“No more,” Vivian keened. “No more no more nomorenomore.”
A jolt of energy hit her in full force as the screams of thousands of souls brought her to her knees.
They’d found the souls.
“Vivian!”
Gutierrez’s voice brought her out of whatever dark trance that had captured her and back to reality. She blinked, eyes swollen and crusted with dried tears. Vision blurry, she took in the scene. Souls, spirits, specters, they were everywhere. They floated in the air, disappeared and appeared through walls, crawled along the ceiling, or stood still. Many stared into the distance, clearly still lost in their madness. Others couldn’t seem to stop moving. There were so many.
A scream from behind her made her sit up and spin around. Fighting a wave of dizziness, she saw the reaper clutching two apparitions. They’d been large in life, big men, but confronted with the reaper, they cowered and keened and would have pissed themselves if they were still capable.
Vivian recognized the spirits.
Mustering her strength, she stood and staggered over to them, rage giving her strength and forcing the burdens she’d harvested and made into potent spirit energy to spill from her fingertips. Without thinking, she shot a blast of red light through both souls, tearing gaping wounds into their essences. She fired again. And again.
Her single-minded purpose was to blast them out of existence.
The reaper’s voice stilled her.
“I understand your compulsion, but I have a more fitting fate in mind for these wicked souls.”
A vortex opened above them, a familiar portal. He’d called Uphir, the demon, and he intended to give the souls of the orderlies who’d raped and murdered the kind, young nurse, among their other sins. It was fitting. Not by her hand, but vengeance would be served, and justice.
“There’s another,” Vivian said. “The nurse who gave Beulah to these bastards. Find her.”
Darkmore conjured chains of reaper energy around the pair of orderlies and extended his hands, compelling souls of the wicked trapped with the souls of their victims to come to him. One by one they disappeared into the portal, their cries of terror and agony reverberating through the room.
The sounds should have disturbed her more than they did.
At last, the soul of the nurse appeared, spectral gaze wide-eyed and frightened as she chanted. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”
Vivian sent a blast of energy toward her, slapping her in the face. Faltering, she continued her chant until Vivian struck her again.
“Good, I have your attention,” Vivian said, staring into the wicked soul, all the more wicked since she masked her crimes with the veil of Godliness and righteousness. But she’d known her actions were wrong, were cruel, and she’d reveled in that cruelty.
She’d enjoyed punishing Beulah through the two orderlies.
Vivian sent another blast into the soul of the nurse that sent her into the waiting arms of the reaper.
“Do you remember her?” Vivian asked.
“Remember who?”
Vivian stalked up to her, getting into her incorporeal face. “Beulah, the nurse you condemned to violation and death at the hands of your goons.”
“That little Negro nurse? She was a witch. I was saving souls. It was my duty and right as God’s chosen instrument and her natural superior.”
Vivian was about to open her mouth, but Darkmore’s chilly voice silenced her. “Don’t waste your breath or your time, my dear. This creature isn’t worth it. And I believe in show, not tell.”
The reaper spun the nurse around and froze her with his icy gaze. “So full of self-righteousness, even after all this time, this side of the grave, Mistress Lisbeth. Never noticed, never wed, the church and your sense of entitlement were all you had in life, and jealousy, of course. Beulah was beautiful, kind, and compassionate, beloved of her patients and her fellow nurses, so unlike you.”
“No,” Lisbeth said. “I most certainly was not jealous of such a lowly creature. She was nothing, nobody.”
“And yet, she was loved, cherished, and she made the patients she tended feel loved and cherished, unlike you. You wanted them to suffer. You enjoyed watching them writhe in pain and misery while you preached salvation in the afterlife. You told them that suffering was the only path to God. But that was only for the people of color on the lower wards. They had to suffer.”
“It was God’s will,” she sputtered.
“You lie,” Darkmore said, gripping her essence with his cold hands, digging into it as he might flesh.
