Chapter 10

 

Darria leaned against the kitchen counter, wearing an oversized black T-shirt that hung to her knees with a reaper on the front pointing at his next victim. She hadn’t had a chance to wear it around Oliver and wondered what he would say. Her hair, wet from the shower, left spots on the material. Her shorts were hidden by the length of her shirt. The scent of coffee filled the kitchen, but she ignored it and poured a bowl of whatever sugary cereal she found in the cabinet. She had forgotten to go grocery shopping before she left for the graveyard. In the fridge, she had found chocolate almond milk and vanilla soy milk to pour over her cereal, which only made it taste better.

As she crunched on her breakfast, the house was silent. The sun had just risen. Darria’s mind was clear and her energy restored, but she had so much new information crammed into her head that she didn’t know where to start sorting it out. A part of her thought she would revert back to being a necromancer, but all was quiet, and the other foot hadn’t dropped. Things were building.

The undertakers had appeared to her and asked for help, but they should have been resting. It bothered her that they weren’t.

The werewolf had been resurrected from ashes and came after her. Darria had sensed the otherness that had controlled the creature.

Gerry had come with the hobyah and had tried to kill her, but he had been poisoned, and then, someone had come through him and taunted her.

The council of gods was quiet from what Marie had said.

Hekate said she needed her. It had to be more than her gathering the items together from the other undertakers and putting them to rest. She had to find the threads and figure out how they were all tied together. The answers had to be within the memories of the other undertakers she hadn’t accessed yet. All she needed was time to go back and study them.

“Oh. Um. Excuse me. I didn’t know anyone would be up this early.”

Her spoon dropped and hit the side of her bowl, splashing her with milk. “Shit.”

“Sorry.” Rory came into the kitchen.

His blue Captain America shirt was rumpled, with several creases running through the shield. His hair stuck out in various directions, and his glasses were askew. Upon closer inspection, she saw lines from his frames pressed into his face. He did the half-asleep zombie shuffle to the fridge to pull out the carton of soy milk and then over to the cupboard, where he grabbed one of the new cups. It was all black, with the picture of a sugar skull woman on it and a skeleton arm for the handle.

Rory poured the coffee. He picked up the container next to the sugar.

“Honey? You put honey in your coffee?” Darria asked between mouthfuls, cringing at the thought of the taste of honey in her coffee.

He shrugged. “Honey. It’s not just for tea anymore.”

“Funny.” She snorted.

“Thanks. Look, I didn’t mean to spring anything on you last night.”

She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Last night was an eye-opener in many ways. Better to hit me all at once instead of in dribs and drabs.”

“What you said about me being your new assistant, was that true?” Rory sipped his coffee, staring over the rim of the mug with an expectant gaze.

“Appears so. I don’t make the rules when it comes to that aspect of undertaking. The key has a mind of its own and chooses the next undertaker.”

“Do you know when that will be?”

“Trying to drum me out of a job?” Darria finished her breakfast and set the bowl in the sink, trying to size up her would-be assistant.

He slurped his coffee and nearly choked on it. “No. I didn’t mean it that way.... Darn. I’m screwing this up even before I start.”

“No, you haven’t. I’m messing with you. I have no idea how long I’ll be in the job for. I can promise you that I’ll show you exactly what I’m doing so that you understand the ins and outs of the job, unlike my predecessor. He was a great guy, but I didn’t learn anything until I was thrown into this job, and it was a train wreck. I’ve nearly died a few times because of it. This isn’t an easy task. It may seem to be, but....”

“I know.”

“What do you mean, you know? You’ve been here for two weeks, and what have you seen? Really? You haven’t—”

He put up his hands. “Whoa. That’s not what I mean.” Rory clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, screwing up his face. It grew red. After a moment, he let out a breath and opened them again.

