by L. A. Boruff
I think it’s what brings most people to the dark side of spell casting. There is an innate power to it. Something, someone who has been bullied or harassed all their life would take solace in because it gives them a sense of control.
I started studying black magic and demonology when I was fourteen. My emo stage, I like to call it. I wore all black. Made my skin as white as it could be without wearing ten pounds of makeup and listened to the Cure, because it touched my blackened soul. Snort. I laughed about it now, of course, but that small spark of being different led me to be one of the top occultists in London and got me this job, which I fancied more than I cared to explain.
It was also how I met Cekar, Jack and Nathan. “Ready?” I glanced up at Cekar, the look of concentration on his face, so tense, I worried if he’d stroke out on me.
“This will be difficult.”
When wasn’t it? I got lucky with Azrael and Ronan. Lucian... I wasn’t sure if it would work. If, by the way Cekar stared at his prone form was any indication, he felt as I did. “Then let’s begin.”
Like before, I dug my fingers into the consecrated dirt and churned it. Then Cekar began to chant in a language long since dead.
“Ketekelekelu inik’ilifiwo tenek’u.
Tenesana it’ahini mulati.
Begochi kesewi gari yiramedalu.
Sewi ketekula gari meramedi.
Tenesu. Tenesu.”
Fur sprout along Lucian’s skin. His mouth contorted into the muzzle of a very large, very pissed off wolf. The black and grey pelt continued to grow, covering his chest and arms. His eyes flashed open, exposing his sinister yellow gaze. A steady growl rumbled from his chest causing his lips to curl. His long, curved canine teeth were discolored from age. His ears twitched to-and-fro as he continued to lay in the box of dirt. I suspected he listened to us. Tracked us. Tried to figure out how many surrounded him and what his likelihood of escape might be.
He wouldn’t get far.
The doors to the warehouse were sealed by incantations of my creation. No one would get in or out unless I allowed it. Due to the nature of our job tonight, I had to be certain we wouldn’t be interrupted or unwittingly set loose a creature we couldn’t control.
Lucian sat up. Like the wolf he was, he shook free the dirt clinging to his pelt, then climbed out of the box. A naughty thrill shot through me. The man—werewolf had been completely naked. I shouldn’t have looked, but I took my fill of him, including the impressive bulge at his fur-covered groin.
“It is impressive,” Jack murmured in my ear. “Makes you wonder, does he have sex in wolf form?”
I gasped. “Jack.”
He shrugged. “Welcome to Omega Corp, Mr. Beckham.”
The wolf turned his head and snarled. He inhaled deep and took a step toward me. Ronan was there in a flash, squaring off with the beast. His hiss of disapproval surprised all of us, but most especially me.
“W-we need your help, Mr. Beckham.” Nathan stepped forward. “I-I know this might be a little disorienting, but if you c-could change back I will help you get settled.”
Lucian growled before letting loose a mournful howl. His body contorted in front of us. The sound of breaking bone and the grizzly way his body distorted then reformed in his human image made my skin crawl and my stomach pitch. I couldn't imagine the agony inflicted upon him every time he decided to take on his wolf form.
“Where is she?” Lucian snarled. “Where is my wife?”
I closed my eyes. No. No, no, no, no, no. My heart broke for him. I didn't even know where to begin to explain where he was or how long it'd been since he'd taken his death-sleep because I didn't know how long he'd been, "dead."
“Mr. Beckham, what year do you think it is?” Jack asked.
“Why it’s 1876,” he answered.
Nathan hooked arms with Lucian. “Sir, I believe we need to talk.” The gentle way he spoke to the werewolf, sent a bolt of compassion through me.
“Well, that was interesting,” Jack said. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Telling Lucian his wife is long since passed, isn’t going to be easy.”
“It’s why we have Nathan.” Jack wrapped his arm around me, tucking me into his side. “We understood when we did this, not all of the cases would be easy.”
I sighed. “I realize this.”
“We have one more to rise, Anne,” Cekar said. “We can assist all of them later. Remember, there is danger afoot.”
