To Know, First Shadow 4

Watching Evonne storm out of the yard, William squinted. Teach her, magic? Preposterous! Fingers slowly working through the rose bush to the spot where the perfect flower had been plucked, William froze as a feminine scent reached him. With years of interaction with the dead he had trained himself not to freeze up on most cases. There were of course exceptions to the rule. Ivy wrapped in lavender betwixt with roses. Her presence always raised goose bumps on his neck, and caused his heart to beat faster. Whispering as he slowly turned to face the apparition. “Marie.”

The phantom folded her hands in front of her blurred emerald green gown, looking in the direction that Evonne had left. William could see her features clearly, signaling she was likely in a very emotional state. Reading glasses half hid the crow’s feet around her intense grey eyes. Laugh lines twisted into a sad frown, “Bill. Why is that girl upset?” Marie asked her voice like a tickling itch in William’s ear.

William shrugged, false concern filling his words. “She wanted to learn magic. I do not teach. You should not worry about her. We will not be seeing her again.”

Marie drifted close to the edge of the rosebush in front of her tombstone near the fence line. “I married a wonderful man. A powerful necromancer. I remember living well with him even though we were practically prisoners in this house.”

William felt his mouth go dry and a vice clamp over his throat. Every breath felt raw and dirty with guilt. “We had a good life together, even in the hard times.”

The apparition settled her gaze upon William, smiling sadly. “No matter how wonderful the cage, I still died a prisoner. You have a chance to free her, and yourself.”

******** ************ ************* ************

Storming down the dusty hallway William glared at the locked door at the end of the row of alcoves. The words of his departed wife ringing in his ears still as he clenched his hand into a fist to keep from shaking. The shadows played upon the door like oily snakes wrapping over the back of his frail looking hand as he closed it over the knob. Focusing, William filled the keyhole with liquid shadow. Its cold touches were invigorating as he molded the shadow to move the tumblers in the lock. The door swung silently inward revealing stairs leading down. Feeling the shadow rush over him, William let the embrace linger before snapping his fingers. The sound echoed over the space of the room as eldritch flame erupted from a dozen candles in their sconces.

Shattered glass and ruined piping littered the floor, smashed book cases leaned upon each other, spilled tomes left in a regurgitated heap near the center of the concrete floor. Gripping his cane William watched ghosts of the past flood the room, destroying his good work, confiscating relics of power. They ruined every book by throwing buckets of water upon them in the name of order and balance.

Sitting at the bottom of the steps William looked over the wreckage, regretfully as the ghosts faded once more. “I had no idea my cooperation would lead to the end of such beauty. I am so sorry.”

Leaning down he picked up a piece of shattered mirror before shaking his head and casting it back down. Sighing deeply William moved to stand, using his cane to balance. His eyes were drawn again to the broken piece of mirror, the reflection showing him the underside of the stairs. William felt his eyes narrow and a tight smile tug at his lips. “What do we have here?”

Gingerly he probed the underside of the stairs, his fingers catching on a simple screw that held a latch. Opening the latch, William held his breath. The wood slid with ease in the form of a shallow drawer revealing a thin stack of parchment. Leaning on the wall, he carefully shifted the sheets. Elegant cursive script filled the pages. Spell diagrams drawn with practiced ease. Notes, citations, cross references, and personal thoughts.

Choked with nostalgic awe, William talked to himself. “This is…these are, Marie’s novice notes on necromancy when I taught her.” Checking the under side of the stairs revealed five more compartments. “It is all here! Every basic lesson, everything I have forgotten or taken for granted!”

Hugging the pages, William yelled towards the top of the stairs, “Felix! Felix, get down here you mangy bag of fur!”

Felix flopped down on the top step of the stairs licking his feline groin, ‘What did you need, Master?’ the familiar canted with mock annoyance.

Grinning from ear to ear, William felt the pages in his arms grow warm as he addressed his familiar. “Find that girl. Then tell me where she resides.”

‘I thought you were going to let that one go, Master.’ The feline looked bored until it looked at William. Its ears folded back, it had not seen its master in such a state in years. His master’s shadow growing in the dying candle light, making the elderly man appear more menacing than ever. ‘Right! I’m on the job boss.’

To Know, First Shadow

‘Here she comes again. Are you going to do anything?’

William considers the cup of tea in front of him. The smoked salmon sandwich in his elderly hand smelled enticing. Glancing out the window of the second story of his home William angles his chair to get a better view. Placing the sandwich down the onyx plate he smooths out his salt and pepper goatee. “And what should I be doing, Felix?” His voice glides like well aged brandy addressing his familiar.