“Trying not to have a temper tantrum?” Darria crossed her arms over her chest and examined the teenager. He was trying to keep his cool. She should cut him some slack. It was difficult to think that this kid had horned in on her life and that the key chose him for an assistant. She had barely gotten her life in order, or the hang of the job, and already, she had a helper who was hardly over the legal driving age. It wasn’t fair. Then again, maybe the key had a contingency plan and wanted Rory in her spot in case Darria didn’t make it.

“Sorry. I have a short temper. I’m not trying to take your job.”

“But you’re psychic, and....”

“Why does everyone think when I tell them I’m psychic that I can suddenly pull the lottery numbers out of thin air?”

This was getting her nowhere with Rory. She didn’t want to not get along with him because that would suck over the next coming years if they hated one another. “Hey. It’s early, so let’s start over, okay?”

“Okay. Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”

“Morning. No, thanks. I’m not much of a coffee drinker. What exactly has Marie told you about the undertaking life? And how did you end up helping?”

He sipped at his coffee. “I had this dream for several nights a couple of weeks ago about a dude dressed in a red suit, holding up a piece of paper. He kept waving at me with his left hand. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was saying, but he kept pointing at the slip of paper. When I asked him who he was, I couldn’t hear him. Something about his left hand seemed familiar. I figured he wanted help, so on the fourth night, I came over. Marie didn’t want to let me in, but the hand greeted me at the door.”

“Did you figure out what the number was? Why was Omar in your dreams?”

“No. I tried focusing on the paper but came back with white noise. There was a glimmer of something, but it was beyond my grasp.”

“You can’t hear Omar?” Darria asked him.

“No. Marie explained that he’s attached to you and that she can hear him because she’s also a necromancer. I guess I’m not tuned in to the same frequency. Same with Gabbie. I can’t understand her either, although she makes herself known well enough when she wants something.”

“Yeah, she can. Omar freaked me out the first time I saw him.” She shivered, thinking back to when she had woken up thinking that he was some kind of a varmint scampering around her room in the apartment above the garage. When she had turned on the light, there he was, waving at her.

“I happened to look over at the house and saw something in the driveway. At first, I thought it was a raccoon, but when I looked closer, I saw a hand. He’s pretty neat. He can write and type stuff out, so at least I can read what he says.”

“Yeah. Omar does that. It was how I talked to him before I did the ritual and became the undertaker and discovered I was a necromancer.”

“See, that’s so cool. It’s like something I read out of a comic and—I’m a total dork, aren’t I?” Rory slurped his coffee.

“No. It’s okay. I get it. All this is new and exciting for you. The wonderful thing you’re going to find out is that once you officially get the key, you won’t be able to talk about your job to anyone except me or someone else in the business, like Oliver, the hunters, or whoever else we come across that works in the field. Of course, you can refuse to take the job.”

“I don’t want to. I have nothing to go back to. Now that my parents are dead, I have their house. I’m done with school. College isn’t really an option. Marie told me that you stop aging with this job. You don’t get sick, and I can’t get any worse. That’s one of the reasons my mother stayed around. She wants to be close when I go. So, yeah. I’m cool with any of it.”

Rory didn’t look sick. She placed a hand over his. He sucked in a quick breath as her power flowed over him. Underneath the light of his spirit was the coldness of death. He had seen the other side and come back from it. She didn’t know what was wrong with him, but the longer she studied him, the stronger the sensation became that the death occurred a couple of years ago. The echo of it clung to him like the fading perfume of cigarettes. “How long were you declared dead for before they brought you back?”

“Fifteen minutes.” He lifted up his shirt, revealing the scar that ran from the base of his throat to the middle of his chest. “I flatlined on the operating table while they tried to fix a congenital defect, a hole in my heart. They gave me three to five years.”

“You look fine to me.”

“Thanks. Some days, I have trouble breathing. I graduated from school early. I got accepted to the community college, but I wanted to enjoy what I had left. The closer I get, the more I see. Mom said I came back different.”

Darria had heard of stories about people who had died and been resurrected. Hearing Rory recount his tale, she understood why he would say yes to being her assistant and why the key had probably chosen him, why it had chosen her. They had no one left. No one would notice when they were gone. “I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”

“It’s okay. Marie mentioned the dangers. What happens when I accept the job?”

