Spirit Box

by E M Lacey

McKellen squinted at the hood hiding the man’s face from him. The more the shrouded man spoke, his voice became more familiar.

  “I haven’t made any sacrifices and I’m not offering any.” McKellen took a few more steps away from the man.

  “Don’t be rude. My Master sends his gratitude for your offering.” The shrouded man held up his right hand. The shepherd’s crook jerked upright and flew into his open palm. He folded his fingers around it. It thrummed a happy metallic song. Red sigils pulsed.

  The shrouded man pulled back his hood. The light from the sigils caressed his face. A few puckered scars ran along his jawline; several lined his scalp. The man’s close-cropped hair made them easy to see. McKellen wondered about the rest of him. Was he battle-marked?

  “You should be honored, Hunter McKellen.” The man bowed his head, never taking his onyx eyes off him. “In two days’ time, I will call you Master and mean it.” The man bared his teeth in what should have been a smile, but was too predatory.

  McKellen half turned, ready to sprint, but recognition locked him in place. He knew the man, but the name refused to surface. Teeth sank into his wrists and ankles. McKellen screamed. The teeth withdrew and McKellen fell.

  The man caught him. McKellen’s face was barely an inch from the ground. The man flipped him over and McKellen saw his attackers. Three children. All gray but horribly deformed. A boy whose head was a bit too large for his body but perfect for the teeth he sported. The other two were smaller, almost fragile, all of them standing behind the large gray boy, watching his capture expectantly.

  The shrouded man propped the shepherd’s crook against the spirit box, so he could scoop up McKellen. He lifted him as if McKellen weighed nothing. He cradled him close to his chest, adjusting his grip so he could move McKellen’s hair away from his face. The man studied McKellen’s face and frowned.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  McKellen’s eyes were failing him. The man’s face wouldn’t stay still. It warped like he was looking into a fun house mirror, making the man’s forehead larger, at times his face scrunched together in an odd line.

  “I am the Master’s second, Dietrich.”

  McKellen wondered if the surprise he felt made it to his face. He couldn’t move. The initial pain flooding his body after the bite had died away, leaving him numb. All he could manage was a very weak grunt.

  “Save your strength.” Dietrich grabbed his shepherd’s crook and beat it against the air before him three times. A thin fissure of gray light flared. The fissure thickened, opening enough so Dietrich could walk through.

  Dietrich pulled back then tossed McKellen into it. He pivoted on his heel, bringing his shepherd’s crook up in time to block Sunni’s staff. The metals sparked and sang before breaking apart.

  “Where did you send him?” Sunni growled.

  “It is the Master’s business, not mine.” Dietrich shifted into a battle stance, as did Sunni. Neither of them noticed Aurora step out of a thicket of trees a short distance behind the spirit box.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Both Indentured and the Broken poured from the spirit box, frenzied and tortured. Aurora felt their suffering the moment it opened. The burn of their maker’s brand and the biting of the spells written under their skin drove them.

  Obey, then you can return to the spirit box.

  It was the singular purpose of the horde. A promise and a curse from their maker. The spirit box was peace. There was no pain inside, just quiet. Aurora knew this because of her strange tie to it and its contents.

  What’s happening to me? Aurora tugged on the twisted lock of hair anxiety had fashioned as she approached the spirit box. The moment she went into the office after that crazy redhead things changed, she heard them and they noticed her. Most of the morning was spent getting rid of the headache their screams generated. By lunch time, she was running from a superpowered pervert only to end up being interrogated by a pair of sorceresses. There was one upside to everything. She discovered a new family member, only she was dead.

  What are you doing, Aurora? You’re attitudal, not a heroic. She stopped, crouched, using her fingertips for balance. She eased closer to the spirit box, half crawling, unsure of what she would do once she reached it, but somehow, very aware that her weird instincts would show her. She paused to watch the strange shrouded man do battle with Sunni.