Felix leaps from the windowsill before rounding the chair to claw its way up the back of the chair much to William’s annoyance, while canting in his head. ‘Oh, I don’t know…make sure they don’t kill her? They do this five days a week, one day they are going to go too far.’

Giving a side long appraising look to his familiar, William shakes his head. “Getting involved is not something worth while to me. Besides, they don’t always get her. She has gotten much faster and by the looks of it she has a good lead on them today.” William finished his assessment with a sip of lukewarm tea.

Lowering his gaze William took in his perfect lawn, its twin bubbling fountains, welling into a pool. The sunlight of the late afternoon catches on the ever rippling pond. From the pool the overlapping water ran along stone black stone channels to constantly feed his prized roses that grew against the fence of the front of his property. Just seeing the roses always lightened his heart.

Up the street a teenage girl dressed in head to toe black raced down the sidewalk, working her legs in a sprint from her pursuers. Combat boots stamping in desperate rhythm, black backpack bobbing in time with her efforts to stay ahead of the pack that gained on her. Those that pursued the girl appeared to be of the same age, three girls two boys. Dressing in similar colors of blue and white they were definitely in some sort of club or group.

“One of them must be sick, there is only five today. There are usually six.” William muses aloud taking a pinch of the smoked salmon and offering it to Felix.

Felix single eye gaze considers the offer before taking the salmon, his feline features contently chewing though his tail trashes in agitation. ‘Those white lighters are worse than dogs. No respect for anything that is not just like them.’

William chuckles, “And you would know this how?”

‘You have me spy on them enough to know.’

“Touché.”

The elderly man watches as the runner drops her backpack to lighten her flight, racing past the front gate of his yard. Objects spill everywhere from the open flap scattering along the ground. The sixth pursuer makes his presence known having hid between to parked cars on the street. Bowling into the runner with a shove that sent the girl of balance and crashing to the ground. Clucking his tongue, William sighed. “Looks like the hounds caught the fox today.”

William watched as the five surrounded the girl very much like a wolf pack and hauled the teen to her feet. The last member of the group that William deduced to be the leader casually walked along the fence line. That slow smooth saunter of a bully in complete control. William dropped his tea cup as the leader reached through the bars of the fence and plucked a single red rose from the perfect garden. The boy inhaled upon it before tucking the perfect blood red rose to hang out of his breast pocket.

Anger welled up within William his eyes blazed with power yearning to be released. Old hands iron grip the arm rests of his chair with the ferocity he had not felt in years. Forcing himself to remain in the chair William watched as the group searched rifled through the accosted girl’s belongings, making sure a few ended up over the fence and in the front yard.

William never took his eyes off the leader, marking every feature. From the leader’s perfect blond hair in a long braid to his medium build, green eyes, to the slight limp that marked him as slower than the rest. How the leader commanded his underlings, how much sway he had over them. All of it carved into memory for later use.

Finally the group tired of tormenting the girl in black and left her slumped against the fence sobbing with her knees against her chest. With an entitled casual jaunt the group went on their way, tossing promises or threats over their shoulders to the fallen teen.

Felix shifted on the back of William’s chair near his shoulder, ‘Master?’ the familiar canted to his owner.

William felt the ice coursing through his veins. Looking towards the spot where the rose was plucked back to the group retreating into the distance. Pushing off the chair to his feet, William gripped his ivory cane. Whispering with cold malice to the window as the group fell from sight. “Invitation accepted.”

NecroStatic 4

I really don’t need to eat. Still I enjoyed the sensation of food, and it helps keep up appearances. Most Reapers view it as a distasteful attachment to what they once were. Guess I was always a rogue and a rebel. A burger, some fries and a good dose of ectoplasm would do the trick. Descending the steps to the Cellar I let my hand rest upon the flaking paint of the hardwood door. I lost count of how many times I had come to this place. The Cellar was a place mainly for new Reapers to get adjusted to their roles and slowly wean themselves off all those mortal habits. Like eating, drinking, smoking, and all those pesky emotions that had no place in the job. I enjoyed the place because it actually did the opposite of its proposed purpose.

Pushing the door open I inhaled taking in the stench of greasy air, and charcoaled meat. The filthy tiled walls and red neon over cast gave the place the perfect grimy feel. Tan vinyl booths with plywood table tops line the wall. The place was always busy; the food was cheap but good, making it a hit with the locals.

I wasn’t the only Reaper here. Tucked in the far corner booth a very petite young woman deeply involved with whatever she was reading. Bundled up in a black and pink Hello Kitty hoodie, she glances up feeling my presence, eyes combing the room and then locking onto me. Oddly, she did not look annoyed or disgusted to see me considering my status. Instead she put the book down and smiled in my direction.

