Dead Men Walking

by Raquel Lyon

  “If he said not to do it, perhaps you should take his advice.”

  Piper bent to light the surrounding candles. “Wasn’t it yesterday you were telling me about ignoring Sebastian’s instructions?”

  “I also said I was wrong.”

  “And”—Piper took hold of Sophie’s hand and pulled her to a kneeling position—“you said I was smart and would make the right choices.”

  “I always was one to make rash assumptions. What is your spell for?”

  “Just something that brings out magical abilities. I’m tired of Lambert thinking I’m weak.”

  “But isn’t that like cheating?”

  “I wouldn’t call it cheating to strengthen something that’s already there.”

  Sophie held out the rose for Piper to take, but she shook her head. The action had to be performed by Sophie. “You keep that. When I light the lavender, I need you to pull three petals from the outside of it and drop them into the bowl, then lay the stem across the rim.”

  “I really think you should do that. I’ve seen some of Beth’s attempts at new spells, and believe me, I’d rather watch from a safe distance.”

  “I can’t do it alone. I’ll be too busy holding this”—Piper picked up a thick, purple candle—“and trying to remember the right words to say. Don’t worry. It’s not as if the spell’s suddenly going to bestow you with magic when you’re not a witch.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  Piper wasn’t sure at all, and offered up a silent prayer that she could manage to do this one thing right as she conjured a small flame to light the candle and drip the melting wax onto the lavender. Then, with a small mound of wax building and a more pleasant fragrance filtering into the air, she dipped the flame to ignite the dried flowers and nodded to Sophie to begin her part as she said the words:

  “Ego invoke lex ab tres quis quondam eram illic reverto ut thee.”

  As she put down the candle and stared into the burning bowl, a wave of nausea rippled up Piper’s body. Her arms lay heavy at her sides, and her vision narrowed, vertical and elongated. Through the slice of vision remaining, she saw Sophie staring at her wide-eyed, her body flickering between her human and fox forms like an old cinema film. It was oddly transfixing—and also the last thing she saw before the flaming bowl extinguished with a pop and everything went black.

  *****

  Both girls came round and sat up at the same time.

  “What happened?” Sophie asked.

  “I-I’m not sure,” Piper said. “I wasn’t expecting to pass out. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine now, I think. Are you sure you did it right? It felt like something was happening to me, and you said it wouldn’t affect me.”

  Piper debated if it could be possible Sophie hadn’t realised she’d been intermittently shifting. “If I remember rightly, I said you wouldn’t be bestowed with magic, but I might have twisted the truth a little.”

  “Piper, what have you done?”

  “I was trying to help.”

  Sophie leaned forward, her eyes wary. “In what way?”

  Piper took a deep breath before she confessed. Things had gone too far for her to cover them up now. Whatever was going to happen had already been set in motion.

  “And you didn’t think to ask if it’s what I wanted?” Sophie said a short while later.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “This is not like buying me a present or organising a secret party, Piper. This is my life, my body.”

  “But you said you missed shifting.”

  “I miss being a kid too, but it doesn’t mean I want to relive my childhood.”

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “It’s obvious you weren’t thinking at all.” Sophie pulled her hair forward, then dropped it. “Well, if anything did happen, at least my hair isn’t orange this time. I suppose I should be grateful for that.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m already late.”

  Piper stared at the last remaining trails of smoke drifting up from the bowl and let out a sigh as Sophie left. It hadn’t gone at all the way she’d hoped. Why hadn’t she considered Sophie’s anger a possibility? Clearly she was as lousy a judge of character as she was a witch. She’d upset a friendship before it had had time to grow, and for what? A spell she was clueless as to whether had worked or not. Cursing her stupidity, she hastily cleared up the evidence and went to join Lambert.

  Chapter Eight

  THE NEXT MORNING, Piper emerged from the bathroom as Lambert entered her room with a basket looped over his arm. “Sister dearest. Get dressed. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. I cannot conceive a more appealing day for a picnic.”

  “In winter?”

  He placed the basket on her bed and averted his gaze. It might have taken all week, but she’d finally managed to drum into him that a girl needed her privacy. “Were you not speaking the truth when you said the cold did not vex you?” he asked.

  Piper glanced through the window as she pulled on her jeans. Skipping breakfast did seem preferable to facing Sophie over the kitchen table. If sleeping on the situation hadn’t calmed Sophie’s temper, Lambert was bound to discover that his sister had gone behind his back, and then she’d have to deal with his recriminations as well. Then again, not being there might cause Sophie to think she was avoiding her. She couldn’t win either way.

  “There’s a dusting of snow on the hills,” she noted.

  “A sight I shall enjoy all the more in closer proximity.”

  “You really want to go for a picnic?” she said, pushing her concerns to the side.

  Lambert turned to face her. “Do you not tire of training in the confines of one room?”

  “A bit... yes.”

  “Then it is settled. The great outdoors it is. Make haste.”

  “You know... I think I should give you some training.”

  He studied her with a puzzled expression as she tied the laces of her boots. “And what do you propose I could learn from you?”

  “How to speak. For instance, around here, we say hurry up instead of make haste.”

