Spirited Words (The Freelancers Book 4)

by Lee Isserow

  “Has that happened?”

  “Like, one time. . .”

  “Three times,” Rafe corrected.

  “Oh shut up. I caught us.”

  “Barely.” His fingers finally found the handle to the door, and the three of them burst out into a compact tattoo studio, scaring a young, overly pierced man half to death.

  “What were you doing in the closet? How did you get in the closet?!”

  “Where are the tools?” Ana barked.

  “Tools?”

  “Old tools, antiques.”

  “I'm older than the damn needle,” the librarian muttered, “and I ain't no antique. . .”

  “There. . .” he pointed to a cabinet on the far side of the room, the old, slightly rusty looking tool sitting in a display case.

  “You used it?” Rafe asked, as he opened the door to the cabinet. His fingers met with the metal of the tool's surface, and it felt as though electricity was shooting through his entire arm. It went limp, knuckles cracking against the shelf on their way down, hand swinging impotently from the shoulder. He glared at his arm, and the tool in turn, then glanced over his shoulder to the two women.

  “Would one of you please. . .”

  “What's up?” Ana asked, with a smirk.

  “Can't seem to touch the damn thing.”

  “You sure?”

  Rafe rolled his eyes, and reached for it with the other hand. Electricity shot through his body all over again, and instantly, he lost control of the other hand, both swinging back and forth by his sides.

  “Can you pick it up with your teeth?” she scoffed. “What about your toes?”

  “You're taking too much joy from my suffering. . . Remember how I'm going to explode in a week?”

  “Oh, poor baby!” she exclaimed, grabbing the tool with mock concern shot in his direction. The solution was within their grasp, and she finally felt genuine levity again. “So, what's the score? Say some words and throw some fingers about?”

  “She doesn't have much respect for the old ways, does she?” The librarian huffed.

  “Who are you people?!” the tattooist shrieked.

  The librarian's fingers danced through the air, forefinger tapping the man lightly on the forehead. His body went limp, eyes practically rolling all the way back into his head, and he fell to the floor with a thump.

  “So. . . about this cure?” Ana asked, looking the tool over.

  The old woman took it from her, raising it to her nose, and sniffed it.

  “What is it with old magickians and sniffing things?” she whispered to Rafe.

  “I might be of a certain age, but I'm still of perfect hearing. . .” the librarian barked. “And this isn't going to do the job.”

  “What?”

  “It's not haunted.”

  “You can smell that?”

  “Have you been training this girl at all?” the librarian asked Rafe. He tried to shrug, but it just sent his arms swinging back and forth again, to muted laughter from the two women.

  “There's magick in it, but it just sends the ink out, doesn't actually have Marty inside. . .”

  “Because Martin's in me,” Rafe said, realising what needed to be done.

  “What do you mean, he's in you?” Ana asked.

  “He's haunting my skin. . . might be starting to haunt my bones and organs.”

  “You're saying the only way to cure you is to pass it on?”

  “That just keeps the cycle going. I pass it on, the next person has to pass it on, every week a new host, with no end in sight.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Rafe took a deep breath, and caught Ana's eye probing the writing on his wrists. He swung his body around to keep the arms flying back and forth, obscuring the text.

  “We end the cycle.”

  Chapter 48

  Stiff and gross

  “You know how Reva said making tattoo soup was the stupidest thing?” Ana asked, as she pulled the gurney through the door from the morgue into the tiny tattoo studio “Well this is now the stupidest thing―also, remind me at a later date to be disturbed about how easy it is for us to get a corpse just by asking nicely.” Her expression changed from bemusement to horror. “Wait, you're not going to have sex with this corpse, are you?”

  “What?”

  “Because that's just gross. . .”

  “Why would I have sex with a corpse?”

  “To pass it on.”

  “I don't think this is going to be passed on to a corpse like that.”

  “You won't know unless you try.”

  “Now you seem to be encouraging me to have sex with a dead body. . . Which, even in the best of circumstances would be awful, but this one's still in rigor, it's stiff and gross―”

  “Don't need to know about your penis either. . .”

  “I am not enjoying the fun you're having at my expense.”

  “Are you two still blathering on?” the librarian asked, walking through the door with a big bag on her shoulder. She placed it on the counter and unzipped it, revealing bags full of blood.

  “She started it,” Rafe said, at exactly the same moment Ana spat out a “He started it.” causing the librarian to let out a long, slow sigh that accompanied a heavy roll of her eyes.

  “Blood in the body,” Rafe instructed Ana, taking command of the situation.

  “Please?”

  “Please put the blood in the body.”

  “I think there's already blood in there. . .”

  “Old blood out, new blood in.”

  “What if it's not the right blood type?”

  “Blood type only matters if the person is actually alive. . .” Rafe said, as he watched Ana's hands whip over the body, commanding the turgid fluids to expunge themselves from the nose and mouth. The did a loop-de-loop through the air, straight across the room to the sink.

