Which was far from the truth. Already, the man had managed to frighten off two pregnant women and a gaggle of Girl Scouts. All because he appeared in front of them and said boo.
But even as I fell into my bed, my mind gathered up all the events and mushed them together in a single troubled list.
Daniel was missing—either having escaped by mundane or extraordinary means.
Something unknown attacked Archer and killed a Fetch—something that had visibly upset the Symbiont.
Someone was using an old ritual created to destroy First Borns—and had killed a ghoul. They’d also made it look like vampires had done it. Why?
And to top it all off—why hadn’t Dags returned my phone calls?
Suddenly unable to sleep, I pulled my iPhone from my back pocket—hey, I could talk again, so I had gone after the coolest phone I could find—and pulled up his number. I didn’t have a picture—not a single one. I only had my memory of him. And even that was getting fuzzy, even after one month.
What I could remember was his touch—gentle and soft—and his warm body against mine.
I hit the CONNECT button and waited. It rang once, twice, then the same message in his voice mail, “Greetings and salutations—you’ve reached the voice mail of Darren McConnell. I’m not available to take your call—”
I disconnected. What was the point in leaving another message?
I’d already left five.
7
MOM tried to wake me up at some point—yammering about a guest downstairs. One of Rhonda’s friends—but I was having none of it. I wanted sleep, and nothing was going to get in my way.
Eventually, I did crawl up from the depths of unconsciousness. It was dark outside, and I stumbled to the bathroom to shower and change into my usual black clothes. After tying up my hair, I meandered downstairs to a completely empty shop. There was a note taped to the microwave from Mom.
Why are you always so tired? Are you not testing your sugar?
Gone to dinner with Jemmy and Missus Parks. We’ll be back late. There’s a plate of food in the microwave.
Mom
I opened the microwave and pulled out a massive helping of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. Uhm . . . this might have looked appetizing an hour or two ago. But now it was more like coagulated grease and starch. Stepping on the garbage-can release, I raked all of it in, gave it last rites, and closed it up. Tossing the dish in the sink, I looked in the refrigerator. Hum . . . sandwich meats, cheese, fruit—chocolate cake!
Win!
I pulled out the plate with half of a hunk on it—looked like my Mom’s devilishly rich chocolate mousse cake. Mm . . . a piece of this, then a dollop of whipped cream—and coffee. Needed to make coffee.
I stood, shut the door, and turned—
And let out a thunderclap of a scream.
TC reached out and capped my mouth with his hand. “I hate it when you do that.”
I stood in my mom’s kitchen, holding a plate of chocolate cake with Vin Diesel’s hand over my mouth. Life was not exactly boring, was it? I reached up and pulled his hand back. “Then stop popping in and out like that without warning. I was getting something to eat.”
“No time,” he said, and stepped into the front area of the tea shop, looking around. “We need to get to the morgue.”
Okay, that got my attention. I set the cake on the counter and followed him. “The Dekalb morgue? You mean where the bodies drained of blood are?”
He spun so fast I didn’t see him move. Instead, he was in front of me before I could take a step back. Sometimes being with Archer was a lot like playing with a half-feral tiger. Not something you wanted to take lightly. “You know about the bodies?”
I blinked and finally stepped away, my back against the dessert display cabinet. “Well, yeah—I saw one of them earlier today. Drained of blood, bite marks, and symbols carved in their skin.”
His eyes narrowed. Dead eyes. “So you know about the Revenants?”
I shook my head slowly. “No . . . I don’t think anyone brought them in.” Uhm. “Who are they?”
He turned away from me with a disgusted noise and sneered. “Deserters is what they are. Weaklings. So afraid of taking what they deserve, they hide deep inside the souls of the physical plane. We call them Revenants because that’s what they are—revenants of an age long gone from the planes.”
I had to wonder if he was talking about the First Borns—and I also decided to play it dumb. Not a hard stretch most days. “Uhm . . . you care to help me out on this? Joe brought me and Rhonda to the morgue to see the bodies—see if maybe Rhonda knew what the symbols meant.”
He turned to me, and it was the most serious I’d ever seen him. “They mean destruction. Annihilation.”
“I thought it wasn’t possible to actually destroy or annihilate anything—”
“You can’t!” he boomed. And I pressed myself against the display. Yow. He advanced on me and pointed to the floor. “Not normally. Not without Ethereal help. But with those symbols, you can. That spell—that ritual—is forbidden. Forbidden for anyone to perform it except the Phantasm itself.”
“Why?”
“Because it can destroy. It exists for the sole purpose of destroying—annihilating—Revenants.”
Not to repeat myself but, “Why?”
He fixated on me. “Haven’t you been reading those damned Dioscuri notes? Don’t they have any mention of the Revenants?”