  His excitement waned. “My speech offends you?”

  Damn. She’d done it again. Why couldn’t she just keep her big mouth shut? It wasn’t as if she wanted to change him; she was trying to help. “No. No, it doesn’t bother me. I just thought... one day you might want to venture out from these four walls and that you’d blend in better if you made a few changes,” she said, picking up the basket and handing it back to him. “Forget I said anything. Let’s go.”

  He took it from her wordlessly, and an awkward silence hung in the air all the way down the stairs.

  Outside, the sun had gone into hiding behind a rather bulbous cloud in the increasingly murky sky, and the wind had picked up a pace.

  “Are you sure about the picnic idea?” Piper asked, in an attempt to get Lambert to speak as they rounded the house and set off over the fields.

  “Unless it or I displeases you.”

  Piper stopped short and snagged his arm, forcing him to face her. “I wish you’d quit with the attitude. I can’t think of a thing that displeases me less than you,” she said before biting her lip and wondering if she’d said too much, but she swore she saw his eyes shine and his lip quiver as he smiled. “That’s better,” she added. “Now, let’s do this thing.”

  At the other side of the field, they walked along the edge of a small copse.

  “I thought we’d commence with a brief amount of botany revision,” Lambert said.

  “Do we have to? Plants are boring. I want to do something fun today.”

  “You discharged a substantial amount of your power yesterday. Today requires more rest,” he said in his big brother tone. “Besides, the best magicians are those who understand the world around them.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to take my clothes off,” she said, trying to lighten the mood,
“because that’s never going to happen.”

  Lambert’s mouth curved to a half grin. “Remove your clothes?”

  “You know, like some ritual, at-one-with-nature thing.”

  His grin turned to a snigger. “No, Piper. Today we will be concentrating on the plants.” He approached a bush and pulled down one of its branches. “You have some interesting types in this world, a few I do not recognise, but some I do, and I hope you do, too. This one, for instance, is...?”

  “That’s easy. Those are rose hips. My mum used to make them into jam.”

  “How about scrabble powder, an excellent irritant to distract your enemies?”

  “Um... no. I don’t believe she had a need for that, but I can think of a few boys at school who might have.”

  Lambert moved along the greenery and stopped in front of a cluster of straight, spiky branches. “How about this one?”

  “Beats me.”

  “This is a blackthorn bush.”

  “And what’s that used for?”

  “Its wood makes excellent staffs, and its berries a rather tasty liquor.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “Many times. It has been the cause of numerous eventful evenings and far too many mornings of feeling the Voltignis had gouged open my skull and were cremating my brain.” He grinned as he bent down to stroke his fingers along a leaf. “Do you recognise this plant?”

  “Um... no,” Piper said, still picturing Lambert drunk and feeling stupid over her lack of knowledge. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pushed enough botanical books under her nose to study. She would have thought she’d have digested at least some of the information.

  “It is a variety of yarrow. There are many species, used to treat a range of maladies from stomach disorders to blood clots.”

  “Good to know,” Piper said, already bored by the greenery. “Talking of stomachs, when do we get to empty that basket?” she asked as they turned to follow a small track through to another grassy area.

  “Ready to eat so soon?”

  She looked up at the darkening sky. “Not really, but if we don’t do it shortly, we might miss the chance.”

  Lambert followed her gaze as they walked. “I see your point. Perhaps we should turn back?”

  Piper was about to say what a good idea she thought that to be when the clouds burst.

  The first drop of ice hit her on the nose, the second squarely on her forehead. She cursed as she ducked and loosened her jacket to hitch it over her head as hailstones the size of marbles rained down. “One of your shields would be a good idea right about now, don’t you think?”

  “And yet, I fear it would not last the journey home.”

  “Are you saying they have a time limit? Really?”

  Ignoring her question, Lambert cocked his chin to a low grey building nestled amongst the trees. “Let us take refuge in there for a while.”

  Piper squinted through the downpour and realised with dismay to where he was referring. “No. We can’t,” she said.

  He pulled her forward, laughing. “The dead cannot hurt you.”

  “In this town, I wouldn’t be too sure,” she shouted, struggling to keep up with him. “Besides, wouldn’t it be like desecrating consecrated ground or something?”

  “I promise not to defile any bodies if you do.” He looked back with the kind of half-smile that always made Piper wish things were different, but she chose not to respond.

  At their destination, a low iron fence surrounded a gravelled area containing two giant stone coffers in front of the miniature building. Lambert offered Piper his hand as they stepped over the fence and hurried towards shelter. When they reached the overhanging apex of the crypt’s roof, Piper looked skyward and flattened herself against the door as she waited for Lambert to open it. The hail continued to pelt from the heavens, and in the few minutes it had taken for them to get there, it had covered the ground, as if God had collected centuries of lost golf balls and dropped them all over the landscape.

  “Can you hurry it up, please?” she said.

  “The entrance appears to possess a form of protection charm,” he said, feeling around the edge of it.

  “Can you break it?”

  “It should not present too much of a problem. It is quite a simple one, probably designed to prohibit stray humans from entering. I just need to... Ah, here we are.”

