Death And Darkness

by E. A. Copen

  The future I imagined didn’t need four Horsemen to keep gods from squabbling and carrying out centuries-old revenge plots. It didn’t include breaking up potential wars in Faerie every other week or killing Titans.

  The world I wanted to leave behind me when I went into my grave needed new ways of solving disputes and problems. Peace and balance were impossible goals, but understanding and open communication between gods weren’t, and that was the legacy I was going to work to leave behind me from that day forward.

  “Something tells me he wouldn’t be happy to see you hanging around here long after everyone else has left.” Rocks crunched as Emma came up the sidewalk, her raincoat folded over her arms.

  I shrugged. “Probably not. I can almost hear him asking me if I don’t have something better to do than stand around watching dead men sleep.”

  Emma linked her arm in mine. “Well? Don’t you?”

  Her eyes sparkled with the promise of a smile, despite the pair of funerals she’d been to that day. She wasn’t quite back to normal yet; losing three months of your life takes a little getting used to. But she’d gotten her job back as a detective, though they’d punished her with desk duty in the cold case division for a while, and we were still talking. I guess that meant we would be okay, even if things were rough for a little while. We would make it through, just like we always did.

  I smiled and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You want to get out of here? Maybe go for a walk?”

  “A walk?” She shifted her raincoat. “I heard we were supposed to get rain.”

  I held my hand out and looked up at the sky. “On the contrary. I think things are just beginning to clear up.”

  THE END

  Casting Shadows

  Lazarus Codex Book Ten

  Chapter One

  Hades shuffled the cards one more time before inquiring, “So, did you ask her yet?”

  I waited for him to deal out a couple of cards before picking them up. Ace of clubs and the eight of spades. It felt like a bad omen, but I shrugged it off. It’d been almost three months since anything really bad had happened. No gods had rolled into town with the apocalypse on their minds, no crazy fae queens had involved me or anyone I cared about in their schemes, and no Titans had tried to kill anybody. The last few months had been the most peaceful since I’d become Death, which probably wasn’t saying much.

  Sure, stuff had gone wrong. I hadn’t heard from Remy at all, for example, but I just figured she needed her space. Considering Foxglove had also disappeared, I thought maybe the two of them had finally run off together, despite my objections.

  My life had settled into a regular rhythm: work through the week, dates with Emma on the weekend, and poker nights with Nate, Hades, and Jean on Tuesdays.

  I picked up the next card—another eight—and shifted my hand around. “Not yet.”

  Hades dealt the last round of cards and slapped the deck onto the table before flipping over the five of spades. “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Just waiting for the right time, I guess.”

  “Stalling is more like it.” Jean Lafitte, or rather the disembodied spirit of Jean Lafitte, curled his ghostly mustache with two fingers. “It’s been two weeks since he picked out the ring.”

  Nate sighed and nodded. “Sometimes I think it’s a good thing I never had to propose to Leah.”

  I frowned at the cards in my hand and lowered them face down to the table. “Hold up. You didn’t?”

  “She asked me.” Nate pushed his glasses up his nose only to have them fall right back down. “It was sort of a mutual agreement at that point. I never had to make a big deal of it. I guess we’re just not that sort of people.”

  “You should do something extravagant!” Jean suggested.

  Hades agreed with a grunt and started swapping out cards. “You should take her away somewhere.”

  “Arrange a flash mob!”

  “Definitely get it on video.”

  When it came to my turn to ask for cards, I declined and rubbed my face. “Thanks for the suggestions guys, but I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  The last few weeks, I’d been brainstorming, trying to think up the perfect way to pop the question. Every time I came up with something, I also thought of a dozen ways for it to go wrong.

  Plus, Emma had been buried in work the last week and a half. She’d even skipped our normal date to work the weekend. Ever since coming back to work, the department had been drowning her in paperwork and training seminars. Who would’ve thought there’d be so many of those for a cop working cold cases?

  Nate sighed and tossed his cards down. “Well, I’m out.”

  “Me too,” said Hades.

  “Lazarus?” Jean gave me a hopeful glance.

  I flipped over my hand. “Two pair, aces over eights.”

  Jean frowned and revealed a pair of fives with help from the community card. “You know the Dead Man’s Hand is bad luck, right?”

  I started to tell him that it was all just superstition but stopped myself. Here I was, a necromancer and the Pale Horseman, about to explain to a disembodied spirit that luck wasn’t a thing. Guess that would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t it?

  My phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket and frowned at the screen displaying the precinct’s number. Emma.

  Hades collected the cards on the table and started piling them together to reshuffle. “I thought we all agreed to turn our phones off during poker night?”

  We had a code when it came to Tuesday nights: no cheating, no take-backs, and no phones. It was the only way to make sure Leah wasn’t calling Nate to pick up something from the store every few minutes and to keep Hades from texting Persephone like some love-sick teenager. Once he discovered texting, he just couldn’t help himself.

  But Emma never called me on Tuesday nights. She knew I wouldn’t pick up. Maybe she’d forgotten. No, that wasn’t like her either. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached some days, but not Emma. And she wouldn’t call me from the station phone unless it was on official business.