  When the body was drained, she pulled the blood from the bags and replaced the body's sanguine fluids, Rafe overseeing the process, trying with all his might to force his fingers to move. He was starting to get feeling again, and would need to be able to cast if he was going to be able to rid himself of the spirited words once and for all.

  “Can you breath some life back into it?” he asked the librarian.

  “Why d'ya ask her, not me?” Ana grunted.

  “Do you know how to reanimate the dead?”

  Ana raised an eyebrow as she stared right back at him, as if to blame him for not including that in her training thus far.

  The old woman nudged Ana out of the way, her fingers darted over the body as she exhaled. Her hands came to a stop over the face of the dead man, and she pulled them apart. Inhaling long and slowly, the body's lips opened, and the corpse took a breath in time with hers. She put her arms back down by her sides. “It's not gonna last, y'know. Maybe ten minutes.”

  “It's all I need,” he said. “Would you guys mind leaving the room?”

  “You're are going to have sex with that corpse, aren't you!?”

  Rafe glared at Ana until she stopped laughing, and they left him alone with the body.

  “This is going to suck. . .” he muttered, as he forced his hands to obey his commands, and began to undress.

  Chapter 49

  Too early to give in

  Rafe pulled the sheet from the body, tracing out sigils that were left open ended―he wasn't ready to seal them, not yet. Rolling the dead man on to his side, Rafe climbed on to the gurney. He lay back to back with the breathing corpse, his warm, scarred, inked skin against the cold, pale, lifeless flesh. He took a deep breath, and sealed the sigils.

  The corpse's arms shot into position, mirroring Rafe's movements. The two of them worked in tandem, casting the same motions. His intent would have to be strong enough for the both of them, but the magickian blood he had the librarian procure was going to help make up for his own lack of magicks.

  As Rafe's fingers swum back and forth, tracing out the sigils that would instigate his intentions, h
e muttered words under his breath, the same words being whispered by the body behind him. He closed his eyes, screwing them tight, gritting his teeth as he felt the first rip.

  The pain was unbearable, as the skin lifted from the muscle, but he kept the screams in, swallowed them down. The pain was only going to get worse, and it was too early to give in.

  He could feel the body behind him going through the same motions―albeit without the pain. Its skin being torn, inflated like a balloon. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Rafe sealed the sigil.

  The skin on his body exploded outwards―as did that of the corpse. For the briefest of moments, they were flayed, lying back to back like animals in a butcher's window. But as soon as that moment was over, the skin was returned to their bodies, put back into place is if it had never been wrenched away. The patchwork of scars returned to Rafe. The ink relocated to the dead body.

  Rafe finally let the scream out, he fell off the gurney, and slammed on to the floor with a wet crunch. He gasped for breath through the agony, as his mind was assaulted by memories of the last time he had been so grievously injured, which led to the scars first being carved on his flesh.

  But Rafe's screams were not alone. And as he breathed through the pain, remembering where and when he was, he realised the corpse was screaming too.

  Chapter 50

  All that screaming

  As soon as the pain was over, lacking any spare clothes, Rafe begrudgingly parted with his coat, and draped it over the reanimated body. When they were both decent, he shouted through to Ana and the librarian to join them.

  “Are you okay?” Ana asked as she came through the door. “What the hell was all that screaming?”

  The body got up from the gurney, its eyes opened with a click, spread wild and wide, darting from Rafe, to Ana, to the librarian.

  “Is this what happens before it starts biting?”

  “Stand back a second. . . give him a moment,” Rafe instructed.

  The corpse narrowed its eyes, squinting, as if trying to find focus.

  “If it lunges, I'm going to blow its damn head off. . .” she muttered.

  The reanimated man coughed, growling hoarsely, its gaze continued to search the room, as if looking with blind eyes. It began to lumber towards Rafe, then turned to Ana.

  “That's not a lunge,” he whispered, grabbing her hands as she made to cast.

  The man turned to the librarian, mouth opening wide, bearing his teeth, growling and gargling, coughing out vowel and consonant sounds. There was a look in her eye that Ana read as familiarity, as if whatever sounds he made were, in some way, her name.”

  “Marty!”

  He grunted again, nodding, trying to get more sounds out. She put a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing over his inked lips as she glyphed him.

  He gasped, throwing his arms around her.

  “Is that a lunge?” Ana asked, to an elbow in the ribs from Rafe.

  “I've been looking for you. . . “ the reanimated man whispered.

  “I know!” she said, as the tears forked down her cheeks. “I know, Marty.”

  Ana looked Rafe up and down. The ink appeared to have gone from his skin. She held back a frown, wishing she had made more of an effort to read what had been written on him. Her eyes darted over to the corpse, ink on his skin, words written backwards, as if printed from Rafe to him. They were dissipating, as if the ink was being drawn into the body, repurposing itself.

  “So, what was with all the screaming?” Ana asked.

  “That as mostly him,” the corpse said, hoarsely, as he pulled back from the embrace and threw a thumb in Rafe's direction.

  The librarian stared at him, as ink swum from around the body, across his skin, collating around his features, drawing Martin's face on top of the dead man's.

  “You look like you're old self,” she said.

