Grave Things (Grave Things Series Book 1)

by Lindsay Mead

  Eyes bulging, Osiris spun to face him. "You are out of line, grave keeper."

  Graveyards are my dominion, Osiris, he snarled. I warned you.

  "Her soul is blackened beyond redemption. That makes her forfeit to me." Osiris held out his hand, silently calling to the crook.

  Anubis felt it tug against his powerful and unmoving jaws. She has already been claimed.

  "By who? The Angel of Death?" Osiris lifted his arms in frustration. "I do not see him intervening to save her. The angels do not care about the humans they mark."

  No, she has been claimed by me. The ownership Anubis felt for Viola went deep. He had hated that the lover had claimed her while he slumbered, hated that the lover only gave her heartbreak. Anubis would never make that mistake again. She was his. And it was time he made that known to others, starting with Osiris.

  "What—" Osiris turned and searched her body with his eyes. "Aw, the necklace. You have bound yourself to her." With a decaying grin splitting his mouth, Osiris stepped toward Viola. "That is an easy enough binding to break."

  Osiris, stop! Anubis commanded, but the former deity ignored him and reached for the necklace around Viola's neck. If Osiris broke the binding, Anubis would be lost, and Viola left unprotected. There would be nothing to stop Osiris from claiming her soul and bending her to his will. The things he would make her do—Then, you give me no choice.

  He rolled the crook between his teeth and bit down. Unfortunately for Osiris, the unbreakable rod was no match for the jaws of an immortal jackal. Anubis felt the wood split against his tongue. Dark, nasty power seeped out and dissipated into the cemetery.

  Osiris stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as if Anubis had broken his bones and not his tool. "What have you done?!"

  Leave, Osiris, while that is all I have broken of you. He spit the dual pieces onto the ground.

  "You wretched little cur!" Pushing to his full height, the old king lifted his flail and swung it behind his head.

  The dozens of whips tied to the baton expanded with the motion, growing and growing like vines. Rage boiled in Osiris' cloudy eyes as he whirled the cursed lengths around toward Anubis. Normally when those tails struck a soul, the spirit was forced onto bended knee. But Anubis was an immortal being and had no soul to enslave. So, when the whips hit across his side, it was the equivalent of two opposing forces colliding together—and the shockwave sent Anubis into the air.

  He ripped through multiple rows of graves, shattering several headstones. Anubis hit the ground and slid into a display of flowers. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, unharmed. A woman prayed a foot away, entirely unaware of the chaos beyond the veil; chaos that had no effect on the side of the living.

  Growling, Anubis slipped into the darkness and disappeared from sight. He swept behind a row of tombstones as his body cast fast shadows in the candlelight. Osiris spun, unable to track the jackal's otherworldly movements.

  "Face me!" Osiris roared and snapped his flail against the air.

  The action wrenched his chest, tearing open a chunk of his breast. Skin and wrappings flaked away. He ignored the speedy decay of his body, his anger overriding all logic.

  Demons did not belong in graveyards, most could not cross onto sacred ground. Since Osiris was a greater demon, he could stand the holy land for a brief time. But it was already taking its toll. If he did not go, his body would crumble to dirt. He would be stuck between the living and the dead with no means of ever leaving, but still aware of the slow passage of time.

  Call to the pieces of your crook and leave. Anubis lingered in the faint candlelight for a moment, letting Osiris' gaze find him.

  "You cannot best me. You are less than me." Leering, Osiris turned and stretched his fingers toward the blue opal locket at Viola's neck.

  Anubis took to the shadows and raced silently along the many rows. From the corner of his eye, he saw the corpse-like hand close the distance to his exorcist. A mingling of anger and fear swept through his chest, powering his swift paws.

  Reaching the old king in seconds, Anubis leapt into the light. Osiris' nails scraped along Viola's throat. His eyes gleamed with violence, his face contorted by rage…he never saw the jackal coming.

  Anubis clamped his jaws around the extended arm, sinking his long fangs deep into the decaying flesh. The taste was foul. Using his speed and momentum, Anubis landed on his paws, dug in, and flung Osiris.