Making my way through the diner towards her table I knew her name and that she was a transfer from the Midwest. She called herself Thaco, but I had yet to actually speak to her. Not that other Reapers looked forward to talking to me anyways…

What I heard about Thaco was strange. She did not kill another Reaper to take its place. She had invoked an ancient bylaw that only a few humans knew about. She challenged the Reaper that came to harvest her soul to a contest and she defeated that Reaper. When you challenge and defeat a Reaper they have to grant a request. Instead of being returned to her life, she opted to become a Reaper.

Nodding my head as I sit down at the booth, “You are Thaco, right?”

All smiles still Thaco bobs her head, pushing the book she had been reading to the side. It looked to be some sort of fantasy game manual. “That’s me. To hit armor class zero.”

Plowing through my confused look, Thaco babbled on. “It is what my name means. You are the second chancer, Dante Maxwell. Looks like you have seen some action. You went toe to toe with a Stein, and without a scythe, that is pretty impressive.”

News obviously travels fast. Suddenly I felt very aware of the glass still lodged in my body, and the two broken ribs grating against my spine. If was still alive I would have been in a wheelchair and in an incredible amount of pain. “It had to be done.”

Thaco waves the waitress over, “I’ll have another milkshake, chocolate this time. My friend here will have a number thirteen on that star paper.” Looking me over Thaco added, “Better double rap it with the star paper.”

The waitress snapped her gum and trundled off. Thaco smiles again, brows arched, “I know I just got here, but I have to say this city is a hive of spectral activity. Lots of White Lighters too.”

Opening my mouth to answer I could feel something under the table wrap itself around my ankle like a cord and begin to tighten. Looking down I caught a glimpse something oily writhing under the table. “What is that, Thaco?”

Thaco dips her head under the table, “Oh that?” Thaco flicks a lighter to light, the grip on my ankle releases, whatever it was slithered away from the light. “I found it in one of the antique shops downtown.”

Rummaging in her bag Thaco produced a crystal cylinder that fit in her palm perfectly. Even in the poor light I could make out the runic etchings and a crack that ran the length of the object. Rubbing my jaw, “It is a containment unit, loaded. Who’s in it?”

Thaco shrugged, “I don’t know, but she speaks Japanese. Quite pissed off.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watch a lot of Anime.”

“What?”

Shaking her head, “It is a type of cartoon. That is not important. I found this on the shelf in a basement of the antique store. Weird that a Reaper device was left for a mortal to simply buy it, no? It already has an occupant too.”

The object in her palm held a bead of black within it and frantically rolled from side to side to avoid the light. Looking closer I could see the crack was not a natural flaw in the crystal. “We have to get rid of it, properly.” My shadow overcast the crystal as I studied it, wisps of black hair erupted from the thin crack, shrinking back into the cylinder as I pull my head back.

Thaco keeps the crystal tube on the table, “I know the drill, but I am basically camped out here until the sun comes up. The unit is faulty and last thing this city needs is a pissed off Asian ghost terrorizing it.”

Without warning a plastic tray is tossed down in front of me. Glancing up as the waitress sets down the milkshake in front of Thaco. The wrapped burger in front of me smelled great. Unwrapping the paper, I folded it, lifting the bun I lay the paper down in the burger. Thaco punches a straw through the top of her milkshake and proceeds to blow into the softened ice-cream. I watch the paper dissolve into a nearly clear gel. The Cellar was one of two places you could get objects made of ectoplasm. Ghost crafting was frowned upon, but imbibing ectoplasm is how Reapers healed from injuries. Feeling the glass begin to push its way out my flesh, I devoured the burger. My broken ribs knitted back together. Shaking my sleeve, thin shards of glass clattered to the floor.

“Well I have nothing better to do, want some company, Thaco?”

Thaco pauses in her bubble making upon the milkshake, “Sure. Do you game, bro?”

“What?”

Sighing, Thaco gives me her best Samuel L Jackson impression. “Game, mother fucker. Do you game?”

“Like card games? I used to.” Unsure of how to take her change of attitude as her smile grew dark.

“Bro, let me take you to a whole new world.” With that the books poured forth and lots of strangely shaped dice.

NeCroStAtIc

Sliding face down along the hallway picking up broken glass along the way I come to a halt after banging into a row of lockers. Spitting out a shard of glass that was lodged in my cheek I wipe at the wound with the back of my hand. I could take quite a beating, but enough damage would kill even me.
Tracey wisps instantly at my side, looking about frantically “Do you need Reiki, Maxwell? I can help! What was that thing?”

Sitting up, I look towards the set of doors I was hurled through. Gripping my hand I force the dislocated fingers of my left hand back into place. There was no pain but it cost time I most likely did not have. Screams erupt from gaping, ruined doors. “I’m not alive, remember? Reiki won’t do anything.”