  A lance of panic struck at my gut as I had another thought. What if someone else was calling? What if they were calling to tell me she was hurt?

  I stood, phone in hand. “I’ve got to take this.”

  Jean narrowed his eyes and picked up his cards. “That’s a slippery slope you’re on.”

  I ignored him and slid my thumb across the screen as I moved away from the table before lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Feel like a little stroll?” asked an unfamiliar voice that definitely wasn’t Emma. I was sure I had heard it somewhere before but couldn’t place it.

  “Excuse me?” I glanced over my shoulder at the guys who’d decided to play another hand without me. “Who is this?”

  “Really? Forgotten me already? Usually, I’m difficult to forget, especially since I have something that belongs to you.”

  I clenched my fist. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are—”

  “I don’t think. I know. And if you want to know more, you’ll be at Algiers Point in fifteen minutes. Alone.”

  The phone crackled and popped. Sparks flew, singeing my cheek. I tossed the phone to the sofa where it continued sparking a minute before the whole case melted into a puddle. Dammit, I’d just replaced that phone!

  “Laz?” Nate stood, resting his hands on the table. “Who was that?”

  “Someone who doesn’t know who they’re messing with.” I grabbed a light jacket from where it hung on the wall. As I shrugged it on, my iron staff fell over and rolled to a stop at my feet. If that wasn’t a sign I needed to take it, I didn’t know what was.

  “Let me come with you. I would rather break someone’s face than lose at poker.” Hades pounded his fist into his palm.

  I debated taking him up on that offer. Whoever had just called me had clearly earned the face pounding, and Hades could certainly bring the pain. Having been on the other end of those fis
ts, I could verify that much.

  I grabbed my keys from the hook near the door. “No, thanks. I think I can handle myself.”

  Jean lowered his cards. “Says the guy who still needs help opening pickle jars.”

  “I’m telling you, it was really on there, man.” I adjusted my coat. “You guys keep playing. This won’t take long.”

  “Laz, think fast.” Nate tossed me his cell phone from the basket where everyone else had left theirs. “Since yours is on the fritz. Call Hades’ number if there’re any problems.”

  I nodded and pocketed the cell phone.

  Algiers Point wasn’t far from my house, about ten minutes by car. I steamed the whole way there, trying to decode the voice. He said he had something that belonged to me, though I hadn’t noticed anything missing. All I could think of was that he might mean Emma or Remy, and if he’d so much as touched either of them, I was going to have his head. Loki had tried to use both Emma and Remy against me. I was never going to let that happen again. Ever.

  I parked near some condos on Morgan Street and walked the rest of the way. It was mid-October and just chilly enough to warrant the jacket. With the breeze sweeping through the city, it was downright cold, uncharacteristically so. Fall had come early to New Orleans, with the temperature plunging into the upper forties after the sun set. The Big Easy didn’t normally see that kind of cold until Christmas. If it kept up, we might actually see snow.

  Algiers Point was a grassy area on the edge of the Mississippi. From there, you could look across the river and see the high rises downtown. You’d think such a location would’ve been a tourist hotspot because of the incredible view, but the city had neglected to turn it into a proper park. Instead, it remained an unkempt grassy area with random piles of rocks and rubble obscuring the view. Traffic cones lay half-buried in mounds of dirt while broken glass bottles crunched underfoot. I slipped between the remains of a rotting telephone pole and a beer can graveyard, keeping to the edge of the streetlight’s halo. A big pile of broken rocks rose to my right. I steadied myself against it, peering out into the long shadow it cast.

  A single man stood on a large stump overlooking the water, tossing bread to a few fat ducks. He wore a long coat and a big hat, the getup somehow reminding me of a fisherman at sea. At the right angle, I could just barely make out a big bushy beard. I didn’t recognize him until he turned his head toward me and I saw the eye patch. Odin.

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and strode out of the shadow. “You know bread is bad for ducks, right?”

  “And beer is bad for men. Doesn’t seem to slow them down any.” He ripped another chunk off the giant loaf and tossed it into the water. “In fact, the more you tell them not to do something, the more likely they are to do it. You’re like toddlers. Reverse psychology is the surest way to get humans to act.”

  “Did you have a reason to call me out here or are we just catching up?”

  “When was the last time you heard from your daughter?”

  My hands twitched into fists that I had to force to relax. “Been a while. Things are tense. Why?”

  “And your knight, Sir Foxglove?” Odin tore off a fist-sized chunk and lifted it to pitch it farther out into the water.

  I grabbed the whole loaf and tossed it down into the weeds. “If you want something, just come out with it. I don’t like being jerked around, especially by Norse gods. Kinda triggers some bad memories. Know what I mean? Cut the crap, Odin. Why am I here?”

  He smiled like a shark. “That’s good. You’ll need that sort of focus with what’s to come.”

  “What’s to come?”

  Instead of answering, Odin turned his back to the river and strode leisurely toward the road. He moved fast enough that I almost had to run to catch him. “In a little while, you’re going to have a visitor. Assist him at your own peril.”