  There was a popping, ripping sound as his arm tore free from its socket. Osiris careened into a row of graves. Holding the limb in his jaws, Anubis watched the headstones crumbled under the force of the old king until Osiris plunged into the ground. Panting, he lifted his head to peer at Anubis while candle flames nipped at his dusty wrappings. The abrading dirt had flayed his cheek, exposing the bone beneath.

  Anubis dropped the arm to the ground. Upon impact, the skin shriveled. The wraps turned to dust, picked up by a non-existent breeze. Then, the skin broke apart. Little by little, it became soil. The revealed bones dissipated even faster until the arm was part of the cemetery for all eternity. Osiris would soon join it if he did not leave.

  Next, I will tear your head from your shoulders and I will watch you decay into nothing. Anubis tilted his head, his eyes piercing Osiris' glower. Imagine what that would be like, forever stuck beneath my paws.

  A snarl curled the remainder of Osiris' mouth and he struggled to his feet. "I will be back for her."

  No, you will not. A growl rumbled menacingly through Anubis' chest as he walked toward Osiris, forcing the old king against a tombstone. You can only enter the realm of the living through a grave, and the graveyards are where I will always be. Watching, waiting… and protecting her.

  "My strigoi will still come for her." Osiris shoved his flail into the loop at his waist. He held out his remaining hand and called the pieces of his crook to him. "You cannot protect her from them."

  She can handle herself against your minions. Anubis studied the black smoke billowing up from the grave soil where Osiris stood.

  "For now." With his grip wrapped tightly around his broken crook, Osiris descended into the grave. The smoke gathered around his face, pulling him deeper. He met Anubis' stare. "But all exorcists pay their dues eventually."

  Anubis gave no reply as the defeated Osiris sank away. It was not until the last of the smoke had dissipated that Anubis dared cross the veil. Returning to his place at Viola's side, he gave her a quick sniff to make sure she was unharmed.

  She smelled of harsh things: smoke, fire, blood, and tears. But under all of that grim reality, he detected her true scent.

  Lilacs.

  29

  A heady, pungent scent burned the inside of Viola's nostrils. Whatever caused it was awful, like too much old-lady perfume. Dragged from the realm of sleep, Viola rolled to her side. Her hand pressed into cold, damp soil. It's sweet, granule smell was better than—wait, why was she lying on the ground?

  Viola fought to wake up, surprised to find it still dark. Good, that meant she could keep sleeping. Her eyes drooped closed, she was so tired. But alarms went off in her mind. This wasn't her hotel room. And with that thought, the comfortable blanket of sleep vanished. She became acutely aware of her vulnerable surroundings… and the nearby whispers.

  Her eyes shot open. Candles and headstones filled her vision. What the hell?

  Heart racing, she sat up and scrabbled against the tree. Her mind decided then to remember the events of yesterday. She exhaled as the fear of being in an unknown place faded. Her shoulders slumped with relief, but that feeling was short lived. Sorrow waited at the edges of her heart and tears stung her eyes as she tried to adjust them to the darkness.

  Despite dawn being a couple hours away, many locals still tended to the bountiful gravestone displays. The sound of shoes scraping on dirt drew Vi's attention. A gray-haired woman approached with a bouquet of red and white roses. When their gazes met, the old gal froze. Fear glimmered in her milky eyes.

  A long, awkward moment
passed before Viola asked, "Um, you all right?"

  The woman held up a shaky hand and knelt to place the bouquet at Vi's feet. She then formed the sign of the cross over her chest and Viola raised a curious eyebrow. As the woman shuffled away, not making eye contact, Vi noticed that she was surrounded by offerings. Flowers rested upon flowers. A dozen candles illuminated plates of homemade food, various bottles of alcohol, and crosses. Several trays of burning incense explained the bitter smell. Viola gawked at it all. Why the hell were people treating her like a gravestone?

  They believe you to be Santa Muerte. Anubis' smooth voice and Egyptian tongue tickled her mind, soothing her headache.

  Glancing around, Viola found the jackal sitting protectively at her side. "Our Lady of Holy Death… They think I'm her?"

