Dead Rising

by Debra Dunbar

  “Tocar e virar espirito para corpus.”

  The runes glowed red then vanished, leaving me holding a sword that looked no different from what it had this morning. If this worked, it would be worth every sleepless hour.

  I strapped Trusty to my back and made my way to my car, eyeing the foodstands along the way. I’d scored a blueberry scone that was past the good-by date, but wouldn’t be able to put anything else in my belly until much later.

  Rob was out on his lunch break at the records office, so I left him a message to call me and crossed my fingers that the suspicious woman behind the counter would actually give it to him. Then I swung by to meet Janice. At a deli, where I would try hard not to stare at the food as we spoke.

  The reporter was an angel—an angel who slid a bulging folder toward me then offered to share her giant plate of fried pickles. I tried not to look like a starving vagrant as I stuffed my mouth and opened the folder.

  Holy crap. I was in for a very long day. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to prep for this spell quite as thoroughly as I’d wanted to.

  “These are all the murders?” I’d asked Janice if she could get me everyone in Baltimore city who had died in the last forty years by having their throat slit.

  “The first paper-clipped set are murders. The second are assaults. I figured that if this was a gang signature, there may have been some that survived and were too afraid to identify their attackers.”

  I pushed that stack aside for later. It was intriguing enough that I wanted to go through it, but for tonight’s purposes I was only interested in those who had actually died during the attack.

  “There must be sixty names in here,” I commented. I’d need to write each of those names on individual pieces of paper in the ceremony, then recite the spell for each one of them to banish. The task was beginning to seem overwhelming. I had visions of vampires dying around me as I slowly went through each piece of paper. Add to that the very real danger that one of the specters might attack me while I was casting, and the whole thing added up to disaster.

  Janice nodded. “I tried to sort out the ones where there had been a reasonable amount of blood at the crime scene, but couldn’t. Some had been murdered outside where rain and the elements played a part. Other bodies were moved after death. I ended up just including them all, figuring it would be better to start with a broad range and narrow it as we researched.”

  Except we had no time to research. I thumbed through the stack, wondering if it was worth it for me to prioritize the names in case I ran out of time tonight—a triage of sorts.

  “So…what’s the deal?” Janice squirmed, her eyes gleaming. “Did you find the link? Is it a rival gang? Some kind of seventies mob scene carry-over?”

  “Vampires,” I announced, stealing another handful of fried pickles.

  “Right.” She laughed. “The Nosferatu kind of vampire, or the sparkly kind. Ooo, please let it be the Wesley Snipes one, because if I’m going to get my throat ripped out I want it to be him.”

  “I’m completely serious. They’re very secretive but not as in-the-closet as you think. There’s a sizable Balaj in Baltimore and under their Master forty years ago, they did some horrible things.”

  I didn’t mention that there were some borderline horrible things going on in this decade, too. Ethics were a personal thing, and I was well aware that even non-lethal blood drinking probably fell into the first degree assault category.

  Janice’s eyes strayed to my Templar mark. I think it was the only thing that was keeping her from writing me off as a complete nut-job. “Vampires. In Baltimore. And they’re cutting throats instead of biting them. What, are they all defanged?”

  What an intriguing idea. I’d need to ask Dario if vampire fangs grew back, or if such a handicap would result in starvation.

  “The throat cutting is to cover up the bite wounds. They drink the blood, but don’t want law enforcement to start sharpening stakes or anything, so they make it look like a murder with a knife.”

  “A murder with a knife except there isn’t enough blood and the victims didn’t struggle,” Janice mused. “And who the heck would kill four notorious gang members by slitting their throats? That’s just suicide.”

  “Unless you’re a vampire. People have varying degrees of vulnerability to their entrancements, but it’s not just that. Vampires are strong.” I remembered my encounter with Federico. “Very strong.”

  The reporter shook her head and looked at the open folder in front of me. “Should I worry? Should I carry around a crucifix or a jar of garlic?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither of those would do her any good. The only reason my keychain worked was that it was sanctified and I was a Templar.

  “Normally if you encountered one you’d think you had an awesome and slightly kinky one-night stand, and feel a bit hungover the next day.” I gestured toward the folder. “Most of these are probably just normal human-on-human murders.”

  Her hand went to her neck. “Shit. I’ve probably already been preyed upon a few times in my life by that description.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. I stood up, needing to get going and not wanting to scare her further. “I know this isn’t exactly something you can print in your paper. Let me get through the weekend, and we can get together to come up with a story you can write. Something about knife murders versus shooting ones maybe.”

  She stood and nodded. “I’ll work on it, too. Although the vampire store would be pretty amazing.”

  And probably result in her being the next on this list of names in the folder. “Too bad you don’t work for that sort of newspaper.”

  She grinned. “Yeah. Too bad.”

  Chapter 23

  I NEEDED TO get back to my apartment and start prepping for tonight’s spell—all sixty names of it. But not until after I’d spoken to Russell. It was a long shot, but if I could just convince him to call off his attack, then I wouldn’t need to do all the spell prep. Actually I wouldn’t need to do anything but get a message for Dario and sleep until morning.