I lifted my chin and stepped away from Jack’s warmth. “You’re right.” I joined Cekar at the last crate as he pried off the top and sucked in a breath when I saw what lay inside. The golden, multi-colored sarcophagus sat in the middle of the box. No dirt surrounded it. The hieroglyphics depicted the person’s age, his status, and how he died. “His name is Nkosi, the bastard son of Senusret I—The Peaceful Pharaoh. Though, no one will corroborate that bit of information.”
“Interesting,” Jack said, joining me. The warmth of his body returned, and a tingle of anticipation slid down my spine. “If the information is true, Senusret I is the Pharaoh associated with the Biblical story of Abram and Sarai and he was the first to create “royal” art.”
"Then his son will be perfect," Cekar stated. "Since this man was known as, in more modern terms, a rabble-rouser."
“Why do I suspect there will be bar fights in our future?” Jack muttered.
I chucked. “He’ll fit right in.”
“Shall we begin?” Cekar grabbed a book from his satchel. “I’m glad I thought to bring this with me tonight.”
“The Book of The Dead?” I stared at the black tome. “The original one?”
Cekar gave me an indulgent smile. “If only I could hold the original book written by the scribes.” He gave a soft sigh. “Alas, this is but a copy of the original.” His obsidian eyes glittered with mirth. “There are rumors among the community that you have its companion.”
“Amun-Ra’s Book of Life?” Jack peered at her from the corner of his eyes. “Is this true?”
Heat filled my cheeks. “I am a collector after all.”
“Brilliant,” Jack breathed. “Bloody brilliant. You are a marvel, Miss Reeve.”
His approval snapped across my skin, giving me a sense of pleasure, I'd never thought possible with Jack. The heat intensified in my cheeks and slid across my face, over my ears, and down my neck. "Thank you. It is a remarkable book." I cleared my throat, needing to direct the conversation back to the task at hand. "All right, if you'd be so kind as to lift the lid from sarcophagus so we can begin?"
Jack gave a curt nod. “Of course. Ronan, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not in the least,” Ronan replied. “I am inspired.”
“Oh?” Ronan roused a curiosity within me.
“Oui,” he answered. “You four are not long friends, yet you are a strong unit. If this is the team, as Nathan says, we shall be working for, then I am inspiré. Excusez.”
I stepped aside as Jack, Ronan, Azrael, and Cekar removed the top of the tomb holding the mummified body of Nkosi. I held my breath, not sure what I’d see once they stepped away. They placed the lid on the worktable behind them with such gentleness, it surprised me. For over three thousand years, Nkosi had rested there, in his sarcophagus, in this state. It almost seemed sacrilegious bringing him back from the dead, however, we needed him.
“Ready?” I asked.
“We may begin,” Cekar said, placing the book where both of us could read it.
The spell surprised me. It was all in English.
“O you Sole you One who shine in the moon,
O you Sole you One who glow in the sun,
may Nkosi go forth from among those multitudes of yours who are outside,
may those who are in the sunshine release him,
may the Netherworld be opened to him when Nkosi goes out into the day
in order to do what he wishes on earth among the living.”
A black cat strode through the room and hopped into
the sarcophagus. It peered up at us with startling green eyes and meowed at us, then turned its head to purr. The feline curled into a ball and laid upon the remains of the young man who occupied it. I hadn’t seen the animal when I arrived, so it piqued my curiosity as it seemingly rubbed the frail body. The figured laying within its gilded tomb shimmered, glowing an unnatural color. A light purer than the sun, and brighter than a million stars erupted from Nkosi’s chest.
I closed my eyes and turned away from the sight. I couldn’t bear to look upon it. I feared for Ronan, knowing full well this illumination could kill him. Later, I’d kick myself for being so foolish as to have him help. I put his new life at risk. I’d apologize for it.
The ground rumbled. The box chattered. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. The darkness of the room surrounded us and Ronan was nowhere in sight. Thank goodness. The cat I’d seen moments ago, was no longer there. Instead, a boy, no more than twenty-one or twenty-two sat up. His gaze tracked those surrounding him.