“It was their lot. It was the way of things.”
“Closer,” Darkmore said, moving his face inches from hers. “But still not the truth. You were always jealous of the lovely, dark women on the plantation, the ones you imagined seduced your father, your brother, and your would-be suitors. And then, when they were freed, you grew even more jealous. You saw them free to marry, to bear and raise children they could keep and nurture—children you would never have—and they were beautiful. So unlike you.”
“No, they weren’t beautiful! They were animals, beneath us. And those damned Yankees marched down here, pillaged our lands, destroyed our way of life, and set them free. And for what? To loiter, steal, be shiftless without the guiding hand of their rightful masters—it was against the natural order.”
“The natural order.” A broad, malevolent grin spread across the reaper’s face, the most beautiful and terrifying sight she’d yet beheld. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t human, would not, could not, ever be human.
This was his true nature. He was reaper. He was dark justice, karma, and the avenger of the wronged. This was his purpose.
Fresh tears fell for what she knew she’d lose, for what she’d stolen from the universe.
Not stolen. Borrowed. Saved so she could restore him to his rightful place.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen to you, Lisbeth. I’m going to send you to a realm where the natural order dictates that you are the inferior race, fit only to serve, to toil, to provide pleasure to your masters when not being used as a brood mare. You’ll have children, much like the fair Beulah, but they’ll be ripped from your bosom and sold as chattel, or worse. You’ll toil with them, side by side, watch as they are beaten, raped, dehumanized, and you will be powerless to stop it.”
Disbelief followed by dawning realization painted her ghostly features. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh, but it is,” the reaper said, caressing her face. “A lifetime of subjugation awaits you—perhaps several lifetimes. Karma is a fickle mistress.”
Lisbeth pulled herself out of the reaper’s grasp and flung herself at Vivian. “Please! You’re a guardian. You work for God and for what’s right. Save me.”
Vivian stepped back, recoiling from the vile soul’s touch. “I won’t save you. I hope you live a thousand lives and suffer a million degradations for the pain you’ve cause on both sides of the grave you miserable bitch!”
Lisbeth turned to Gutierrez then to B, finding no hope in either of the soul brokers. Both had been ferrying lost and lonely souls to the next realm, righteous souls, souls worthy of peace. Other souls like Beulah and the kind-hearted nurses, doctors, and staff who’d done the best they could for the vulnerable people in their care would join them in peace. Those souls had suffered at the hands of Lisbeth and the other wardens of the asylum. The so-called caregivers who’d tortured and neglected them were now in the hands of the reaper.
“Time’s up, Lisbeth. May you find the same mercy you professed to give in your first life.”
The reaper channeled his energy and opened a hole in the floor. It was a gateway, smaller than the one she’d first seen him open when she’d first witnessed him at his work. He’d sent a murderer kicking and screaming into his dark realm. With a flick of his wrist, the souls of Lisbeth and the orderlies were sucked into the pit and off to their dismal fate. The reaper grinned, closed the pit, and collapsed in a heap as othe
r damned souls flew into Uphir’s realm.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vivian screamed.
“Lazarus!”
While B and Gutierrez saved souls and collected what energy the lost and lonely offered freely during their crossings, Vivian ran to the reaper, crumpled in a heap on the floor. God, it had been too much. He’d used too much energy in his mortal form, and it had cost him.
Had it cost him his life?
She bent over him, turning him on his back and placing her ear on his chest. His heart was racing, his breathing erratic. Energy flowed through her, transforming from violent bursts with killing power to a gentler, healing light. The reaper’s broken body drew her light, but she held it in check. The last time she’d healed him, she’d trapped him in his mortal body. Would she make it worse by healing him again?
If he died, it would be much worse.
“Vivian.” His voice was soft and ragged. “Feed me. Give me the misery and suffering and anger and pain you gathered and make me whole.”