  They witnessed you ushering lost souls into the afterlife, and you protected them from a demon. He tilted his head, studying her far too closely. By definition, you are her.

  "Yeah, well, I'm the wrong person for them to worship." Spotting a pack of donated cigarettes, some local brand, Viola snatched them and knocked one into the palm of her hand. She tried to ignore the people gaping at her from a distance as she placed the cigarette between her lips and used a candle to light the tip. Hot wax splashed onto her hand. With a muffled curse, she exhaled a stream of pale smoke and peered at her friend in death. "I'm sorry I left you out all night. I've never felt drained like that before."

  I did not mind watching over you while you slept. Anubis lifted his nose to scent her smoke. You were a conduit of great power yesterday and you did it while carrying many burdens.

  "Are you referring to the sin I consumed"—Spotting a whiskey bottle, Viola ripped the cork away with her teeth and spit it into the sparse grass before taking a swig. A drink and a cigarette first thing? This might be the beginning of new lows for her. How exciting—"or the fact that Ian is dead and I'm heartbroken?"

  Both. You are an exorcist of rare talent and inner strength. There was no irony in his voice as he witnessed Viola fill her lungs and belly with poisons. I am proud to be your companion, and I believe the angel was pleased as well.

  "Thanks. I hope the church sees me the same way," Viola mumbled as her stomach grumbled at the liquid breakfast.

  She would need more than whiskey to function today. A quick scan of the goodies left at her feet and she zeroed in on a plate of tamales. That's right, some beautiful person had given her tamales. When she took a bite, her body melted. Dear God, they were good. Wanting to share the yummy, she offered some to Anubis.

  Sniffing the food, he almost looked tempted. But then Anubis seemed to remember that he was a regal jackal and chose to stare at the sky instead. Viola smiled at him, popping the food into her mouth. Stargazing was a favorite pastime of theirs. Unfortunately, as she swallowed, a dreadful realization hit her. Nausea replaced hunger and Viola dropped the tamale back on its plate. "You know when I go into that church, they're probably going to take you away from me."

  His eyes shifted to her. Because you took your lover's sin within you and spared him from the fire, the church will punish you?

  "Yes." Pulling her knees to her chest, she let her chin rest on her knees and leered at the burning embers on the tip of her cigarette. Her heart twisted at the thought of never seeing Anubis again, never feeling his thoughts on her mind, never being with the one who understood her on levels that others couldn't. She'd lost her husband, was about to lose her job, and now she would lose her best friend too. Viola angled her hand to peer at the cross stained into her palm. "They'll excommunicate me. I won't be an exorcist anymore."

  Silence followed.

  They sat in the flickering light of a dozen candles, soaking in their last moments together. No long goodbye speeches; they could feel one another's sorrow clearer than words could convey.

  Too many years ago, after the church set her loose for the first time, Viola had gone in search of Anubis. Ensnaring a jackal had never been done, but she'd felt his pull from the beginning. He'd been Vi's ever since, working at her side to usher countless souls into the afterlife. Now, the idea of living without Anubis made her feel truly alone.

  A nervous boy left a candle at the edge of her display and she hurriedly brushed the tears from her eyes. Others were starting to gather, edging closer and closer. Apparently, they wanted their time with a death saint.

  "I guess it's time," she murmured, her voice gravelly. Twisting onto her knees to face Anubis, Viola felt raw. Almost too vulnerable to function. Her hand trembled as she wrapped her fingers around her locket. "Thank you…for everything."

  Anubis leaned forward, dropping his forehead gently against Viola's and stared into her eyes for the last time. I will miss you, my old friend.

  "I'll miss you too"—Tears rolled down her cheeks, despite her efforts to withhold them, and she opened the locket—"old friend."

  Charcoal sand with shades of blue swirled out and encircled the jackal. The two continued gazing at each other, a thousand words and feelings silently passing between them. As the sand transformed his body, turning Anubis to dust, Viola feared that he'd be locked away—never to look upon the night sky again.

  It matters not, as the stars would not be the same without you. His last words fluttered into her mind and the sand stole his face from her forever.