  The heavy wooden door creaked open at his touch, and a blast of thick, stale air wafted out. Piper wrinkled her nose as she slipped past Lambert into the dry exterior—lit only by the dim light filtering through a small stained-glass window—and shucked away her wet jacket as he came to join her.

  “You are bleeding,” he said, placing the basket on the floor.

  “Am I? Where?”

  “Here.” Lambert traced his thumb lightly over the middle of Piper’s forehead. “You must have been hit.”

  “I was,” Piper answered, trying to ignore the unwanted sensation his touch evoked in the pit of her stomach. “Have you healed it?” Lambert looked at her inquiringly. “Beth did this thing on me one time, when I banged my head,” she explained.

  “Hmm. That may be, but I learned to heal with poultices and charms,” he said, reaching down to rip a section from his t-shirt.

  Piper turned away from his taut stomach and the soft line of hair trailing down from his belly button, telling herself it was pure curiosity that made her crave the sight of it.

  He dabbed the patch of material against her head. “A mere scrape. You will live.”

  “Unlike our companions,” she said, forcing herself to leave his vicinity and walk over to squint at the inscriptions on the various caskets lying in compartments around the walls. “Joseph Lovell,” she read aloud. “This is Grandpa Jo. And here... Hemming Lovell. That’s Sebastian’s father.” She swivelled to face Lambert, who was bent over, reading. “There must be generations of Lovells in here. It’s kind of creepy. Don’t you think?”

  “Under normal circumstances I would not, but after seeing this, I am inclined to.”

  Piper moved to study the plaque pinned to the coffin near where Lambert was standing. “Connor Lovell.” Her chest tightened as she remembered Sophie’s grief and thought of how heartbroken she would be if it were Lambert lying inside the casket. “Why would you think Sebastian’s cousin creepy?” she asked.

  “Check inside.”

  “What? Why?” He had to be joking. She’d never seen a dead body before and had no desire to see one now.

  “Think of it as part of your training.”

  “You promised we weren’t going to touch any bodies.”

  “That will not be necessary. Open it, Piper.”

  Piper huffed. Grave robbing was not her idea of fun, but, not wishing to cause any further animosity, she concentrated on the lid and compelled it to slide to the side, before clicking her fingers to form a small flame and lowering it gingerly into the gap. Knowing they were surrounded by corpses was one thing, but meeting one up close and personal was a whole other matter. She glanced at Lambert hoping he would do the honours, but he simply nodded his encouragement. So, left with no alternative, she nervously craned her neck to peer into the illuminated depths, then stepped back sharply.

  “It’s empty.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t understand. Where’s his body if it’s not in his coffin?”

  “That... is a very good question.”

  Chapter Nine

  CONNOR STARED THROUGH the café window, twisting the cup holding his cold coffee. Outside, a couple hugged each other as they met, and close by, a child giggled in his pushchair while his parents encouraged him to throw crumbs to the pigeons scrabbling at their feet. He wondered if he’d ever fed pigeons with his parents and wished he could remember. Somewhere out there he had a family—a family to whom his desire to return had led him down his current path, but all he saw when he thought of them was a big black hole. It was a situation he had to deal with, but right now, his interest
was not with the family. Today, his business lay with the couple.

  Using both hands to smooth back his bangs of dark hair, he abandoned his drink and went outside, smiling to himself as he whistled for Saul to follow him. The irony of Saul’s name was completely lost on Connor’s companion. Saul didn’t understand irony, or anything else beyond his role as Connor’s henchman. To anyone looking, Saul appeared to be a completely normal Alsatian, but it was all a glamour. He looked like hell underneath... literally.

  Connor recollected the day they’d met. Their introduction had been brief, much like his time in Hell—his admittance had not gone unnoticed, or been wanted. For werewolves, their demon blood meant entry to the underworld was mandatory. But Connor wasn’t your typical werewolf. He didn’t belong. His heart and soul were pure, and that violated the laws of Hell and put the whole system at risk. The Big Man was not happy with his presence. So he’d been given a choice: be tossed into the Scourge Pit for all eternity—where the vortex of boiling blood would slowly and painfully absorb his soul—or become the Devil’s servant. It wasn’t much of a choice.

  With Saul close at his heel, Connor followed the couple down the street, around a corner, and into an apartment block. The role he’d been given wasn’t a pleasing one, but it did offer the reward of freedom upon completion—whenever that might be—and he hoped a reinstatement of the memory of his mortal life to accompany it. He’d taken huge leap of faith that it would—as if faith in the Devil could ever be a thing.

  Saul led the way up the winding stairs, his exceptional nose sniffing out his quarry. An old lady smiled at Connor in passing. He smiled back, knowing that, in a little over a second, she would forget they’d ever met.

  At the top of the stairs, Saul padded silently to one of the doors lining the dimly lit corridor and pressed his nose to it. Connor paused to look down and nod at him before taking a sharp breath and raising his boot.

  The door crashed to the floor, and Connor wasted no time stepping over it into the small room, where he was met by shocked faces as the couple turned. He narrowed his eyes at the girl and told her to get the hell out. When she didn’t immediately move, he tried again. “He’s not the man you think. Now go.”