  First stop was at the pizzeria, where I’d learned Russell was off for the day. The next stop was at the abandoned house, where no one answered my shouts. I’d texted the necromancer before leaving the Inner Harbor, but called and left a voice mail message before heading to the next place on my list.

  Leonora’s house looked completely different in the daylight. The trees still shielded it from view, but the oaks and maples seemed less like sentries and more like stately accents to the huge home. Wrought iron gates and fencing were lined with dense hedges. Hanging baskets of flowers ornamented the wraparound porch and blocked the windows. One man carefully trimmed an already perfect rosebush. Another mowed the same strip of grass over and over. Renfields. I’m sure there were more inside, along with an elaborate security system to raise the alert if anyone—or anything—threatened the vampires during their slumber.

  Of course, the security might be more for the dwelling than the occupants. They may have temporarily abandoned this house in light of the attack. Also, I wasn’t completely sure that Leonora and her vampires actually slept here. I know if I had such a vulnerability, I’d have a red herring. I’m sure the vampires were just as, if not more paranoid than I was.

  Still I sat and waited in my car, watching for anything out of place, something that would let me know if Russell was around. My phone buzzed, and I looked down at the text from an unfamiliar number, instructing me to go to a nearby gas station. It was then I noticed the tiny globes attached to the poles of street lights and signs, blinking an occasional blue light. Video cameras. Russell wasn’t just relying on his necromancy skills to enact his revenge, he was using technology. I frowned, thinking he most likely wouldn’t be dissuaded from a plan this elaborate.

  The gas station was at the cross section of two major streets, with a convenience store attached. A steady stream of customers came and went, meaning no one paid the slightest bit of attention
to my Toyota blocking access to the air pump. The necromancer approached, his eyes straying to the sword hilt protruding from the scabbard that I’d slipped over my shoulder the moment I got out of the car. I didn’t see any amulet, but Russell must have some charm that blocked my look-away spell.

  “You guys should really start using a stealthier weapon.” He gestured at my sword.

  I shrugged. “Tradition. I wanted to meet with you because I’ve discovered some information about the vampires that murdered your family forty years ago.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Do you know where they rest during the day?”

  It bothered me that Russell knew they weren’t in Leonora’s house as much as it reassured me that he didn’t know where they slept.

  “No, but the vampire that took your sister was named Jean Marc. He, as well as the Master of the vampires who attacked your family were killed in a coup decades ago.”

  “How many of them are left alive? By my reckoning there are at least two thousand vampires in the city.”

  Two thousand? I blinked in astonishment at the number. Leonora’s Balaj was much larger than I’d ever imagined. That was something I’d need to deal with later. Right now I had to focus on Russell. The guy was like a dog with a bone.

  “Russell, the ones who killed your family are dead. The other vampires haven’t done anything to you. Let this go.”

  He recoiled. “They’re vampires. They prey on humans. You wouldn’t allow a rapist to wander the city just because he hadn’t killed anyone lately, would you?”

  I winced. Ah, the slippery slope of morality and ethics. “We’re food for them. I know you see it as a deviant and evil practice, but for them it’s dinner. No different from us picking up a package of boneless chicken breasts from the market.”

  The necromancer shook his head. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Would you let one of them babysit your children? Spend the night with your parents?”

  Ouch. I remembered the inhuman, predatory look in Dario’s eyes the night he’d pinned me to the bed. My parents were well equipped to deal with a hungry vampire, but others? “We can’t deliver preemptive justice, Russell. These vampires haven’t done anything wrong.”

  I was well aware than in general society’s view, they had done wrong. Their feedings lacked informed consent, and I doubted those four gang members were the only ones killed over the last forty years. Add in all the blood slaves who, somewhat willingly, had gone to their deaths and that was a whole lot of wrong.

  “You Templars take this no-judging thing a bit too far. Would you really stand by while these monsters feed on us? Watch while one of them feeds from a young girl and shrug it off with an ‘it’s their nature’ excuse?”

  I opened my mouth, only to shut it with a snap. What would I do? Nine hundred years ago it was humans first. Actually it was Christians first, which was only a sliver of what the religion encompassed today. We couldn’t go back to that. I couldn’t go back to that. My faith wasn’t strong enough to believe God would turn my sword from the righteous. Too many innocents had died back then because we took our holy mission to an extreme.

  But to do nothing was a cop-out. An entire race, a whole Balaj wasn’t responsible for the actions of a few, even if the current members did have a lot of answer for.

  “You’re right. I won’t stand by and do nothing when I see an injustice. If you continue to target the vampires, you will find me blocking your path.”

  His eyes shot to my sword, then narrowed.

  “Let it go, Russell. Justice has already been served by the very hands of the people you are trying to kill. Let it go.”

  The necromancer spun around and crossed the street, climbing into an old pickup truck as I watched. He wouldn’t give up, which put me in the odd position of helping to defend a group of murderous undead.

  Vampires had just become my Pilgrims on the Path—at least for now.