  Snapping the locket shut, Viola dropped her head into her hand to hide her sobs from onlookers. She wanted to scream at them—scream into the void, scream at God—but she forced the anger away. She had to spare her energy for what was still to come.

  Pushing to her feet, Viola's entire body ached. She felt like an old woman who hadn't walked in ages. Compounding her discomfort, anxiety and worry vibrated through her nerves. Was she really going to do this?

  Vi could simply not tell the church, hope they wouldn't find out, and she could go on doing what she does best. But no, God likely told Aaron already. Even though it would hurt them both, Aaron would never want her to lie to the church. He had too much respect for it all.

  Seeing no other option, Viola took a long swig of whiskey to fortify herself. Here goes nothing. She set the bottle on a nearby gravestone and placed the cigarette between her lips. The smoke burned her eyes as she inhaled and paused to observe the hovering locals. They gawked with wide eyes, two prayed on their knees. Being worshiped was weird.

  Vi yanked her shovel from the ground and stepped over the offerings, careful not to bump anything. Sure, she wasn't actually the Lady of Holy Death, but she didn't have to be a dick about it. All she wanted to do was discreetly slip out.

  A kneeling woman, rosary draped around her fingers, sprang up as Viola neared. "Please, Señora de la Santa Muerte. Will you visit my husband on the otherside? Tell him that I love him."

  Feeling a pang of sympathy for the woman, Viola wanted to respond but a man interrupted before she could. His Spanish was quick, too fast for her exhausted brain to translate. Others chimed in then, filling her ears with more words than Vi could handle. Her heart pounded as she tried to blink away the fog.

  It was similar to her experience with the blood money; too many voices coming at her all at once. But the souls had only wanted to be heard. Maybe that's all these people needed.

  Tuning the worshipers out, Viola shoved Azriel back into the dirt. She let her cigarette hang from the corner of her mouth and went to the first woman. The lady was praying so hard at the exorcist that her body trembled. Viola touched her arm comfortingly as the others fell silent. Putting her thumb to the woman's forehead, Vi drew a cross and started something she'd never done before—a blessing.

  Yup, she was gonna bless them all. Another thing that exorcists weren't allowed to do. But hell, if she was gonna go out anyway, might as well break a few extra rules along the way.

  "Et benedictio Dei omnipoténtis, Patris, Filii," Viola murmured, laying her cross painted palm flat against the woman's brow. She felt her hand grow hot as heavenly power tingled its way up her spine and along her arm. "et Spi
ritus sancti descendat super vos et maneat semper. Amen."

  "Amen," the teary-eyed woman gasped, as she formed the sign of the cross over her chest. "Gracias."

  Viola moved to the next person and repeated the ritual. She didn't know what effect this would have. Were these people guaranteed to live to old age now? Would that life be plentiful? Could a miracle somehow find them? Maybe a blessing didn't do anything at all? The action gave them peace, that much was already clear to Viola. Maybe that was the real point.

  The exorcist worked down the line with a cigarette hanging from her lips, muffling her speech and the smoke burning her eye. But the patrons didn't seem to care if their saint smoked or stank of booze and dirt. Heh, maybe that was how a death saint should look—always cheating death in her own right.

  After blessing the last person waiting, Viola was finally able to take the cigarette from her mouth. She grabbed Azriel with her free hand and, without saying a word, gave them all a wave goodbye. Vi had to smile at how weird that was. Her job was never boring. She was really going to miss this.

  The second she passed beneath the cemetery's archway, a wall of nasty slammed onto her. Viola staggered under the sin's weight. She'd almost forgotten how drained her body was. Performing all of those blessings probably hadn't been the best idea. Leaning on her shovel for support, Vi glanced back at the graveyard and wished like hell that she could return to her small corner of dirt.

  But, it was time to face the music. She forced her gaze forward to the holy building across the way. A large silver moon shined behind its steeple. At least the church was on sacred ground, the only small blessing she was about to get. Inhaling some fresh air, Viola begrudgingly compelled one foot in front of the other.

  "I wish you were with me, Ian," she whispered, hesitating at the base of the church's stairway. "I wish Aaron was too."