“But what was that?” Tracey repeats, chewing on the end of one of her dreadlocks nervously.

Running down the hall back towards the opening, “It’s a Stein. A dead body taken over by a tortured ghost and highly dangerous.”

Bursting into the room I catch sight of the reanimated cheerleader. Pert and perky with youth, blonde hair perfectly trimmed, as vision of dead beauty. Her neck canted to the side indicating it had been broken. A make shift noose around her neck dangled down to the small of her back. The Stein held onto a dead student having plunged its fingers through the eye sockets holding the body low like a professional bowler. Shuffling the cheerleader Stein pivoted to look about the room, all but ignoring Tracey and I.

“What is she doing?” Tracey quipped nearly dissipating from fear.

“It. Is looking for something to kill. Living creatures and humans are lights in the dark to it. They have to be pretty close to a human to go after it, like ten paces or so. The school is pretty clear after your fire alarm idea.” Hey, it was a good plan.

“How do we get rid of it?”

“We- I will have to recreate how the host died. SHIT!” Instantly I start running towards the Stein.

Like a shot the Stein takes off, racing towards the window, ripping the head off it previous victim in the process as a pigeon lands on the windowsill. Arms and mouth wide the cheerleader dashes through the window without a second thought.

Time slows as I reach the shattering window my fingers seeking to close about the length of rope, its smooth nylon grazing my fingers, closing my fist capturing the end between my fore and middle fingers, clamping the grip with my thumb. The rope jerks tight as the cheerleader Stein falls, but fails to reach the ground.

Clawed hands dig at the rope around its neck as the Stein flails about. Bracing my knee just under the windowsill I hold on reinforcing my grip on the rope with my other hand. The rope swings as the Stein’s body struggles and smacks against the wall. Legs thrusting out to reach the ground go limp. Rope cutting into the neck of the once dead again cheerleader, her eyes staring blankly back up towards me. A thin stream of black oily smoke seeps around her mouth. Without much effort I haul the body back into the room. Down the hall I can hear emergency services checking rooms and calling out for any occupants. This was going to be close. Reaching into my trenchcoat I yank a small crystal sphere and place it to the cheerleader’s lips with her torso over my lap. The clear crystal darkens and grows heavy in my hand. “In you go, bitch.”

Letting the body fall to the floor without ceremony I glance about for Tracey only to find no trace. “Oh, sure leave me stuck to explain things.” Well, I did not feel like talking, and the window was already ‘open’.

******** ********** *********** ********* *********

The stench of cigar makes its way up my nose as Administrator Devon, adjusts his grip on my shoulders, the cigar between his fingers ashes down the front of my coat. His voice carried a southern Italian accent wrapped in a smokers rasp. “Tell me again, Maxwell. Your words are hard on these old ears.”

I don’t bother looking around his dark office. I have never even seen Devon’s face, it was pair of hands, always from behind, always with that stinking cigar. The only thing in it was the chair I was sitting in and the mocking, swinging single bulb light above me.

“There was a Reaper already on scene, as I told you. The building was evacuated by pulling the fire alarm. The Reaper proceeded to engage me. I have never seen this one before. It was old, I could tell. Much older than you or I. It attacked me and I defended myself. It fled, and then a Stein took over a suicide victim, an unscheduled suicide. I detained the Stein, and filed my report immediately.”

Devon let his hands drop off my shoulders, “Reapers, do no attack other Reapers. Ever. It is forbidden.”

“It happened.” I start to protest.

“Unlikely, Maxwell. I understand that you want your scythe returned, but false reports about an improbable rogue Reaper only to seek to drag you further away from that goal.”

Trying to maintain my composure, I keep my voice as toneless as possible and failing. “Administrator Devon, I know it appears unlikely, but I am telling you the truth. It swung its scythe right at my head! No pause, no greeting. It was not there to harvest. It was there to cause a lot of unscheduled deaths.”

A stout hand cuffs the back of my neck, smartly “Stop calling it a Reaper. Let me repeat myself. Reapers. Do. Not. Attack. Other Reapers. Am I clear?”

I clamp my jaw and nod, saying nothing more.

With a smoke filled sigh, Administrator Devon. “Everything else was by the tome. You are excused for the time being. Your report will stand until we can get this cleared up. I would be cautious if I were you about making such claims in the future. As much as I like you, you are not above replacement. Remember that…”

Necrostatic 2

Exiting the public restroom, I nearly run into a pair of Reno police officers as they troop a handcuffed woman in white between them. Medium height, her hair so blonde it appeared to be silver. She didn’t leave? Some people have no sense. She had to know I was up to something. Maybe she didn’t factor in the mundane…that happened from time to time. No, she was up to some sort of shenanigans.

