Chapter 6

 

Darria slipped out of the house and grabbed a cloak she kept in her apartment. Omar and Gabbie wanted to come with her, but she needed some time to think. The appearance of the woman unnerved her, along with learning about Papa Legba. Marie had a lot of information that she was not sharing. Darria wanted to know what road she was being led down. The weather had grown colder. Gray clouds hung over her head that looked like they were about to drop snow on her. She pulled the wool cape closer to herself. Her feet carried her down the street a few blocks past ordinary-looking houses until she came to the graveyard that Oliver owned. From the outside, it appeared to be an ordinary boneyard with a black, wrought iron fence around it. The front gates were padlocked. Headstones and mausoleums could be seen across the bleak landscape of paved paths within. Darria saw houses on the other side of the cemetery. When she looked at the arched sign sporting the name of the necropolis, it blurred so that her eyes couldn’t focus on it. She walked around the side of the fence to one of the side entrances. Darria slipped through the bars, feeling them even as she passed through them.

Oliver had once told her that she was neither alive nor dead. She existed precariously between the worlds and could peer into a veil that not many could. She had shredded it and yanked out the souls she desired. Darria thought back to what she had done to Gerry. On the one hand, it repulsed her, and she never wanted to do it again. On the other hand, the whisper of her necromantic power called to raise the bodies and souls of those who were buried in the ground. Darria wrestled with it until the compulsion passed. Darria followed a path to the center of the graveyard. The intersection of the crossroads played over her skin. It didn’t matter how far she went or in what direction, there were miles of graves. This meeting place of dimensions led into other harvesters’ graveyards. Beyond that was a wall of fog that was the true gateway to purgatory.

Darria trailed her finger around the outline of the coin on her arm. It didn’t spark, but she hadn’t really put much thought into it. If she did, then Oliver would appear. Her heart hiccupped as she thought about what she really wanted to tell him. It weighed on her the more she thought about how he looked at her. His eyes held no emotion. They had been dead even after he had been himself and not in the guise of death. She couldn’t stand Oliver looking at her as if he had no soul. Some of the other harvesters she had encountered were angels. However, some had a soul, and they could feel the same way humans did. She had also met a woman who had chosen to become a grim reaper and led a regular life—which was hard to think of—but then again, it wasn’t easy for someone on the outside of what Darria did to even fathom her profession.

She rubbed the coin in her flesh, and it plopped into her palm. Darria closed her eyes and thought about Oliver, not the harvester, but the man underneath the deathly visage. The air stirred. When she opened her eyes, Oliver appeared dressed in black jeans and a dark gray shirt, holding his scythe in one hand, ready to defend himself in case she went all crazy necromancer on him once more. His expression remained impassive. That unbreakable silver-blue stare bored into her. She looked away.

“What are you doing here?” The stern edge to his voice cut through her.

Darria cringed. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Really? You haven’t talked to me for two days, ever since you pulled one of my souls from purgatory.”

“I know I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t live with myself, still can’t. You think I’m some kind of monster.”

“Aren’t you? You promised you’d get it under control.” Oliver stepped closer until she should’ve been able to feel his body heat, but it was noticeably absent.

“I’m trying. You don’t know how hard it is. The longer I push it away, the tougher it is to thrust back into its pen. Marie said she’d show me how to control it, and there was another—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Oliver snapped.

Her heart dropped. “Oh. All right.” She hadn’t expected a cold greeting. Her spirit sunk even lower. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Darria wrapped her cloak around her, feeling more of the cold from him than from the weather.

“Darria, wait.” Oliver grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. His scythe remained standing on its own. Darria looked between him and the weapon. The curved blade was polished silver. The pole it was attached to was as tall as Oliver, six feet. Its power pulled to her, but she knew better than to even touch it. It would kill her in an instant if she did. When she looked back at Oliver, something flickered in his eyes. I should’ve just gotten Rory and seen what he might know about Gerry’s slip of paper.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her heart tugged at her more. “I’m so sorry.” Sadness washed over her. It shoved the power down and caged it completely. I can’t keep living like this. It’s going to kill me.