  Steel clashed and its vibration was musical, drawing Aurora’s attention back to the task at hand. This girl needed a job. If her employers died, she’d have to start the whole process again. Besides, though she’d never met him, the vampire Adiran was a douchebag.

  Aurora dropped on all fours and crawled the rest of the way. Sparks from both magic and metal rained down. A few of them fell painfully close. The one drifting like a feather in her face almost tore a shriek of terror from her, but she managed to keep it together. Her heart beat wildly as she leaned against the box. She peeked around the edge.

  She wondered if Sunni was a dancer because she moved like one. She twirled, spun, and maneuvered around the shrouded man, who had some lethal moves of his own. The top edge of his shepherd’s crook was a curved blade. She was sure he could take off a head or slice a person’s throat without too much physical effort. The magic racing up and down its expanse didn’t look warm and fuzzy. It was red and angry. It popped and snapped like a severed electric cable.

  Sunni must have seen her, because she didn’t follow through on a swing, and the shrouded man moved in with the sharp end of his shepherd’s crook. Aurora bolted from her hiding spot.

  “Stop!”

  The shrouded man hit Sunni with a bolt of magic that sent her sailing across the small hill top. A tree stopped her flight. He spun on Aurora, thrust his shepherd’s crook at her, sharp edge first. She ducked. The wind from the swing ruffled her hair.

  The shrouded man dug his staff into the ground and used both hands to grab her leg. He pulled and Aurora kicked at him. He laughed as he lifted her from the ground and held her aloft.

  “You are entertaining,” he said as he lifted her higher. “What is your name, little human?”

  Aurora spat at him, which didn’t do much. Her spit was subject to gravity, so instead of reaching his face like she hoped, it fell straight to the ground. Some of it splattered on her forehead.

  Badass she was not.

  The man laughed. Really laughed. The laughter quickly turned into choking. Aurora looked up to see a whip wrapped around his neck. She followed the length of the whip and Sunni held the whip’s handle and pulled. The man lifted Aurora and slung her body into the still open spirit box. At that moment, a little girl in a very blue tube top and shingled blue jean shorts looked up at the hill top, and so did the others.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Why wasn’t she dead? Aurora lay with her eyes squeezed shut on top of something that didn’t feel like the bottom of a large black box. She ran her hands over the surface. It was soft, cushy, like a mattress but not. She ran her hands down her body. She wasn’t in pain and nothing was broken. Maybe pain stops the moment you die?

  Her right eye popped open. She scanned her surroundings. One eye didn’t really help her identify where she was within the box exactly, so she opened the other one. There was no real light. The sky or ceiling had a weird crimson-gray overcast. If she was planning on getting an idea of her new environment, she had better get up.

  She tested the sturdiness of the strange mattress soft substance by pressing her fingers in it. They sank, creating a sickly green plume. It wasn’t smoke. It was more like nasty looking cotton candy. It thinned and stretched but didn’t break.

  She sat up only to lay back down as a wave of vertigo struck. She didn’t try sitting up again until it passed.

  She cautiously pushed herself upright. It wasn’t until she swallowed that she realized she was scared. The rapid fluttering of her heart belonged to the living. She placed her hands over her heart and pressed, hoping it would help get her breathing unde
r control. The air inside the box was stale but breathable.

  Leaning forward, Aurora examined the ground beneath her. It wasn’t dirt or a building floor but a sickly green rectangle shaped cloud. It was wide enough for her to lay comfortably across. She shifted carefully, rolling over and pushed up on her hands and knees. Was the gross cloud the bottom or was there more?

  Aurora shoved her fingers deeper into it before executing a claw-crawl to the edge. She appraised the space between her cloud and the bottom. The sickly green haze was like tall grass, it stretched farther down. Its thick roots obscured the true bottom of the box.

  Maybe the sickly green mattress-like cloud was a strange flower and the green hazy stalks were the stem. If it was stable enough, maybe she could slide to the bottom?

  Aurora repositioned herself then carefully swung her legs over the edge, toes first (she lost her shoes when the crazy shrouded man threw her into the box) through a wispy fog-like cloud. She expected a chill but it was tepid. Once her toes broke through the odd cloud, the sickly-green haze clung like a spiderweb to her appendage.