Those icy blues met my gaping black pits; she was studying the hell out of me. I watched her brief look flit through at least three different types of vision, in a fraction of a few seconds. Her aura was reaching out to mingle with mine, which I casually dissuaded with a snap of my fingers, getting a venomous look for the effort. Perhaps I was the first Reaper she encountered, but that un-cheery spark between us told me this would not be the only time we would meet. Likely she would tell all her Hermit friends about me…

One of the officers stopped dead as he happened to glance at the ground and shifted to look right at me. Following the officer’s look, I winced. My shadow! It still looked like the classic Grim Reaper, scythe included. Forcing it down and back to normal I smiled, albeit cheekily at the officer. “Nice day, officer. Glad to see you…are…uh…doing your job.” I spotted the reason the lady was in cuffs. Tucked under the officers belt was a wicked looking boline. White ivory handle, and its curved blade made of cold hammered copper and it looked obnoxiously sharp. The officer grunted and dismissed what he thought he saw and resumed wrangling the eerily lady in white.

With the officers departing, I walked to the car, not even bothering to wave to the kid as he appeared busy with another pair of authority type adults. Reaching a car I find a sparrow waiting for me on the roof. Sparrows are messengers for death, so I give a quick whispered report and open the door. The bird takes off and I settle in behind the wheel. Tapping the steering wheel I sigh, “I hate this part of the job. It is fucking crap.”

“You shouldn’t cuss so much. It is bad for the aura.” Came a female voice, startling me enough that I nearly went Reaper right then and there. Gripping the wheel I snap my head in the direction of the voice.

Seated in the passenger side was a very see through woman of shifting age. Young face, old eyes, timeless features. Dressed in stereotypical tree hugger wear, jean jacket with an over kill amount of logo pins and talismans. Tattered skirt of faded wine purple and ended with gold laced sandals, looking closely I could see she was hovering about two inches off the passenger seat. Making no apology for cursing, I grumped. “Tracey Whistler. What do you want? Better yet, how did you find me?”

Tracey became a bit more solid, which was generally a sign of proximity or confidence. It still boggled me how she was able to ‘Astral Project’. Just looking at her one would assume she took too much acid or bong hits. Her voice drifted, displaced from where it should be. “I came to see you, because, you know, that is what friends do from time to time. As for finding you, it is not hard. You give me a pen once, a link.” Mental note; retrieve pen as soon as possible.

I kind of just had to accept that I would never be rid of her and the overtures of friendship that she continuously heaped upon me. I don’t even recall how we became ‘friends’, she literally picked me out of a crowd at a party I was reaping at and started hanging out. Psychically and otherwise… Still, she was company and that was in short supply in my line of work.

Mentally I did a count down. Three…two…one… Like clockwork the questions began, pouring forth like a cheerful tidal wave. “Was it hard to stop this one? Are they alright? Got anymore assignments today? Can I go too? Are they ever going to let you be a Reaper again?”

If I had a functioning normal brain I would imagine I’d have a headache about now. I was reluctant to outright ignore Tracey. Like I said I don’t have many people to talk to. “It was tricky, like usual. Yes, they should be fine, look.”

I point out the window as the kid followed by the officers met the father halfway in the park. The father clamped his son in a hug and surely made vows never to let go. Humans are funny like that. Tracey clapped her hands, smiling. “Aww, they look so happy! You really are a good…ma-…per-…being.” Nodding her head triumphantly as she settled on her final answer of what to call me.

“Thanks.” Tracey brought up a good question. Did I have anymore assignments for today? Taking up the note pad, I flipped the page. Tracey gaped as letters began to appear on the page. “WOW! Look at that! You have to be seeing this!”

“I have seen it before yes. Happens every time there is an assignment.” I say, concentrating on the words that were forming for they would be brief and drop down to be lost in the previous writings that overlapped on the page into an unintelligible scribble.

Tracey kept on babbling, “It is like a hole opened up over the notebook and letters fell out and on to the page. How do you guys do that? Hey I know that address! That is my old high school!” Her old school? With her going on I lost the time stamp of when to be there.

Setting the notebook down with purpose I turned to the spectral Tracey. “You can’t come. The work is not for someone like you.”

Tracey blurred and came back into focus an instant later. Her voice carried a hurt tone for the first time that I could recall. “What? Why? Is it because I am a woman? I will have you know this is an age approaching equality, sir!”

“It’s not that…” I started to reply and was immediately cut off.

“Oh just admit it, Maxwell! Half the time I think your brain is stuck back when you were alive! Oooooo you anachronism! Of course you know I mean that in a good way, you just don’t know the strides that are being made and the fight we all face to bring about change.”