Oliver took her in his arms and held her. “It’s okay. I wasn’t trying to be an ass, but sometimes, the harvester side of me takes over. I forget I have a soul. I have feelings for you. It’s hard to break out from the mold I’ve been in for so many years. What did you come here for?”

Darria touched his face. “Just this.” She pressed her lips to his. Oliver stiffed against her. It took him a moment before he kissed her gently. As he pulled away, she sensed the gulf growing between them. “What’s wrong? You said before, we’ve....”

“I know, but with what happened, I—Azrael told me that I can’t be with you. At least not until you get control of your power.”

“You asked before, and he said it wasn’t forbidden. Undertakers and harvesters haven’t tried a relationship before because there aren’t that many female undertakers. Please don’t tell me you’re abandoning me when I need you.”

“How many of those undertakers are powerful necromancers? Azrael can’t take the chance that you’re going to take me over again or that you’ll inadvertently harm me or use me to raise all of the dead within every cemetery. That can’t happen. I don’t want this any more than you do.”

“Then fight for us. You have a soul. Stand up against your boss and fight for the love that we share,” Darria demanded. Her anger rose, but she kept her power in check so she wouldn’t touch any of the spirits who lingered in the graveyards.

“See, I can feel you losing control. Until you get a handle on this thing inside of you, I can’t be with you. Not even to take the souls of those who you process. I can’t permit you back into the burial ground. I—” His demeanor changed from the man whom she had come to care for—to love—back into the harvester. His clothes melted into his robes, and he wore the death’s head once more. Oliver reached into her hand, bony fingers and all, and plucked the silver coin from her palm.

“Even this? Why?” Darria asked him, astonished at the turn of events. He was essentially breaking up with her and shredding her heart.

“In case the power does consume you, I know you can’t call upon me and trick me into doing something. I’m sorry, Darria. This is the way Azrael wants it. I’m sure it’s until you can figure out how to control it.”

She blinked back hot tears. “You know, this isn’t why I came here.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I needed to talk to you. To tell you....” Wiping the tears from her eyes, a long howl erupted in the distance of the graveyard. A dog announcing the arrival of someone.

“You should go now,” Oliver said.

“Don’t you hear it?”

The harvester cocked his head to the side, listening. “Hear what?”

The canine sounded again. This time, there were at least three or four. Darria turned in the direction of the hounds and noticed the same woman from her basement standing at the end of one of the rows. Darria turned back to Oliver. He had vanished. Where did he go? Wait. Where did the cemetery go? A blank spot existed on her tattoo sleeve where the coin had been. Its absence and Oliver’s ran hollow in her soul.

Night surrounded her on all sides, colder and emptier than she had ever known. The road before her was the only way for her to go. Once she stepped further onto the road, the scenery changed. She was on a dirt path in the middle of the country with a field on one side and a forest on the other. The woman stood in the distance. Four black dogs sat at each point of the crossroads she came to, protecting the strange woman. The beasts were as big as her gargoyle, black with long teeth and short hair. Their crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness. The fingernail moon had its horns up and hung above the woman’s head, crowning her. Long, silver hair flowed over the woman’s black and purple robes. Darria stopped before one of the hounds. It bared its teeth and growled. Hair bristled all along its back, making it even more menacing.

“You may come forward. If they haven’t attacked you by now, then they won’t.”

“Who are you?” Darria asked. “What did you do to Oliver? Where am I?”

“Darling, so many questions for one so young and powerful. I will give you the answers you seek. Walk with me. It’s time we got acquainted.”

She eyed the four large dogs but slipped past the one who sat before her. Its gaze followed her as she moved by. Darria felt nothing malevolent from the woman. Actually, she got more of a motherly vibe. “Why didn’t you do this before, when you had me alone in the basement?”

“Because you were confined within walls, and I needed you out in the open, where there were no prying ears to listen. Sometimes, even within places we think are safe, there are ears and eyes, especially when you deal with the realm of the dead.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust Omar, my own familiar, or the gargoyle who has sworn to protect me, or Marie?”