  Slowly, she continued the press downward. Her toes touched something moist, like mud but the consistency was wrong. Her toes settled on something solid. Aurora pulled herself back up on the cloud, untangled her arms, jumped from the cloud and landed onto the squishy bottom. A sickly green mist collected around her ankles almost instantly.

  “Nasty.” Aurora shook herself. She would need a thousand showers once she got out of the spirit box. If she could get out.

  The strange mist hung low, allowing her a better view. She examined her surroundings. It was like staring at a morbid version of the Serengeti plains. A scattering of red membranous umbrella trees with strange blue and purple lights flickering around them like fireflies broke up the flatness. There were a couple of odd-looking weeping willows mixed in with the umbrella trees. She looked up. Frothy black and gray clouds did not allow light of any kind to pass through.

  “So, this is the Nether.” She held her arms out and swung them in a wide arc around her body. She didn’t feel any different inside than she did outside. According to her aunt Evangeline, she was all powerful, or rather, that was Aurora’s interpretation. The interior of the spirit box was technically her kingdom, or part of it. It was very underwhelming. Would it change if she used her powers? If she summoned the Indentured would her influence over them weaken or strengthen considering her location?

  She eyed the bandage on her forearm, her fingers dancing along the edge. Taking the edge, she pulled. She yelped because the wound was still tender but she kept going. She needed to bleed.

  When I bleed, what do I do? Last time she called the Indentured, she was in jeopardy. What do I say? How do I call them back?

  “Jus’ call ‘dem, gurl.” A deep Caribbean accent floated around her.

  Aurora spun in the direction of the speaker. All the shadows were the same. No extra thickets, trees, or long shadows. Who was with her?

  “What’s left of ya’ friends gone die if you don’t fix this.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout who speakin’. Call back ‘dem ‘tings then we talk.” A thread of small white lights the size of pearls flickered around her. One for each word.

  “But…”

  “Look an' see wat’s on ‘da line.”

  Aurora grabbed her head as several blades of pain sliced through her crown, temples, and a burning ache pressed against her optic nerves. She shut her eyes against it as her mind filled with images and voices.

  Blood spills from the sides of Sunni’s mouth. She looks down at the handle of the still glowing shepherd’s crook. She can’t see the sharp end because it’s passed through her body. The shrouded man laughs, he twists, then yanks it out. Sunni crashes to the ground. The amethyst halo of her magic winks out, replaced by a growing pool of blood.

  The Indentured stream over the hilltop and descend on her corpse. Once they are done, they leave behind a skeleton and armor. The blood is gone. A starburst shifts her vision to Mr. Myer lying in the cottage foyer. The Indentured, with the help of the shrouded man, break through the barrier. They attack him while he’s still unconscious. The shrouded man strolls past the carnage and plucks the book he wants from a shelf, tucks it under his arm, and walks out. Another starburst flares.

  Aurora blinked as the fog of agony receded.

  “Ya’ know what to do,” the man whispered as the sickly-green haze peeled back. She stood in the middle of a ring of weeping willows. Upon closer inspection, she realized they weren’t actually trees. Slick membranous stalks flowed up in the form of a trunk, but it was the dangling branches of the macabre weeping willow that made her want to run. The branches were actually veins. Each a different size. Some were thin, others were thick, and some had what looked like spikes along the stalk. They glistened. Were they wet?

  “No time for sight seein’.” The speaker had become impatient.

  Aurora pulled back the bandage. The dried blood had formed a thin scab. She yanked off the bandage. Blood welled, but not enough. She steeled herself then dug her finger into the wound. It hurt like a mother, but she got what she wanted. More blood. It slid down her arm. Large drops fell through the sickly-green haze. What was that green nasty stuff?

  “Dat’s ectoplasm child. Fly paper to da spirits. It can be a homin’ beacon too.”