  Chapter 24

  DAD PICKED UP on the second ring. After the usual pleasantries, I got right down to business. “I’m looking for a blessing that will return restless spirits to the grave and keep them there but not harm the vampires. I’ve come up with a hybrid spell, but it requires individual names and I don’t have time to pinpoint every attacking spirit. And it only is a temporary banishment. I need something that puts them to rest until Judgement Day and shields them from being raised again by necromantic means.”

  I heard him make a hum noise, heard the snip of gardening shears in the background. “Come on down, sweetie. I’ve got a few books in the study we can look through.”

  I didn’t have time for that either. Although his words sent a wave of nostalgia through me, reinforced by last weekend with my family. I remembered the smell of boxwoods as Mom and I sparred, the aroma of old books and fresh-baked gingersnap cookies as my father and I pored over manuscripts, our heads so close they almost touched. Athena smuggling a dozen kittens into the house, Roman magically locking us all out of the bathroom.

  “I can’t Dad. These specters are attacking every night, and I need to work fast. People are dying.”

  I didn’t mention it was vampires that were dying. Dad wasn’t a bigot, but I doubted he’d have quite the sympathy for dead vampires. It was just as well if he assumed the dead were humans.

  There was a pause. The Order had insisted on face-to-face meetings when it came to exchanging information from the date of its inception. The excuse in a modern world was that it was tradition, but I think it kept us from becoming an impersonal hotline, a faceless wiki of the supernatural. And in Dad’s case, it ensured his children, his siblings, and his colleagues spent time with him. Human contact—something that seemed to be slipping away in a digital age.

  But I didn’t have time to drive to Middleburg. “I’ve got the LARP this weekend, but I’ll come down the next. I promise.”

  The clipping sound faded, and I heard the close of a door. “Aria, shouldn’t you concentrate on the cause of these attacking spirits? That might be a better use of your energies. For every specter you put to rest, this necromancer is likely to raise another. You can’t spend your life sending restless spirits to the grave every night.”

  I remembered what Russell said about the nature of spirits, and how difficult they were to direct. I’m sure there were plenty of humans Jean Marc and Aubin had killed over the decades. He’d eventually run out of dead who were willing to kill vampires, but Dad was right. There could be a whole lot more than the sixty names Janice had come up with, especially if Russell decided to raise the dead outside the city limits. I could be at this for a long, long time.

  “I tried to stop the Necromancer. I found out who he is and confronted him. He knows that the vampires who killed his family are dead, but he’s set on vengeance against the rest. Nothing I say seems to be able to dissuade him.”

  “Genesis 25.”

  “What, like dead Abraham, Genesis 25?”

  “No. Verse 19 onward.”

  “Esau? So you’re saying that someone stole the necromancer’s birthright?” I hated it when Dad threw scripture at me. I was a literal kinda girl, these homilies went right over my head.

  “Esau repudiated his birthright long before Jacob gave him the stew or put on the animal hide to gain their father’s blessing. Our destiny cannot be stolen without our desire to give it away.”

  “Isn’t that blaming the victim? Russell was a little boy. These vampires stole his family from him—stole what should have been a wonderful childhood. I really doubt he was complicit in that.”

  “He wasn’t complicit then, but he is now. It’s your necromancer that has the restless spirit, it’s him that needs to be given eternal peace.”

  There’s no way I was hearing this right. “So you’re telling me to kill Russell?”

  Dad gave a very audible sigh. “No, Aria. His spirit needs to settle. He needs to recognize the blessings he has in this moment and stop giving his precious gifts away.”

  Oh, good Lord. I should have just d
riven down there. Or spoken to Mom. At least she wouldn’t have counselled me to sit Russell down for a therapy/life coaching session. “Right. Got it. I’ll soothe his soul just as soon as I take care of the malignant spirits he’s summoning to kill the vampires.”

  I heard something muttered that sounded similar to “just like her mother”.

  “The permanent method of banishing spirits involves salting their graves and burning their bones in a ritual such as Rigby or DeSantos. That’s the only way you’re going to get them to stay put until the Second Coming. For a temporary measure, you can setup a protective area, and use incense plus the chant in Campbell. That way you don’t need to call them out by name.”

  “But Dad,” I protested. “The vampires. I’ve done a few test runs with the Campbell chant and I think it’s going to put the vampires in their graves as well as the spirits.”

  “Then you’re back to using the individual names. I’m sorry, Aria. Vampires are undead beings. Very few spells are going to exclude them from the area of effect.”

  Crap. I’d really hoped there would be something else. It was evident from my father’s tone that this was all I was going to get out of him. If I didn’t get back to writing these names, I wouldn’t be ready come sundown.

  Write names. Gather all my materials. Drive to Lenora’s and spend another sleepless night hoping I could concentrate enough to pull off this spell. Once again I thought of boxwoods and hyacinths, of the smell of horse sweat and leather in the August afternoon, the sound of cicadas from the porch as we sipped port in the evening. What was I doing here in this hot, ungrateful city?

  I was helping Pilgrims on the Path, that’s what I was doing.

  “Thank you, Dad. I love you.” My whole heart was in the goodbye. I missed my family. I missed my old life, the legacy I’d been raised to accept. And still I walked toward a future that was all my own.

  “Love you, too. Text me pictures of this LARP thing, okay?”