Cekar stepped to him, holding up his hands. “'ant aman. ln nawdhik.”
Nkosi stared at him then blinked. “'ayn 'ana?”
“London,” Cekar said. “Alsanat hi 2012.”
“Al'akadhib!”
Cekar raised his hands again. “He thinks we’re lying.”
“We’re?” Jack cocked a brow.
Cekar smiled. “Me.”
“Right,” I replied. “I suppose we should show him then?”
Cekar nodded. “It will shock and affirm where he is and hopefully help us to acclimate him.” He turned to Nkosi. “Tati.” He motioned for the boy to follow. “Tati.”
Nkosi trailed behind Cekar. The young boy who could have been Pharaoh studied everything with such wide-eyed fascination. He gathered the tattered material of the burial cloths and stumbled along. While they explored the outside world, I went in search of Nathan and our werewolf, Mr. Beckham.
I couldn’t imagine the raw pain the man experienced. To lose so much then to wake and suffer again. For the first time, since I began my studies, I questioned if what I was doing had been the right thing. Should I be messing with the fates?
I guess it didn’t matter now, I’d already done it. There were now lost souls filling the building. They were my responsibility.
“You think too much.”
I lifted my gaze and found Azrael standing beside me, staring at the door to the room Nathan escorted Lucian into. “Excuse me?”
"You're overthinking this, mortal. Lucian's wife died ten years before the wolf behind that door died. It's why he went feral, to begin with. It's how he got caught."
“What?” I stood there in complete shock. “How do you know?”
“Reaper.” He pointed to himself. “I have a virtual databank of every death recorded in my brain. I can also communicate with other reapers when another name is added to the archive.”
Made sense, I supposed. “Oh. How did she die?”
Azrael frowned. “Raped and hanged. In those days, any woman who practiced any of the arts, or had been exposed to the dark arts, was a witch. Someone must have found Lucian’s home with his wife. Must have seen the wolf and man. Must have seen other things...”
I could only imagine what things they saw. “Humans...”
Azrael chuckled. “Aren’t you human, Miss Reeve?”
“I am, but I’m different.”
"You are, but you still have the same disposition as those you call, humans." He stared down at me. His eyes glittered. Infinity laid within those swirling grey masses. I could see not only the wealth of knowledge there but also the absolute conviction he held tightly to. There was no hesitation. No waffling on issues. Azrael didn't see anything in shades of grey. It was all black and white. "Answer me this, why didn't you wake the last person?"
I blinked. “It would take time. To acclimate him.”
“Not because of what he is?” Azrael arched a brow.
“Well, I guess it does have to do with who he is.” I frowned. “He is unique.”
He nodded. “So much so, there isn’t a classification to fit him. Human. Undead. Never-living....”
"What do you know of him?" Curiosity gripped me. I knew somewhat about how Adam came to be, however, the legend and the truth were somewhere in between.
“It’s hard to say. When someone is brought back to life after being deceased for a considerable amount of time, their soul isn’t returned. However, they’re not a shell either. They can immolate emotions. On the other hand, Adam isn’t a singular person, is he?”
“No.”
“In his case, I believe, we will have to tread lightly, Miss Reeve. We won’t know the full ramifications until you awaken him,” Azrael said. “The other reapers are curious as well. Some are already calling him an abomination.”
I could understand their sentiments. “I don’t take it very lightly.”
“Didn’t think you would,” Azrael stated. “You obviously understand the scrutiny you’ll be under due to all of this.”
“I do.”
“Then, don’t worry what others will say. They are under the impression their opinions count in this situation.” The corner of his mouth curled in what I guess was a reassuring smile, although it did anything but. An icy chill slid down my spine and dread filled my stomach.
What if what we’re doing is wrong?
5
Nathan
We didn't have time yet to dally. With the few days I'd been given to have each member ready for the task ahead, it'd been daunting. The only upside, Nkosi learned English at a remarkable pace. Cekar said it had something to do with the spell he and Anne used to wake him. It gave him some knowledge of the present while allowing him to keep his memories of his past life.