She bent to him, pressed her lips gently against his, and the world melted away. All of the misery, suffering, sadness, anger, guilt, avarice, and every other piece of pain she’d taken in while searching for the lost souls emptied from her into the reaper. Hand on his chest, she felt the steadying of his heartbeat, even breaths, cool skin growing colder as she fueled his reaper nature. She fed him the sorrows, and he gave her peace and restored her in turn.
“You two about finished?”
B’s voice broke the spell. The reaper smiled against her mouth and she caught his whispered gratitude. “Better than aged whiskey, fine wine, or ambrosia.”
Vivian reluctantly pulled herself away from the reaper, stood, and surveyed the scene. Most of the souls were gone, leaving B and Gutierrez glowing with a surplus of energy, raw power radiating through their beings. The souls who lingered appeared…restored. Sane, powerful, filled with the same energy only a thousand-fold more potent.
Maybe even as potent as Mae.
Vivian recognized the souls she’d met at the crossroads among them. Relief and gratitude washed over her. She’d been so afraid that she’d failed them, but her message had somehow gotten through, thank God. She could help them and, if they were willing, they could help a whole host of other souls.
“Good to see you again. You’re free if you want to cross. If you don’t, we ask that you join us. Together, we can bring the whole guardian system crashing down and build something new. Something better.”
Many of the souls floated silently to Gutierrez and B. By the time the two living soul brokers were finished mediating the crossings, they looked ragged and spent in spite of their energy infusions. Yeah, the energy came with a price. Gutierrez and B would be haunted by the suffering and horror of those lost and lonely souls for the rest of their days. Five souls remained by the end, including the specters of Beulah, Jagun, a small boy with scarred wrists, and a man with a shaved head, emaciated and gaunt. She recognized the boy and man from their meeting at the crossroads and was again filled with gratitude. They’d received her message, and they were willing to help.
The last soul, a short man wearing old-fashioned spectacles, stepped forward. “I’m Doctor Remy LaFleur, or I was.” He cocked his head to the side. “I suppose I still am, though perhaps I am a bit outdated.”
“Why are you here?” B asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “Figured all y’all who ran this torture warehouse would’ve been reaper fodder.”
Darkmore chuckled, apparently somewhat restored from his former state. “I’m afraid Dr. LaFleur isn’t to my taste. Too sweet and…fluffy.”
Vivian grinned. “I think what the reaper means is that Doc Remy is one of the good guys. You helped take care of them?”
The doctor bowed, the gesture charming and old fashioned. He might have stepped out of a Charles Dickens novel with his top hat, long coat covering what had probably been a colorful waistcoat when he was alive, and a neck cloth somewhere between a tie and cravat. The striped pants didn’t quite match anything else in his attire, but it fit the era, which she assumed was somewhere between the 1880s and turn of the 20th century.
“Then why are you still here?” Gutierrez, ever suspicious, stared at the doctor’s ghost, fresh spirit light pulsing beneath her skin. She was itching for a fight. A big one.
But this gentleman wasn’t her target.
Before Vivian could speak—or strike—in defense of the doc, he did it himself. “I couldn’t leave them.” Gesturing to the remaining spirits and to the room formerly occupied by a host of others who’d recently crossed, He continued. “In my time, modern methods of treating patients alienated from their true natures made it possible to understand the damaged mind and it’s dissociation with reality. Many of our less severe cases responded. But then…”
Funding cuts, interference from religious zealots like Nurse Lisbeth, or lack of concern by his colleagues came to Vivian’s mind as possible explanations. Maybe all three. His answer, therefore, surprised her.
“I was stricken with consumption. My colleagues urged me to travel west and seek relief with the healing springs and fresh air, but I couldn’t leave my patients. I had to help them, had to train a new generation of bold residents eager to unravel the mysteries of the damaged mind. These weren’t hopeless cases, you see. They could be cured. I knew it.”