She slipped her fingers into the pocket on her shorts and pulled out the key. It was heavier than it had been the night before. She held it out to Rory. “This key is what Abner gave me when I sat in his office. I was adrift, running from an old boyfriend who I accidentally brought back to life. I never realized it until he showed up at the rite of me becoming an undertaker. Every time he’d get close to me, I’d get spooked and move on to another place.”

“Why did you raise him?”

“It wasn’t intentional. Back in high school, I was messed up and ended up in the wrong crowd, completely goth and hardcore. His father didn’t want me to be with him. We made this pact that if we couldn’t be together in life, we were going to be together in death. We ended up in the cemetery together, and he slit his wrists first. I took the knife with his blood still on it and slashed my wrist.” She held out her right arm and pointed out where the scar was. “I got as far as this and chickened out. I didn’t want to die. I enjoyed my life. Apparently, that was my first ritual and sealed my deal of being a necromancer. A life had been given, and our blood had mingled. He followed me as I traveled all around the country in my car. I got pretty good at fixing it up, too. It needs a new fuel pump at this point, but I haven’t had the chance to bring it somewhere to have it replaced. I was in this diner a couple of towns over and saw this ad in the paper for an undertaker’s assistant. I figured, hell, why not? I’d had worse jobs, and it said no experience needed, so I called.

“Abner sat down with me. He told me the job was a little unorthodox. Hell, I didn’t mind because I was a little unconventional myself. I needed the money and a place to stay. I signed all the forms, he gave me the key, and—”

“He didn’t tell you anything about the supernatural, or did you know anything about it beforehand?” Rory asked.

Darria played with the spoon in her bowl. “No. I knew nothing about it. I mean ... I believed in ghosts but nothing about werewolves or fairies. The key shifts with each person. I don’t know whether or not it will switch its shape for you. I don’t have any papers for you to sign or how we work out paying you. I guess that can come later. I’m still working out all the technical details myself. We’ll work it this way because I’m sure in the old days, there was no paperwork. Maybe they sold their souls.”

His face paled, and then, he burst into laughter. “Funny. So, I take the key, and that’s it?”

She bit her lip and thought about some type of formal ceremony they could do to make it stick and have him abide by her rules. If some of the rules weren’t followed to the letter, consequences could ensue. Darria didn’t want to see Rory getting hurt. She held up her right hand. “Hold up your right hand and repeat after me. ‘I, Rory....’ Um, what’s your last name?”

“Johnson.” He held up his hand.

“‘I, Rory Johnson, swear to do whatever my boss, the undertaker, Darria Savege, says, no matter how crazy or how off-putting it sounds. I am bound to the undertaker calling, no matter where it takes me.’”

Rory repeated after her. After he said all the words, it did feel like something had been sealed between them. With the cast of characters she already had, having another actual person in the house would bring a little normalcy. Rory could stay in the house or move into the apartment above the garage. It would be easier than him living across the street.

“Place the key somewhere on one of your arms.”

Rory put it on several spots on his arm and turned his wrist over so that it sat on the inside of his right wrist. Lavender energy arced around the metal until it slowly sunk into his flesh, becoming one with him. The lines of the key were perfectly etched into his skin. Any artist would marvel at the shading and details.

“That is so fucking cool.” Rory traced his fingers over the key.

Darria’s arm twitched because she could feel the sensation of him touching the key. Abner hadn’t had a tattoo of a key on his arm. She had the original version of it. “I meant what I said. There are certain things you’re going to have to do, or it could mean either you or me getting killed, most likely you because you set up the room and stuff.”