I could scarcely understand how traumatic it must be to remember everything up to the last moments of his life while also understanding our reality. I didn’t dwell on it though. We had a situation to deal with. Later, when we had time, I would help him. I’d help them all.
My thoughts drifted back to Lucian who, after he calmed, recalled the story of how his wife perished. The man had experienced so much pain he went into such a rage he couldn’t find his humanity. No... No one could. I understood his grief. Where was the justice in it all? What had either of them done to deserve such a wicked sentence? What had Susann and I done to deserve a lifetime cut short?
I gave Lucian the space he needed. Gave him a quick update on the year and how much the world had changed, then promised to give him an in-depth explanation later, once we were done with this case.
“Are we ready?” Jack sat at the head of the conference table.
“We are,” I answered.
“Good. St. Patrick’s Day is quickly approaching,” Jack said. “While you have been trying to help our new members adjust to their surroundings, I have been researching these killings. I think I found a pattern.”
“Oh?” Patterns would help. They could tell us a whole lot about our killer and why he or she is doing it. “What is it?”
“Saint Patrick’s Day.” Jack pulled a small file out of a larger folder and placed it in the middle of the table. “This is over a thousand years of information. This... Thing comes out and begins killing in the weeks/days leading up to the holiday. Then on the given day, another, much larger killing spree occurs. Then, the being disappears for a few hundred years. If the pattern is correct, which we have the bodies to prove it, I believe the pub crawls will be the easiest way to find whoever is doing the killings.”
Since the last incident, everything had been quiet. The mourning and shock still rippled through the city proper. There were several funerals a day until the final ones were scheduled for the day after tomorrow.
“Excusez moi,” Ronan said. “When did this St. Patrick receive a day and what does one do on it?”
"1762," I answered. "In New York. Some spend the day drinking green beer. Some eat corn beef and cabbage. Others give thanks to Saint Patrick. Depends on how you w
ant to celebrate."
“New York?” Nkosi questioned. “Where is this, New York?”
“The good ‘ol United States of America, boy,” Lucian growled.
“I don’t know this place.” Nkosi crossed his arms. “I must see this place, New York.”
“Later,” Jack replied. “For now, we need to concentrate.”
“Saint Patrick... the man who supposedly led snakes to water and out of Ireland? Prayed for food for sailors? Raised the dead? You celebrate this necromancer’s life?” Azrael stared at me.
“Yes?” I cleared my throat. “Perhaps we shou—”
"What is this corn beef and cabbage and green beer?" The words rolled off of Nkosi's tongue awkwardly.
“Food, boy,” Lucian drawled. “Good, hearty food and alcohol.”
“I must have this too,” Nkosi said.
“We’ll get to that,” Anne answered, with a small smile. “I agree with Nathan though, we need to speak about the matter at hand.”
“The deaths,” Azrael stated. “I have been conversing with the other reapers.”
I sat up a bit straighter. I realized from the moment I accepted this position, there would be growing pains. How many or how drastic, I hadn’t anticipated. Nor, was I prepared for the idea of “death,” working with us. If I wasn’t sitting at the table with these... Beings, I’d laugh at the lunacy of the question I was about to ask. “What are they saying?”
"There are rumblings," Azrael said, aloof and proud. "None of the souls taken were meant to go. They were supposed to live full lives. Many into their nineties without malady or accident. This... This obliterates the very fabric of humanity."
“Do you know who?” Jack sat forward, folding his hands on the table.
“As of now, no.” Azrael frowned. “Which, shouldn’t be possible.”
“Why?” I questioned.
Again, a smug smile returned to Azrael's features. I supposed as an angel of death, he held the threads of life in his palm and could snuff them out. He had the right to act superior, but I worried that superiority, could end up hurting the team. "Because we are all knowing. All seeing. We are the beginning and the end. We create and we destroy. To not have knowledge of a being who can take several lives in a single night, goes against our rules, Nathan.”