“You were a man ahead of your time,” the reaper said, not without sympathy. “Alas, your untimely death was also the death of your reforms and fresh ideas, at least for a while. Yet, you stayed.”
The doctor inclined his head to the reaper. “I couldn’t leave my patients, not even in death. Not when so many of them lingered and languished only to be imprisoned by the foul creatures guarding this place.” He practically spat the last words.
Vivian knew an ally when she saw one and jumped on the opportunity to take this fight to their allies on the outside who were neck deep in guardian spirits. “Okay, can you communicate with these spirits? I assume they want to help, since they didn’t cross.”
Dr. LaFleur studied the motley crew of living soul brokers and reaper surrounding them. Naturally, trust wouldn’t come easy for this soul or his charges. After having endured more than a century of abuse and neglect at the hands of many of their caregivers, followed by exploitation and abuse by the spirits charged with ferrying them to peace, why would they trust Vivian and her team?
Crap on a cracker, she’d have to show him.
With a deep breath for courage, Vivian let some of her light leave her fingertips and dangle in the air between them, inviting the doctor to accept what she offered, or not, of his own free will. Wouldn’t Darkmore be proud of that? No, that wouldn’t do. She shoved the snark and anger deep within her psyche and infused her energy with images from her past, from the training with Briggs and the rest of the team, to their purpose.
Doc LaFleur studied the energy with the fascination of a true scientist, walking around it, studying the glow from every angle. He touched it with the tip of his finger and then jumped back, at least as much of a jump as an incorporeal being could make. Under other circumstances, she would have laughed. Luckily, he dusted himself off and touched the light again, a smile of wonder curling his ghostly lips beneath the bushy, old-fashioned beard.
“What is this marvelous substance? It is much like the ether extracted from my patients by our captors, and yet…different. Is red light special? How do you produce it? You are living, are you not?”
Vivian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Tempering her impatience, she said. “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you all about it later. For now, take it in and see my story and my truth.”
“Make it fast,” B said, on edge. They’d all been tracking the flashes of light and sounds of battle outside. “We need to get the rest of the teams and get out.”
The doctor placed his hand on the light. It curled around his ghostly form before disappearing into his essence. She’d never seen a spirit pal
e before, but she feared the doc might pass out or possibly blink out of this plane of existence. After a long moment, he blinked, returning to himself, and stared at Vivian.
“Oh, my dear.” He reached out to take her hand. When his ghostly form passed through her flesh, she dipped her hand to maintain the illusion of contact. “You are all like this? Trapped in your own way, between worlds, helping lost souls on their journey?”
“Pretty much. You and your spirits going to help us take on the system and knock it to the ground?” Gutierrez was clearly ready to wrap up negotiations so she could go out and put her sharp shooting skills to good use.
The doctor smiled. “I believe we are.”
B had moved to the door and cracked it open. Standing against the doorjamb, he pivoted and pointed his hand straight in front of him and made a slow arc with his body and hands, searching up and down the corridor with slow and deadly precision. Cop instincts worked well with spirit light, apparently. Good thing he was covering them.
Gutierrez moved out the door and down the corridor first, taking the lead. Vivian and the reaper followed the doc, who led the lost and lonely spirits who’d stuck around, their vacant gazes still staring straight ahead and apparently lost in their mental turmoil. Their energy glowed and pulsed around them like a living creature. Were it not for her experience with Mae, she’d worry that they were leading these souls to their former captors like lambs to the slaughter.
Okay, she was worried, but she mustered what faith she had and focused on covering them as B brought up the rear. Father Montgomery, her unlikely ally and even more unlikely friend, would have been proud of her.
The corridor was quiet aside from muffled sounds of fighting or fleeing outside. She hoped the mortal authorities wouldn’t show up, wondering how they’d explain a freak lighting storm that may or may not be visible to ordinary humans, let alone a bunch of paramilitary-looking loonies firing invisible spirit light at invisible targets.
The Quick and the Dead Page 22