His expression dropped. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Come on. I’ll show you downstairs.” Darria led him to the back door. “I have all the entrances to the house under a spell, so no one gets in or out without my permission.” She led him down into the hall. “We keep the cellar door closed when I’m not working, so you don’t fall down the stairs.” As she went down the stairs, she remembered the woman who had tried to kill her right after she had put the gorgons back in their place. “This door and the rest of the basement is enchanted so that nothing gets in or out.” She pushed open the heavy, metal door and stepped into the workroom. “I know you’ve been down here. I don’t know what Marie’s told you or not told you, so if you hear it again—fuck it. I don’t care. You’re going to hear it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned and slid the bolt into place on the door at the top and then the other one right above the knob. “The door is lined with iron and silver. Do you know what the cabinet is?”

Rory stepped toward it. Darria waited for the Wunderkammer to zap the unsuspecting boy, but it seemed to be behaving. He reached out to touch the glass and then pulled his hand back. “It’s a Wunderkammer, a cabinet of curiosities. What’s inside of it?”

“Trace the outline of the key,” she instructed.

Rory did what she told him. The key came to life and fell out of his skin. “No freakin’ way. What now?”

“Use the key to open the cabinet. The key can open anything. If you lose it, think about it and call it back to you.”

Rory slid the key into the lock and turned it until the cabinet popped open. She pulled out her implements and placed them on the worktable. “This is what I use to sew up the lips of the corpses that come here for processing. You’ll be in charge of setting up the room and making sure the body is on the worktable. You now have the strength to lift several hundred pounds, and you have the longevity of the undertakers. We place the coins on the eyes of the dead so that Oliver can take their souls. Some end up in his cemetery, and others move on. It all depends.” Darria gathered the rest of the tools, placed them back into the bowl, and put them into the cabinet. She took the key from Rory and put it back on his wrist, so it became one with his flesh once more.

Darria slumped in one of the chairs by the old desk and looked up at her new assistant. His eyes were glazed with wonderment. She understood what he was thinking and feeling because she had been there, but she wasn’t going to keep him in the dark unless it was something for his safety. Maybe that’s why Abner kept pushing off not showing me the business … because he wanted to keep me safe. She shook her head and dismissed the raging thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Rory touched her arm.

She glanced up and saw the troubled expression the teenager wore. “More than you know. I have a big list I have to get to. I guess I need to start with this.” She gestured to the large safety pin. Darria ran her fingers over the safety pin and let it fall out of her skin. Rory gasped. She held the large pin in her palm and concentrated. The energy in it pulsated like a heartbeat. Darria sensed death energy attached to it and got a flash in her mind of another undertaker. It rose above her palm and spun slowly, a compass pointing in the direction the dead were supposed to walk. Rory went to touch it when she caught his hand. She shot him a glance, and he withdrew it.

“What is it doing?” Rory asked.

“I have no idea.” The pin shot across the room to the chimney. The pointy end of the pin buried itself deep in the brick. She tried to pull it out, but it wasn’t budging. “We need Marie, and I need to get changed.”

Darria went upstairs and found Marie sitting at the table, sipping her coffee.

“I need your assistance when you have a moment.”

“Okay. Let me finish my coffee, and then, we can go on an adventure.”

Darria wanted to ask her how she knew that, but she kept her mouth closed and headed upstairs to get changed. She caught a look at herself in the mirror and really studied her reflection. None of her skin had become shrunken or gray. Nothing had changed when it came to her appearance at all, even from taking the undertaker job four years ago. She hadn’t gotten another wrinkle, and she had never felt better, but her eyes showed a hint of darkness that hadn’t been there before. At least she could understand the gargoyle, so that was a step in the right direction.

She headed back downstairs. Rory changed into a different superhero T-shirt with three metal claws cutting through a silver X. Darria figured it was an X-Men shirt. She might not have been much into comics, but she enjoyed the movies. Marie was dressed in a white skirt and black shirt with sandals. Her hair hung to her waist.

“We’re going somewhere, I hear.” Omar skittered across the floor.

Gabbie sat in the middle of the kitchen and stretched out. “I’m going to stay here and watch the house. One of us has to.”

