled with death had done something to keep it ice cold. The ancient water seemed to steady him enough for his legs to stop shaking.
“Now for the show. You two, open those doors and walk about five feet forward. And make a lot of groaning noises.”
The two creatures nodded.
“Now.” Lucian nodded to the door and they began to push it open.
“Lucian, what the hell was with the smoke, clean it up. You…” Kristopher’s smug face fell fast.
“It’s alive!” Lucian grinned, standing behind his servants and locking eyes with his partner. “Hey, Kris, look what I can do,” he spat the words, letting Kristopher’s face fall to the floor in shame and astonishment, no longer concerned with ringing phones.
Lucian had won the round.
13. Two Years Before the War (Miriel and William)
“Why, William, it’s so nice to see you again.” Madame Perkins opened the door and gave one of her most ingratiating smiles with the slight hint of a curtsey.
“Enchanting as usual.” William bowed and kissed the old woman’s hand. He’d been William for the past few days as Miriel’s side was healed.
Miriel had been pent up in the house for months, only able to go out for walks with a few other women or to see a seamstress for appropriate clothes. She was on the verge of going insane. The healthier she got the more painful it was to stay inside and do nothing but drink tea, gossip, and play bridge. This was her first chance to go out alone with William, and she had a job, she had a purpose again. Miriel had been close to singing all morning, and even Madame Perkins noticed the care she was putting into tasks she normally did with grudging efficiency.
“And, Miss Elle, how are you today?”
Miriel looked up from a book and gave a charming smile, one calculated specifically for occasions like this. It was sweet enough to be considered kind but distant enough not to be considered provocative. Madame Perkins was proud, she’d spent hours teaching that look and Miriel finally started to execute it perfectly. The assassin was already starting to blend in, she was learning the rules. “I’m fine. And your patients?”
“Alive. At least for now,” William smirked.
“Well.” Madame Perkins seemed to be oblivious to their game, being far too caught up in winning her own. “I’m sure the two of you should be going. I won’t keep you.” Madame practically pushed Miriel out the door, but the assassin was more than willing to go.
“Now, we’re limited to the places we can be seen, which makes this whole thing a lot more complicated. But what’s a game without the challenge?” William smiled. “We’re going to have to wait for them at the gate house. It’ll make for a difficult clean up, but you’ll just have to figure it out.”
Miriel nodded. “And who is our target?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll see who shows up.”
“You mean you don’t have a specific person chosen?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t it matter who you kill?”
“Not really.”
Miriel stared at him, unable to cope with what was going on. The only way to be a successful assassin was to be able to plan, organize a strategy, and know every possible thing that could go wrong. Miriel had been working for years and the science of timing and execution was an art form. She didn’t have to schedule every detail in advance anymore, experience had taught her how to do things instinctively, but without a plan there was nothing to feel. She couldn’t go in prepared if there was nothing to prepare for. The whole thing was too haphazard for comfort. It was no wonder William wasn’t winning the game if this was how he played.
“Well, who’s most likely to be watching the news today? Can you think of anyone?”
“Umm, Erin usually goes in to try and hear about her husband in the evenings. It’s a week day, most people don’t go until the weekends.”
“Erin.” Miriel mulled the name over. “She’s been over for tea before. I thought she was a widow. A real widow, I mean.”
William laughed. “Widow is a pretty meaningless word here. It’s more to save pride than anything else. Especially with Erin. Although, as far as she’s concerned her husband probably is dead.
He’s actually working in a high rise somewhere making more money than most people would ever hope to see in their lifetime. He wouldn’t give that up to come here with her and live a simpler life. In order to save face, she says she’s a widow. She isn’t the only one to have done that, but she goes out of her way to try to convince people it’s actually true. I think she told me he was in the military and died in the war once. The story changes for everyone. It’s funny how many aren’t willing to admit it was crazy to give up a life and move here.”
“So she has no family here. She’ll probably be in the gatehouse alone, and people normally don’t get there until the weekend. Another two days.”
“I guess.” William shrugged again and Miriel started to plan on her own. William might be there with her, but he would never be a partner. He didn’t seem to have the stomach for an assassin’s work anyway.
“Hello, Erin.” Miriel feigned politeness and walked over to the woman, the smile on her face not slipping for a moment.
“Elle, wonderful to see you!” Erin stood up from where she’d been staring at a screen in a trance, kissed Miriel’s cheek, and returned the smile. Her cover wasn’t quite as good. Her eyes betrayed that she wanted to be left alone and Miriel’s appearance was no more welcomed than that of a diseased rat. “Ah, William, hello.” She wasn’t able to manage a smile that time.
William nodded and picked up a paper.
The gatehouse was the one building behind the wall that remained up to date. Every weekend papers were restocked and a list of casualties, victories, and political disasters were updated. It was also home to several TVs which were always playing the news, and a row of computers with internet access. Erin was sitting at one of these computers, looking melancholy and out of place. Her dress was crisp, pressed, and fashionable with hair she must have spent hours getting to look that perfect.
Miriel sat down in front of a television, angled so she could still watch Erin without being too obvious. Miriel had seen the woman’s type before, desperately trying to look good for a husband she would never see again. The computer was opened to several different sites, each prominently displaying a picture of a handsome young man. He was obviously a business professional, how he had been making money with the country in the state it was must have been something of a miracle. The site Erin seemed to be coming back to the most was one where the handsome young man was pictured with an equally beautiful, and young, woman. Judging by the white of her dress Miriel came to the conclusion this was his new wife. Miriel thought she saw Erin wipe away a tear, but the woman was too proud to cry in front of other people. Besides, once she walked back out the door her husband was dead again. Maybe this time he’d stay that way.