  I planted my feet, but Odin kept walking. “Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you, you one-eyed asshole!”

  The god halted as if he’d hit a wall.

  I hurried to stand in front of him, blocking his path. “You said you had something of mine.”

  Light twinkled in his eye as he lifted a fist in front of his face. His fingers uncurled slowly to reveal a black stripe smeared over his palm like charcoal.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your shadow,” he replied. “Payment for the horn I loaned you. A small part of your soul. Before you go tying the knot, you’re going to want this back. Otherwise, the road ahead doesn’t look so bright for either you or the future Mrs. Kerrigan.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “I’m Odin.”

  I held out my hand. “Then give it to me.”

  Odin threw back his head and laughed long and loud. “I like your optimism! I do, but I think I’ll hold onto it for a little longer.” He closed his hand and withdrew it. “In the meantime, you should steer clear of the water.”

  “Why? What’s in it?”

  He jerked his head back toward the shore. “Why don’t you go and see for yourself?”

  I hesitated. He wouldn’t have warned me about the water if it wasn’t dangerous.

  Come on, Laz. There’s nothing out there but ducks. You were just there. I sighed and turned my back to Odin, walking slowly to the stump. I leaned forward and peered through the rushes to look down into the black water, but it was too dark to see anything.

  “Look closer,” Odin called.

  “You look closer, One-Eye,” I grumbled and carefully stepped onto the old, rotten log. Wood creaked. I inched forward, leaning toward the river and squinting until the murky water came into focus. Nothing.

  Just when I was about to leave, something moved underneath the surface. Something fast. I thought at first it might be a cottonmouth. They liked to lurk in old logs near water. But no, this was too big for that. It pulled back from the shore and then shot out of the water to tower over me by ten feet.

  A tentacle? No, it wasn’t rubbery like that. Had to be something else.

  My mouth fell open as I realized what I was looking at: a vine, one of those black vines from Faerie that Remy had been so concerned about. But what the hell was it doing here?

  The vine suddenly whipped out and curled tight around my neck. I raised my hands to try and pry the plant away, but my fingers sank into it and came away stringy as if it were made of tar. Something bit into my neck and pumped fire into my veins. All I could do was scream until my vision went white from the pain and I passed out.

  Chapter Two

  I woke up with a gasp, already sitting up. Sweat trailed down the side of my face and beaded on my chest while I tried to catch my breath. A dream? More like a nightmare.

  “Laz?” Emma’s cool, soft hand gripped my shoulder gently, concern lacing her voice. “You okay?”

  I let out a slow, shaky breath and nodded. “Just a stupid dream.”

  Distant thunder rumbled outside, and a faint breeze brushed aside the lace curtain of Emma’s bedroom, revealing the first signs of a gray morning. I played the events of the dream over in my head, committing as many details as possible to memory before they faded. It’d seemed too real for it to mean nothing. Even if it wasn’t anything supernatural, dreams were a window into the psyche, a diagnostic tool for the brain’s general health. I’d done enough dream interpretation to know nightmares were never a good sign.

  Emma picked up her phone from the bedside table and sighed. “I’ll get the coffee started.” She slid on her slippers and dragged herself across the room to the bathroom.

  I collapsed against the pillows with a groan. Garfield was right when he said Mondays sucked, though what did he have to complain about? He was a cat. He never had to get up and go to work. Guess I didn’t have to either since I owned my own business; I could leave the shop closed if I wanted. But October kicked off the busy season for fortune-tellers like me. Halloween brought in the curious and the pranksters who thought they’d get a kick out of
a séance or two, and then the holidays meant people would step up trying to contact lost loved ones on the other side. For a necromancer like me, whose only income was playing counselor to the bereaved and scaring the piss out of idiots who didn’t believe, I couldn’t afford not to be open this time of year.

  Plus, there was no point in staying in bed, not when Emma had to report for her shift too.

  I groaned again and sat up, rubbing the last signs of sleep from my face. “What the hell’s the point of working for myself if I can’t call off?”

  Once Emma got out of the bathroom, I dragged myself through a shower and shave before making my way to the kitchen. Shaving without a reflection was no easy task, but I was getting used to it. Hadn’t cut myself in almost a week now. Apparently, I’d lost my reflection along with my shadow when Odin extracted a tiny piece of my soul three months ago. It’d been a small price to pay to put Loki down, especially after all the trouble he caused, but the dream had me wondering about the long-term effects.

  Emma was already dressed and halfway through making breakfast. Grammy, who’d flown into town a few days ago, sat at the kitchen table with her newspaper, combing through the obituary section.

  I sat down across from her. “Anyone I know?” I asked as Emma passed me a perfect, steaming cup of coffee.

  The pages rattled as she turned to the next one. “That’s a rhetorical question for the Pale Horseman, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah, because Death knows everyone eventually.”

  Grammy lowered the paper, squinting at me. “Well, somebody’s got his boxers in a bunch. What’s the matter? And don’t tell me she ain’t putting out. I had to put my earplugs in last night, and I’m half deaf.”