“Thanks, Gabbie. I appreciate that. If Oliver stops by, will you....” Darria shook her head. Him throwing her out of the graveyard and taking back the coin cut her heart more than she wanted to admit to herself. “Never mind. We’ll be back soon.” She led the crew down into the basement.

The pin remained embedded within the bricks. Darria tried to pry it out, but no matter how much she pulled, the safety pin didn’t budge. The bricks glowed green.

“Don’t pull it,” Marie finally instructed.

“Why not?” Darria asked.

“What does a pin do?” Marie put her hands on her hips.

“It pins stuff,” Rory said.

“Well, yes, but think a little bit more outside of the box,” Marie answered.

Darria looked at the pin and felt a tingle in her arm. She glanced down at her right arm and saw the needle glowing purple, but the concentration of energy was at the tip. The needle was her tool to pierce the lips of the dead so that she could pull the thread through. It was sharp enough that she should have poked herself, but all her needles remained blunt.

“It pierces things and holds them together.”

“Yes, but the pin is more than that. All of the objects given to the undertakers are more than what they seem. The pin can hold something together, and it can also poke a hole into something. This one is obviously showing you someplace it wants to go.”

“How would it know where it wants to go?” Rory asked.

“Because all the objects have a life of their own. The key placed an ad online and in a newspaper. The pin must know where the next undertaker in its line is and wants to get to him or her,” Darria explained.

Marie squeezed her shoulder. “See, you’re getting the hang of this already. I bet you don’t need me anymore.”

“Don’t count on it. Why wasn’t this activating before?”

“It could be that it wasn’t time yet, or it didn’t consider you a full undertaker because you didn’t have an assistant. I don’t know. Each piece is fickle when it comes to whom it chooses and when.”

“What am I looking for when it comes to your line? Wasn’t it wiped out, too?” Darria asked the other woman.

Marie trailed her fingers over her arm. One of the poppies had withered away. Marie flashed her a questioning gaze. “My line received a bone.”

“What kind of a bone?” Rory asked. The fascination in his voice didn’t cease to amaze Darria. She had to put herself in his shoes and remember that this was all new to him. Sometimes, the supernatural might be fascinating, but that didn’t mean that she put her guard down.

“Bones are an important thing. They are used for support. You can cast bones to read the future. They are an anchor to the physical world. They keep us grounded. They are a connection to the spirit world. My bone was a finger bone, and it changed to a leg bone, the femur.”

“I’m looking for a bone. Okay, I can deal with that.” Darria turned to the safety pin. Once she pressed the metal near the clasp, the safety pin slid out of the bricks easily. She put it back together, and the bricks glowed green. The whole thing shook, and mortar flaked off onto the floor. She held it back onto her arm, but it didn’t want to sink back into her. She felt the spark inside of it being tied to something outside of her.

Look, I can’t carry you in my pocket, and this is only until you find whoever you’re going to. The pin reluctantly folded into her skin. The wall opened up, and on the other side, the sun was rising. They looked out over a landscape of mountains and a large field. Darria held her breath and stepped through the portal. When she crossed, she turned behind her and saw Rory and Marie back in her basement. Marie tried to cross the barrier, but she was not able to. Rory passed through.

“Omar, you still there?” Darria asked.

He squeezed her shoulder but didn’t make a peep. All she sensed from him was a bit of trepidation. Why is he so fearful?

“Why can’t Marie come with us?” Rory asked.

Marie shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out. I told you, I don’t know all the ins and outs.”

The air was clear and cold. Darria looked around and saw that they were near a log cabin with smoke billowing out of the top of the chimney. The place was a picture-perfect scene that she would see in a painting hanging over a bed in a hotel room. Something remained off about it. She stretched out her senses, and something cold and dead drew her attention.

“Which way do we go?” Rory asked.

Darria gazed at the cabin, but her senses told her to go in another direction.

Follow the dead.

She followed her necromantic sense and headed to the left, toward the dark woods. “We go this way.” Darria forged a path through the brambles and climbed over the fallen logs, forging further toward the dead.

“We have to go in here?” His voice rose with fear.