“I’m saying you have to be careful who you let into your life.” The woman took Darria’s left hand and traced the outline of the feather tattoo. “A gift from an angel. That’s something you don’t see every day. He must’ve cared for you. A spell to cross over human souls. Very handy but something you won’t need soon. This pin once belonged to Hel. She’s also on the council. You can use it to find whoever is next in line to receive it. When you bury the others, you can pick up their objects. Fate will lead you to the ones who are supposed to get them.”

“You mentioned the undertaker council. Is that the same as the conclave Augustus told me about? What does the pin have to do with you and the key? What does this have to do with any of it? I’m tired of being in the dark. Why did you drive Oliver away? I needed....” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

The woman took her other hand. “Picotee morning glories, stars that follow the sun. They were your mother’s favorite flower growing on the back deck. She loved them, and she loved you. She hated that you left home but understood that her drinking did it. ”

“How did you know that?”

“It’s amazing what spirits reveal. She watches out for you. You didn’t get a chance to pick out her headstone.”

“If you think revealing what my mother’s ghost is saying is going to get me to trust you more, then it’s not. I want some straight answers. I know I must put the other undertakers to rest. I’ve been trying, but I can’t get to them. I have a life, too, or at least I’m trying to, but that’s all going to shit. Corpses whose souls Oliver took are coming back to life. Hunters are turning their backs on undertakers. My necromancy is out of control. The man I love doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Everything flowed out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“You’re in love with your harvester?”

“Yes. Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Just unexpected. Not something I factored into the equation. Hmmm…it proves something else about you I had suspected.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing important.” The woman trailed her finger over the long needle and then the key. The key sparkled purple and fell into the woman’s hand. It morphed to be an inch long with a simple, metal loop at the top. “This key was a part of me for many years until the need for the undertakers arose and the council was formed. Do you know why we stand at the crossroads? Do you know why the dogs surround me or why the key is so important?”

“I didn’t know shit when I got the position. I’ve been learning. The same with the necromancy. Look, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t have the answers. Abner was great, but he didn’t teach me squat. Sophia said he was a placeholder. Please, I’m drowning here. You can ask me questions until kingdom come, but I’m not going to know the answers.”

The woman laughed. The night absorbed the sound, and her dogs howled in return. The power that radiated off her should have triggered Darria’s necromancy. The death energy associated with her was a strong essence that rivaled Oliver’s boss, Azrael, the top Angel of Death. He held the essence of the universe in his palm. This woman was the same. Her demeanor was calm and collected, her power reserved. One of the hounds rubbed against her leg. She ran her hand through the rough of its fur.

“You’re right on many accords. There’s much you need to know and little time for you to learn all of it, one being about your necromancy. This is why our meeting is important. The way the undertakers have changed and morphed over the years saddens me. We all should’ve been more involved, and it’s only now that I see the error of our ways. Do you believe in God, Darria?”

“You want to have a philosophical conversation about God right now?”

“Humor me.”

Darria rolled her eyes. “I believe in a Universal Consciousness that watches out for us.”

The woman’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I’ll accept that answer. You know that other realms exist?”

“I do. I’ve walked in them from the cemetery, and Oliver explained it to me. Plus, I met another grim reaper from a parallel universe. Kerstin.”

“Right. I haven’t met her, but I’ve heard about her.”

“Is Kerstin okay?”

The woman muttered something under her breath. “You need to focus on what’s going on here. What’s most important is getting the other objects from those deceased undertakers and getting them to their intended replacements, at least some of them before it all unravels.”

“Before what unravels?”

“The undertaker system started thousands of years ago. The system was breaking down with the paranormal creatures. We couldn’t take them and all the human souls, too. Finding a balance between the paranormal and the normal was the goal.”

“How does this relate to God and what I believe in?” Her mind reeled. This woman was an otherworldly creature, but she had a deeper, more ancient aura. Darria closed her eyes and delved further back into her memories to the beginning. It got blurry in the hallway of her mind. The recollections were blocked from her.

“I’m getting ahead of myself. I should’ve introduced myself to you and all of the other undertakers in my line. I stopped many ages ago. I think only one of your minions would recognize me.”

“Who are you, then? Clearly, you’re the original owner of the key. It won’t go to anyone else besides those who it is supposed to go to, right? And it has its own magic.”