“Tracey…”

“No! Look, I put up with a lot from other men out there and I thought you were different.”

“Tracey…”

“I mean what is the big deal if I want to go? I will have you know-“

“Tracey!” I snap finally. That gets her attention so I can get a word in.

Her brow furrows beneath her dreadlocks. “What?”

I am about to open a door I may regret later as the words come forth. “It is not you. It is the fact there could be other Reapers there. If they see you they could mistake you for something else.”

Curious now, “Like what?” Tracey asks.

Expelling a sigh I push on, despite what my lone wolf image is telling me to stop. “Like the mighty dead. Those that have died and refused to cross over for whatever reason. A lot of Reapers are pretty old school and feel this is against the order of things. You die, you cross, then come back later to live again. It is a huge feather in their caps if a Reaper can convince one of the Mighty Dead to cross, one way or the other. I just…don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Honestly, I didn’t know what would happen if they tried to make her cross. Supposedly astral projection was the soul leaving the body on short trips, but it didn’t feel right entirely. Tracey’s sudden hard line attitude softens, “You mean you care about me?”

“Who else am I going to talk to?”

“That’s a yes!” Tracey chirped gleefully.

******** ********* *********** *********** **************

Driving with Tracey since I really couldn’t get rid of her was interesting. She bobbed along with the car keeping pace. I tested a few theories out along the way. I took a sharp turn and watched her nearly rocket out of the car. Tracey sticks her tongue out at me while half her head jutted through the closed passenger window. A short stop and Tracey goes through the front of the dashboard. Jerking herself back she rolls her eyes. “You did that on purpose.” Yep.

Nearing the school, Tracey resumes her questions. “So how do you get those assignments? How do you know where to be?”

I shrug, “Ghosts. They give us the information.”

Tracey makes a face, “Aren’t ghosts what is left over when someone dies?”

“A ghost is an echo. Echoes go both ways, to the past and to the future. Think of it like a stone you toss into a pond, the ripples go out. We just figured out a way to read the ripples on the other side of the pond.”

Tracey appeared nearly solid, which suggested emotions controlled the focus of her projection. “How exact is it?”

Bitterly I look at the glove box that contained the notebook. “It’s not. Like I said it is like a ripple, it is an event, the when and why is often is often lost. The where lasts a lot longer. We focus on that.”

Tracey digests this and chews her lip. Shifting subjects yet again, “So how do you become a…a…uh.”

“A Reaper?” I finish the tentative question for her.

Tracey nods, “Yeah.”

“You really want to know?”

Shyly, Tracey nods looking at me expectantly.

Pulling into the parking lot of Sparks High School, I begin to hunt down a spot in the now crowded lot. “To be a Reaper, you kill one and take its place.” Hey, she asked…

Redemption Road 2

********** ********** ************ ******** ******

Brett flinched as the morning sun cast over his closed eyes. Groaning he turned over stiffly, falling off the narrow bench he had been apparently sleeping on. Lifting his head Brett scraped his knuckles on the concrete sidewalk in an attempt to stand. His coat felt heavy, causing Brett to stagger. Steadying himself on the bench his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the day. Just under the bench lay a quartet of roses, neatly entwined together with a woman’s blue G-string. The Baron, must have had a wild time, Brett thought.

Sitting on the bench he checked his coat pockets. They were filled to bursting with hot sauce packets. Tiny shot bottles of rum, most of them empty. Scraps of paper filled with phone numbers. Poker chips adding up to two hundred sixteen dollars, eight key cards to hotel rooms, and a switch blade knife with the tip broken off. Muttering aloud, Brett said. “Baron. Baron we had a deal. How am I to get to Vegas?”

Looking over his surroundings Brett found himself across from the train crossing in Sparks. Behind him was a building, a massively ill kept warehouse. Its wooden sign swung miserably from its hooks. The sign read, Empire Movers. A Peterbuilt semi lounged in the shrinking shade on the side of the building. On the hood of the semi rested a small man in a brown leather duster curled nearly in a ball.

Brett stood, feeling his legs growing steady, able to put weight upon them once again. The scent of magic reached his nose, peculiar as it was old. Running his left index finger from his ear lobe to the corner of his mouth in the form of a squealer scar Brett activated his true sight. The building took on an almost static overlay, shining with green in various spots. The man on the hood of the semi truck shimmered as well. Concentrating on the building Brett could see phantom vines of green growing on the structure.

An icy pit in his stomach sprang to life growing, this was a fairy hold. His knowledge on Fairies was scant at best, he had seen what they could do, but never encountered one in person before. Still it looked as if the Baron had led him here.