I shook my head. “No.” I omitted the info about First Borns. “That’s why I’m asking you why. You need to help me a little here.”
He pointed at me, and for the first time I noticed he was wearing a really large silver skull ring on his middle finger. “You listen fast, girlie—we ain’t got a lot of time here.” TC lowered his hand. “They call themselves the First Borns—the first creatures ever formed by the first Phantasm—”
“The first—”
“Shut up!” he interrupted.
I did.
“They’re powerful—more so than any other creatures conceived. They were given the ability of free will—not something any other Abysmal creature has ever had.” He grinned and pointed to his chest. “Until me.”
“I think a thank-you for that is in order.” He wouldn’t be the way he is now if it weren’t for me and my Irin DNA. Or—that’s how I’d figured it out.
He literally waved that comment away with a hand gesture. “When the first war between the planes erupted—these First Borns were soft, having lived with the monkeys for centuries in the physical plane. They didn’t know how to fight and weren’t able to defend the First Tier, so the Seraphim won.”
“Seraphim . . . as in angels?”
“Yeah, don’t ever want to meet one of those.” He frowned. “Never mind. You already did. But what I’m saying is that the Phantasm was destroyed, and a new one came to power. It was smart enough to know that if these First Borns continued living—and banded together—they could, in fact, destroy it. So the Phantasm sent armies of its own creation out to destroy what few First Borns were left after the war.”
I looked up at him. “That can’t be the only reason. I mean . . . it’s the Phantasm.”
TC nodded. “You’re right. Rumor amid the planes was that the first Phantasm knew its life was coming to an end—one of its First Borns possessed the gift of prophecy—and so it supposedly gave the Last First Born the key to their creation. The secret of how to create creatures with free will.”
“I thought there wasn’t any such thing as free will—that it was destiny and fate. Or that’s what my Mom’s always saying.”
“That’s what the Ethereals would want the worlds to believe. If you set up a play and tell the players they have to act out that same performance every night or die—then there’s no variation. Nothing to worry about. And they can sing and laugh and be merry in their little kingdom. But if you introduce creatures with free will—”
“It upsets the status quo,”
I said. I thought I’d almost gotten what he was saying. “This new Phantasm wanted this secret, didn’t it?”
“Yes. And so it ravaged the mind of every First Born it killed to find it, to find the Last First Born.”
“Go on.”
TC shook his head. “The cowards learned how to hide. They buried themselves so deep inside of human bodies, merging together with their souls. They created a new race of beings. Revenants. Once inside, they were hard to find. It was rumored the surviving thirty or so had done this to themselves. So the Phantasm disobeyed the covenants between the planes and created a spell that would eradicate the First Borns—the Revenants—burn their existence into ash within those human bodies. It was this disobedience, the creation of this spell, that started the whole border patrol.” He smirked at me. “The Irins were born to prevent the Phantasm’s armies from overrunning the other planes while hunting down these Revenants.”
Uh-huh.
“The new Phantasm managed to destroy a handful before the spell was stolen and hidden away.”
Wait. What? I shook my head. “Someone stole the spell? How can you steal a spell. Didn’t he like commit it to memory?”
“You can’t memorize these things,” TC said. “Safety catch or something. Ever wondered why witches and sorcerers write it all down in books? Or even why that Grimoire exists? Because you can’t memorize it. The Phantasm wrote it down and gave it to his own army of Symbionts—and it was returned every day in order to guard its safety. But—somehow it was stolen.”
Weird.
“The Revenants, unfortunately, weren’t able to keep their existence secret for long. Their very essence prevented them from remaining invisible to the eyes of the Ethereals, who also believed them to be abominations. So they discovered they could mask themselves by drinking blood in order to keep themselves human.” He made a face.
“You actually look disgusted.”
“I am. I like overshadowing physical beings—but not fusing with them. It’s disgusting. But it diluted their power. Diminished them. The Phantasm forgot about them as they disappeared, no longer a threat. But now . . .” He growled, and I pursed my lips. “But now it looks as if something’s found that spell—and they’re using it.”
“On these Revenants?”
He didn’t answer. I moved forward, my hands crossed over my chest. “What about this has got you spooked?”
Archer snorted. “You don’t get it, do you? How spells work.”
No.
“The creator of a spell is as vulnerable to it as the one it’s intended for.” A creepy, slow grin cracked his face. “It means there’s a weapon out there—to kill the Phantasm with. And I intend on finding it.”
8
WELL, this was just all kinds of phucking phantastic.
I eyed TC, still unsure if I should trust a damn thing he said. Honestly—he was making the hairs on my arms rise. It all sounded like a lie—but not the kind he’d make up on the spot. More like a lie he’d been told and committed to memory.
And it raised my hackles.
Mental note: what exactly are hackles?
“So”—I held up my right hand, index finger in front of him—“let me get this straight. If I create a spell—first off, I can’t memorize it, so I have to write it down.”