William continued to read his paper, but every few minutes he’d look up at Miriel and nod in Erin’s direction. It had taken him at least an hour to figure out Miriel’s plan, but now that he had William wanted to see it rushed along. Miriel ignored him. Lucian would never have presumed to know what time was right. It was something you had to feel and Miriel was the only one who could time it perfectly. After another in a series of increasingly annoying nods Miriel finally stood up. It was Kristopher on TV now, talking about something political and probably manipulated out of proportion to make him look like a god. There was no sign of Lucian at the forefront, but Miriel thought she saw a glimpse of him when the camera panned over the crowd.
“Erin, dear, take a walk with me outside? William is turning into such a bore, I need some sort of amusement.”
“Of course,” Erin responded because it was the only polite thing to do.
Miriel led the ‘widow’ outside through the back door, arm in arm. William watched them until they were out of sight, but made no attempt to get up and follow. “Oh, wait,” Miriel smiled, bending over to retie a shoelace.
“Hmm,” Erin murmured, still not paying attention.
Miriel pulled out her ankle blade and concealed it in the sleeve of her dress before righting herself. Erin had walked a few steps ahead, ready to get back to the pictures of a man who had once been her husband.
“Will you tell me about him?” Miriel smiled again, making the impression of walking again without ever actually moving.
Erin looked up and her eyes flashed angrily. “What do you mean?”
“Your husband, he passed away, didn’t he?”
“Well.” Erin looked away, turning her back to Miriel. “I don’t really like to talk about him.”
“Of course, it must be painful.” Miriel walked over to Erin and put an arm protectively around her shoulder. Erin stood still, staring at the ground and trying not to look weak in front of the competition. Slowly, Miriel lifted her other arm and before Erin could tell something wasn’t right Miriel had slipped the knife across her throat.
It took a skill like Miriel’s to avoid getting any blood on her own dress, and when the flow began to stop the assassin drug the body back into the gatehouse where William was waiting anxiously.
“What?” William looked at the body then up at Miriel, waiting for an answer.
Miriel stared at him blankly for a few seconds, not sure exactly what answer he was looking for, or even what he could possibly be wondering. She chose to ignore him.
“Help me prop her up.” Miriel was trying to maneuver the body to one of the computer stations, but the gatehouse was small and packed so getting the body where it needed to go was a painfully slow process.
“Where’s the blood?”
“On her dress. These things have so many damn layers all you have to do is angle it so the spray goes down and nowhere else. The dress works like an extra absorbent paper towel. Now help.” Miriel glared. He was still sitting down and thumbing through a week old paper.
“You need to handle things on your own, you can’t expect me to always cover your tracks. I’m just here to keep you from looking too conspicuous in public. The rest is all on you. You should be able to handle this on your own. You are the best after all.” William didn’t even look up from his paper.
Miriel was furious. If she could have killed William and gotten away with it, she would have. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. She held her tongue and struggled with the body on her own. Finally, she had what was once Erin propped up by a computer, making sure the screen conspicuously displayed a picture of Erin’s husband kissing his new wife.
“Are you finished?” William finally looked up from his paper and glared at Miriel, who had to try not to let her mouth drop open. It amazed her William had ever killed anyone before, let alone been able to do it competitively.
14. The Year Before the War (Lucian and Kristopher)
“You wouldn’t be able to get Lucian for me, would you? Do you things even speak English?” Kristopher attempted to make contact with the creatures standing in front of him.
The cult had officially moved to the basement of Lucian’s childhood home from the school gym. Lucian had looked into renting the warehouse his father had used, but the building had been demolished years ago to make room for a subdivision of luxury condos. The basement worked just as well. It was cold and damp with no windows or natural light, and it took the overall disturbed feeling of the house to a new level. On Kristopher’s insistence, Lucian decorated the place ‘for appearances’ with candles as the only light source and long stone tables and benches to use during meetings and classes, along with a stone altar front and center. Lucian tried to argue there was no need for an actual altar, but Kristopher insisted it would photograph well. Lucian decided to use it as a desk, promising to remove all the office supplies before any pictures were taken if Kristopher insisted it was necessary.
Right now Lucian was holding a meeting with a handful of hopeful new acolytes. Kristopher had not yet been elected so there wasn’t a large influx in new recruits, but that would change once Kristopher was securely in power and all the terms could be revealed. Unknown to Kristopher, Lucian was making a few terms of his own. In an effort to keep his cult sacred Lucian and t
he elders were developing a screening process to weed out actual acolytes from the opportunists and bandwagon jumpers. All legacy members would be admitted without screening, but everyone else would be thoroughly evaluated. Lucian refused to teach the secrets of his sect to anyone coming to it without the proper devotion or motivation. Everyone else would be sent to circular training, where they would undergo a very rigorous and useless theoretical training of necromancers in fiction dating back to the middle ages of magicians and alchemists through modern day best sellers. The training would be accompanied by discussions of practical applications without letting the students do anything, or even learn the appropriate rites. Lucian was excited about his trick, having spent several rebellious years as an English professor. He did come back to his cult willingly, but it was exciting to dust off that old role.
The handful of people Lucian had before him today all fell into the category of opportunist. They had seen the resurrections and thought if they joined before the election they’d receive some kind of preferential treatment. Lucian was in the middle of handing them a ten page reading list - after which he estimated none of them would be back - when he heard Kristopher shouting upstairs about being allowed to see Lucian.
The Price of Life Page 13