Crossing into the lot of the building the front door flew open. A woman with dyed blue hair stepped into view. Ageless in appearance her attire was in the fashion of the nineteen eighties. Short leather skirt, with strategically holed shirt with a faded band logo, and calf high boots of plastic rounded out the outfit. She sniffed the air, her eyes held a feral glint to them as she centered her look on Brett. Her lips twitched in the form of growl, teeth bared.

Brett approached slowly, showing that his hands were empty. The man on the hood had disappeared from sight. Flanking the woman at the door came another man; rotund and barely fitting in his biker leathers. He gave no sign of acknowledgment to either the growling woman or Brett. Where the woman was obviously hostile, the man gave no sign of emotion at all. The woman finally barked, “That is far enough, witch!”

Keeping his hands where they could see them, Brett composed himself once again. “I mean you no harm. In fact I believe I need your help.”

The woman lurched, only to be held in place by a thick arm of the large man beside her. “We want nothing to do with your kind! Scram!” She said with barely concealed contempt.

Brett sighed, and felt something brush by, whirling on the movement, he instinctively swiped out at smaller man in the brown duster. Dancing out of reach the man chittered at Brett. “Missed me, and please don’t kiss me. He’s clean Ching! No weapons cept for some busted knife.”

The woman smirked, suddenly ducking the large man’s arm and loped towards Brett. Her fingers arched as if they were tipped with unseen claws. Brett threw up his hands making a quick sigil of warding. Ching skidded to a halt less than a foot away from him, her nose inhaling the air heavily. Looking about her expression grew confused; she couldn’t see the necromancer for the moment. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she may give him no choice. Brett had to figure something out, the spell was fading fast.

Redemption Road 1

I’m in it to win it for NaNoWriMo. 50,000 in thirty days. Let’s begin!

Redemption Road

It was finally over. Old John had been put to rest at last; with only a handful of people knowing most of the truth. Only Brett knew the whole story in all its sorted details. In the weeks to come Brett would record it within his journals. Coded and twisted in metaphor only understood by keys he would leave behind to those truly trusted.

The apartment is a wreck, routine jumbled but that could be corrected with a few hours of elbow grease. Brett considered the mess before him in all its used pizza box and smashed bookshelf glory. Fingers wandered to the ruined collar of his trenchcoat. I am going to have to mend the coat myself since I really didn’t know any tailors, he thought.

The television flickered static, as it lay on the floor like a spasming murder victim in the ruins of the entertainment center. All this is replaceable for it is just material possessions, Brett continued to try and assuage himself.

Picking an overturned lamp Brett clicked it on, grateful the bulb survived. The air grew chilly giving Brett that all too familiar sense, the static of the television volume growing louder. Setting down the lamp he knelt in the wreckage titling the boxy television to see the screen fully.

Static cleared to an image so sharp and lifelike Brett nearly lost his grip. Staring out of the screen was a face he had not seen in nearly a decade and some change. Lovely dark green almond shaped eyes black thick mascara under them, olive skin paled out with white makeup. The goth look or more accurately the vampire look. Those paled lips moved on the screen filling his ears with a whisper. “Frater.”

Brett had trained his mind and muscles to not freeze up around the dead, but he still was caught flat footed on this occasion. Forcing himself to face the image, he managed to croak the name belonging to the visage. “Jinx.”

Brett’s hands felt glued to the sides of the television, the screen blurs as he heard the telltale whir of that ancient VCR struggling to rewind. The man knew the tape well enough it has been stuck in the VCR for going on nearly a decade. It has to do with vampires and roleplaying and things of that nature. The screen steadies out leaving Jinx smiling face as the tape played. Her voice like honey slithering over the speakers, “It is going to happen again.” The tape jerks as it rewinds, repeating the message. Streaks of wear and blur marred her face, appearing to peel away skin to flesh to static bone. “It is going to happen again.”

The VCR finally has its way with the tape spilling yards of the dark film from its broken maw all over the floor. Jinx’s image faded from the screen, leaving Brett chilled and alone as the presence departed.

Numbly Brett turned the television off and let his gaze linger upon the now dark screen. So he was being called back to Las Vegas. The city where his magical career started, the city where his fame was born, and finally the city he was exiled from.

Shifting through the wreckage Brett pulled a thick binder up and placed it on the counter. Swallowing hard he opened the mock tome. Carefully preserved in plastic sleeves, he slowly flipped through the newspaper clippings. Most were from pagan newsletters. The articles stabbed at the heart of his memory, causing Brett to fall into a large range of emotions, from pride to mirth, to unhealed dread. ‘ Ian Celestri, and Shadowkeeper bring rogue witch to justice! Shadowkeeper steals Stratosphere Tower! Elders sign the Compact. Witch war over! Solitary Murdered, Community Mourns.’