  “Who you calling old?”.The inky lips on the corpse smiled, the body matching the smile moments after, as if following the lead of the ink on the slightest of time delays.

  She embraced him, holding the possessed body closer and tighter than she had ever held anyone before.

  Ana found her eyes welling as she watched the reunited couple. She leaned in to Rafe. whispering as she attempted to hold back the tears as best she could. “He's not going to eat our brains, right?”

  “I'm not a bloody zombie!” the corpse grunted.

  “You look like a zombie. . .” Ana muttered. “And smell like a zombie. . .“

  “He'll get better,” Rafe said. “Or, at the very least, he won't get any worse.”

  Ana glanced over to him sceptically. There was a smack of lips, the wet fleshy sound of moist jaws clacking open. She turned to the couple, fingers ready to cast and blow him the hell apart―only to discover the two of them in a long, deep kiss.

  She dropped her hands down, and spun to face the wall. “Okay, this is kinda like watching grandparents make out. . . I'm not sure I need to see this.”

  Ana began to call a door. Glancing over to Rafe, she couldn't help notice the smile on his lips and glassy stare at the couple. He was happy for them, but more than that, she read it as envy. For some reason that he wouldn't explain properly, he seemed to have resigned himself to the idea that he could never be with anyone, never be loved, never be happy.

  Rafe turned as the door appeared, taking hold of the handle and tugging it open, gesturing to Ana to step through, as he did with every door, magickal or otherwise.

  In her mind's eye, she pictured the words, inscribed backwards on the reanimated man's flesh, and flipped them around.

  'I should tell her how I feel'

  She smiled, a tingle of warmth washed across her entire body. But that wasn't all the written thought had said. She flipped the remaining letters, and the smile left her lips entirely.

  'But I'm terrified she'll die. . . like the others.'

  Chapter 51

  Close to a happily ever after

  Mallory was overjoyed to see the two of them back at Day Drinkers, and presented them with whisky before they even had a chance to walk through the door, let alone take their seats at the bar.

  “How did you know we were coming?” Ana asked.

  “Could, I dunno, feel it. . . When the door started to happen.”

  “Feel it?”

  “Yeah, like a tingle in the back of my mind or something.”

  “Tingle?” Ana said, glancing to Rafe. “Did you put magick in my friend when you. . . y'know?”

  “Might be a side-effect.”

  “Better not have put a little magick baby all up inside her!” she grunted with a smirk that was accompanied by a scowl.

  “I didn't!” he shrieked in his defence.

  She grabbed the whisky and clinked his glass. “Damn right you didn't.”

  “Is it over?” Mallory asked.

  Rafe nodded.

  “Do I want to know how. . .?”

  “Rafe had sex with a corpse.”

  “I did not!”

  “Made me leave the room. . . “ Ana shrugged. “Couldn't say how it went down.”

  “I swapped skin with him, it wasn't a big deal.”

  “Screamed like a girl.”

  “Screamed like a man who was having his skin ripped off. . .”

  Ana scoffed and sipped at her whisky. Mallory wasn't really sure which story was the truth, but was glad to hear it was over.

  “I would have done it, y'know.” Ana muttered into her whisky.

  “Done what?”

  “Slept with you to save your life.”

  “I don't need your charity. . .”

  “It would have stopped you from exploding!”

  “I'll explode as and when I damn well please.”

  “You're really snarky for a guy who was a week from blowing up all over the damn place.”

  “You're really snarky, full stop Can't imagine how snarky you'd get if it was you being about to blow up.”

  Ana giggled into her whisky, tryin
g to distract herself from the words that had been written on Rafe's skin. His inner most thoughts laid bare for her to read.

  She sent her mind down another route, thinking about the love shared by Marty and the librarian. A love that had lasted not only for decades, but through death, surviving to be born anew. Albeit in a form in which one of them was maybe a zombie.

  But in the grand scheme of things, with love being as rare and as fickle as it was―let alone short-lived, in her experience―one of a couple being undead didn't seem like that big a deal.

  After a century apart, the two of them were finally going to get their happily ever after. And in a world where apparently all manner of mystical monsters and creepy critters were hiding in the shadows, Ana reckoned that it was pretty rare to find anything close to a happily ever after.

  Mallory refilled Ana's whisky, and she made an attempt to keep the smile on her lips as her mind moved on. If there was one thing to learn from this whole mess of a couple of weeks, it was that it did no good keeping fears and anxieties, feelings and thoughts bottled up inside.

  She made a silent promise to be honest, with herself, with Rafe, About everything. The question was, would he be honest with her in return. About the others, whoever they were. . . and how they died.

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  Keep reading for an exclusive preview of the next book in The Freelancers series!

  Rafe and Ana return in

  Snake's Kin

  He knew his love was cursed, but that didn't stop him falling for her. . .

  Something has been biding its time, waiting for its inevitable release, and as Rafe and Ana's relationship progresses to the next level, it is set free, and will wreak vengeance.

  It's going to lay down judgement on the two of them. And the scales are balanced in its favour.