  Her nostrils flared. She could smell them. The Indentured. “What now?”

  “Call ‘dem to ‘ya, gurl.”

  There was something else she needed. Her aunt said they waited in the box, but once Aurora was inside, she realized the strange membranes and veins tied the Indentured to the box.

  She shoved her hand through the tangle of veins. She pushed her arm as far as she could go, stopping when the tips met the trunk. She felt around, not sure of what she was looking for, but aware that her instincts would guide her. There! A vein unlike the others. It thumped like a heart. She got a firm grip on it and wrapped it around her fist.

  She shook the blooded arm, grinning as it splashed on the veins. She called. Power surged, gathering around the soles of her feet. It surged up, lifting her from the ground to collect in her chest. She spread her arms like wings, grateful for the tether. The strange tree’s veins began a slow ascent toward the otherworldly sky. Aurora looked around at the other vein trees. Tendrils of ectoplasm shot upward, disappearing through the black clouds as the veins began a strange rhythmic wave. She knew each tendril tethered the Indentured to the Nether, not the spirit box.

  Angry red lightning created oblong fissures throughout the dark plain. As each one manifested, Aurora finally understood the nature of the spirit box. It was a doorway to the Nether and they were all connected. The disks served as pathways making her wonder if there were as many spirit boxes as there were pathways.

  A sharp tug focused her. She felt them. All of them. The Indentured were returning, surging up the hillside. They were answering her call.

  “Of course, gurl,” the voice said. “You are ‘da true masta’.”

  “But the spells. The bindings done inside their bodies.”

  “Ain’t nuthin’ when ‘dey mistress calls.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Concentrate. Git ‘dem inside then I answer ya’ questions.”

  Aurora nodded, closing her eyes and extending her reach. She saw Sunni and the man who threw her in the box. They were fighting, but the Indentured were running up the side of the hill. They were ravenous, angry, and driven by the rule of their current handler.

  The dead don’t eat.

  “They do,” the voice stated. “Don’t let go of ‘dem.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Bend ‘dem to your will. You want them inside. Call them!”

  Aurora winced at what felt like her chest tearing. She pushed her will, her power, into the veins of the trees.

  “Return to me.” The words echoed through the Nether as her power sank into the tether
s which arched high in search of the Indentured.

  They answered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sunni drove her staff into the shrouded man’s clavicle, grinning at the satisfying crunch of bone. She sent a bolt of magic behind it. The shrouded man grunted, teeth snapping together. He used his shepherd’s crook to yank her staff from his flesh. His eyes watered but he did not fall. He spun out of her reach, ending in a crouch, watchful as Sunni repositioned herself. Her goal: kill.

  Their labored breathing filled the silence. Sunni looked past the shrouded man to the black box behind him. Since Aurora was thrown into it the whole thing went dark. She wondered if Aurora’s gift saved her. Would she be able to escape? There was so much Sunni had hoped to learn from the girl. So much she wanted to learn about her. The origins of this mysterious connection to the box. She glared at the man in front of her. Sunni thrust her staff at the shrouded man, who deflected the move with his shepherd’s crook. He glanced over his shoulder at the box, then turned his taunting gaze on her.

  “Nothing living can survive the box.” The shrouded man mocked. “The female is dead.” He moved swiftly, springing from a crouch to a full-on charge. He raised his shepherd’s crook, then brought it down hard. The sharp edge grazed Sunni’s right thigh. Her body armor sparked as the chainmail did its job.

  Sunni spun out of the way, twirling her staff, feeding her magic into it, creating a blinding starburst. The chainmail thickened in a series of clicks. A faint white orange glow filled the tiny openings. The chainmail’s shift ended at the tips of Sunni’s newly formed amethyst talons. She gestured for the shrouded man to bring it. He roared and charged.

  She put all her strength in every blow. Sheer desire to end the being in front of her quickened her movements, making it hard for human eyes to follow. The shrouded man managed to keep up with her, move for move, barely. His blood wet the grass beneath them and darkened the tips of her talons.