Brett rubbed his hands over his arms; the apartment was cold enough he idly wondered if he could see his own breath. Steeling himself Brett looked through the rest of the articles. Thirteen years ago there had been a series of murders in Las Vegas among the occult community. One every week, then abruptly stopped after seven. No trace, magical or mundane was recovered. The list of suspects was narrow, yet nothing could ever be proven.

Jinx had crossed the depths of the Void to speak to him. Brett had only known Jinx in passing yet she had come to him. He could feel his gut churning, and that feeling spread to his bones. The call of duty. As a necromancer Brett seldom interfered in the progression of death. Death took its toll eventually and everyone was slated to greet it sooner or later.

Still, Jinx had been gone thirteen years and her ghost lingered. No, that wasn’t right Brett corrected himself. Ghosts were local, bound by location and habit, spirits traveled. Jinx had not been put to rest after all this time. Brushing off the sorrow he felt for her, Brett recalled the message. It was going to happen again; Brett assumed Jinx spoke of more people being murdered. Brett had more than a few friends in Las Vegas and he did not want to fathom the possibility of them being hurt due to his inaction.

Checking the time on his cellphone Brett groaned. Low on sleep, Brett knew he’d have to rest soon. Still he could not settle down, his mind churning. Brett would have to obtain supplies, and somehow get a ride from Reno to Las Vegas, over four hundred miles away. Taking a plane was not an option; the witches that guarded the city had most of the modes of transportation there monitored magically. They would spot him and detain him before he left the airport. He’d have to slip into the city amongst others that utilized magic.

Brett rummaged in his trench coat pockets, his fingers slipping around a pair of familiar sunglasses. Pulling the glasses free he studied the lenses, the hologram skulls with in the lenses flashed back at him, almost winking. Sucking on the side of his cheek, Brett considered the price of using the glasses. They belonged to Baron Samedi, Haitian Loa. Brett was low on funds, and had exhausted most of his favors putting Old John’s spirit to rest. If anyone knew a way to get him into Las Vegas it was the Baron.

Leaning low to whisper to the sunglasses in his hand, Brett spoke. “Oh Baron. I cannot see the way to get to where I need to be. I call to you, Baron. I offer myself for two hours to carry out your indulgences on this journey. Show me the way.”

A soft snicker prickled Brett’s ear. The offer was declined. Steadying himself Brett spoke again. “Three hours.” The cold air suddenly carried the scent of cigar smoke, causing Brett to hold very still, watching the sunglasses. Closing his eyes Brett shivered, setting his jaw. “Six hours! Final offer!”

The sunglasses twitched in Brett’s hand, causing the necromancer to open his eyes. The temples of the glasses opened the Baron had accepted the offer. Slowly Brett put the sunglasses on, resting them on the bridge of his nose. A needle sharp pain sprang up in the nape of his neck, slowly moving down his spine. Brett felt his arms move of their own accord, angling wildly, his legs shook as he could feel the Baron settle in. Gently his mind was pushed aside for something far older and greater to take its place.

The right lens of the sunglasses fell free only to be caught in a deft hand. Flipping the lens like a coin, the Baron caught it and stuffed it in a pocket. Grinning widely, almost unnaturally wide he made his way to the kitchen. Fishing a cup from the sink Baron turned on the tap water. Filling the cup, he sniffed at the liquid. Making a face he dumped the contents out. Slapping the side of the sink, the Baron turned the knob of the faucet again. The scent of alcohol with heavy spice filled the air as the sink began to fill with rum. Chuckling, the Baron dipped his cup into the sink and took a healthy swig. Smacking his lips, the Baron ambled into the hallway of the apartment building.

The night sounds of the city sharpened his senses, his ambling became a stroll as he grew used to the body he rode. It was a bit shorter than he was accustomed to, but the host was strong and healthy. Setting his cup down, balancing it on the railing the Baron gripped the wooden rail, tearing a section of it free. With naked hand he smoothed the wood, compressing it denser, giving it a slight bend near the end, fashioning it cane length. Giving it a test twirl, the Baron nodded his approval and walked into the parking lot after hooking the cup of rum with the end of his new cane.

Pausing to fish a cigar out of his pocket the Baron placed it between his teeth and bit off the end. Spitting the end out the Baron snapped his fingers a burst of flame erupting from within his palm. Lighting the cigar he took a hefty draw, allowing the smoke to billow out with a sigh. Cocking his head, the Baron spied a sign indication the direction of downtown Sparks. Downtown anywhere was the place to be, and with six hours to enjoy, it would become a place no one would ever forget…