“It does, and the magic within the other relics is from the Fates. This key can open any door or any lock. I’m sure you know that by now.”

“I do.”

“There were seven of us originally who sat on the council. Each had our own tokens. The others gave them to me, and I took them to the Fates. They wove the objects into the fabric of the universe and imparted them with a little bit of a life.”

“When you say the Fates, you mean the actual Greek goddesses who spin, measure, and cut the strings of human life?”

“Yes, but they’re older than what the Greeks made them into. We are all older. Lore says I was a Titan, and Zeus gave me a place among the Olympians. I was older than Zeus, born when the universe was still young and death was only a silly idea. God, the Universal Consciousness, as you call it, wasn’t the primary deity at the time. We ancient gods had the power to shape the universe the way we saw fit. We’re not angels. We came into being before them. Do you understand this?”

As a child, she had always been a fan of mythology. “Yes. You’re an ancient deity. Kinda figured that with you pulling me into an alternative universe. I’ve been a little bit busy, not to mention I kept the gorgons from breaking into this world and making sure the banshees didn’t spread their influence in this reality. With all the undertakers being dead, I’ve been swamped processing their bodies. Sorry if I’m not up to speed.”

The woman put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Darria. I’ve been watching out for you. I rule over the dead and necromancy. You caught many of our attentions because your necromancy shot off a lot of fireworks when you raised an army of the dead. I know you’re struggling with it, but you must gain control of it.” The woman trailed her fingers over the key. “Magic is strong within you. The poppies show the power you have. You worry the power that will consume you from the inside out. Humans were gifted with magic because they asked for it, or it’s an inborn trait. Many of the mortals with abilities are descended from us gods who had relationships with humans.”

“You’re saying that I’m related to you in some way?” Darria eyed the deity, who was an otherworldly beauty with a classical profile. Darria was five-five, curvy, and always had issues with her weight. Nothing of herself was reflected in the goddess.

“I don’t sense we’re connected by blood, Darria, only by the undertaking line. You could’ve easily gotten it from one of the other death deities. Sometimes it stays in the bloodline, and sometimes it fades away. I could teach you so much, but we don’t have the time. You have to temper it now.”

“How?”

“If you don’t succeed in setting a few undertakers back into their positions, then the fabric of the universe will unravel. It’s one of the consequences if the relics aren’t anchored within their living undertakers. All those who had tokens from the gods were murdered. You’re the last one left. You have to be their leader.”

“Wait. What about the other undertakers who aren’t connected to these other objects?”

“They were an afterthought to pick up the slack. The seven major undertakers’ spots have to be maintained.”

“I get that. How are you going to help me deal with my necromancy? I want to know your name, so I can curse you to hell if this all goes wrong.”

“Yes. I should’ve introduced myself to you before this. I forget about human pleasantries. Humans used to know me by sight.”

Great. A stuck-up god. That’s all I need. Darria ran her fingers through her hair. The night was cool, but she had started to sweat. Maybe it was from the anticipation of what was going to happen. Either way, she was getting some answers to her questions, although some of them didn’t make any sense. All she needed now was to bash down the barricade in her mind and move further down the halls of the other undertakers’ memories. At least then, she might glean more information about her job and how it had all started.

“I’m Hekate. You may curse my name after this night. I know you can handle the responsibility. Take the objects from your arms. If you are worthy, they’ll be returned to you.”

Cold fear crept up Darria’s spine. What is Hekate planning on doing to me? The dogs yipped. The night grew darker. Damp air clung to her skin. Shadows lingered on the outskirts of the crossroads. Hollow whispers skittered along on the darkness. The murmurs unnerved her. The only way she was getting out of this place was to do what the goddess said. Darria took out the relics in her arms and set them in the center of the crossroads.

Hekate’s face twisted into an old crone. The moon disappeared. Night encompassed her. The dogs’ bays filled Darria’s ears until she thought her head would split. The world vanished. She had no key to escape. Her heart skipped a few beats. Beads of sweat tumbled down her face.

It wasn’t until the pain started and she screamed that she knew Hekate meant to kill her.