He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. If he had a watch, I was sure he’d check it. “Yes.”
“And—if someone did steal this spell—they could use it against me.”
Again, a sigh. “Yes. Can we go now?”
I winced. “Why in the hell do you want me to go with you so bad?”
Now that produced an even bigger sigh. More like a groan. “You cannot be that thick. How much of those notes have you read?”
“Obviously not enough,” I said, putting both my hands on my hips.
“As a Wraith, you possess certain abilities no one else has. Even the Phantasm.”
That much I’d gathered over the past seven months. When he didn’t continue, I leaned toward him. “And?”
“And nothing—I don’t know what all you can do.” He smiled. “But I do enjoy finding out. Let’s go.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I pulled my arm away from him. He was getting mighty grabby lately. “You haven’t told me why you want to get to the morgue. If these are bodies—why are you so eager to see them?”
“Not the bodies,” TC said. “The Revenants. I’m more than sure there is at least one there—” He paused. “I can’t sense them. Not like I can sense other Symbionts. But why else have them brought to that morgue?”
“Oh, I don’t know—to keep them all in one place maybe?” I wasn’t real thrilled about going back to the morgue, and I was sure Lex was still there. And if she was, she’d want me to stick my hand in that sticky, oogy, cold, nasty . . . thing again. If there was a soul in there somewhere, I hadn’t sensed it. And I really didn’t want to get that close to it again.
“Are you scared?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and though I hated to think it, he looked damn good in the light of Mom’s tea shop.
“I’ve already seen the bodies. What’s there to be scared of?”
“Exactly.” He turned and vanished, though his thought lingered in my head. Let’s go.
I really hated being pressured into doing something I didn’t want to do. But then again—what he’d just told me kinda sounded like what I’d read. But from a different perspective. The Dioscuri described the First Borns as the survivors of the first Phantasm war. But how did my great-uncle arrive at that conclusion in his notes? Had a First Born told him?
Lex’s conversation with me earlier kept surfacing as well. It also hadn’t escaped me that Lex was one of these Revenants. The whole vampire thing sort of gave it away—that and knowing about this spell. And if I understood the logic, the First Born inside her was called Yamato. But Lex had called it a Symbiont—was that the same thing as a First Born?
And TC’s opinion of them seemed a bit prejudiced. Man . . . who knew there were so many layers to the Abysmal plane? I didn’t even want to get into the Ethereal.
Really.
I didn’t.
Becoming the Wraith while in body—how can I describe this? Or even relate the first time it happened after all that Horror craziness last month? I’m not sure there is a way. The first time came when I wanted to go back to the explosion, to see for myself what had happened. It was after Cooper died, and I wasn’t feeling right. I’d kept seeing the death mask—skulls—everywhere I looked.
I’d been standing in my room at Mom’s, then I was moving up through the roof, through the attic (needed a cleaning!), and into the sky. Hovering.
It’d been almost instantaneous. I’d wanted to be OOB, and I’d planned on lying down on the bed to leave my body in a comfortable position. But—as I’d hovered there above the building—I realized I still had it.
I STILL HAD MY BODY!
And as I looked at it—held out my hands and arms—I saw that my skin was no longer its natural olive, but black and mottled. My clothing had changed as well. It was still my usual—dark pants and shirt—but my bunny slippers had red eyes and fangs.
And my nails—I’d seen those talons before. When I’d killed Rhonda in her uncle’s home. I’d seen this body before. And I knew that spread out behind me were wings so much like the ones I’d first had that same night, and again while battling the Horror.
I didn’t know what they looked like. Not sure I wanted to.
So once again I stood in my mother’s house, shifting my body from physical plane to Wraith. From human—to not so human. From innocent.
To damned.
Going OOB had nothing on this sensation. Before it was like stepping out of a second skin without feeling. Removing shades from my eyes so that I could see the shadow world around me.
But like this? This was different. Like this I could feel. And I could smell and taste, and I could see. See things I really didn’t want to. Sense things just along a certa
in perimeter around myself. And as I stood there and changed and the world around me grew and shifted, I sensed something—
What’s that?
I opened my eyes and looked around the shop. Shadows moved and warped, some sprawled across the floor like dark dry ice, while other things—and there was no other phrase but other things—called out like haunted cicadas and a preternatural catbird.
Yeah. Who knew the Abysmal plane had a sound track?
I pushed up, rising through the ceiling, through my bedroom, and finally into the air above the shop. I hovered there, only slightly aware of my wings beating softly behind me. I could sense and see others below me, driving, getting out of their cars, grilling on back porches.
It was June now . . . and summer was here.
I should be grilling at my condo—long sold. Rhonda inside making her killer frappuccinos, Mom making roasted potatoes, with Dags outside with the—
Wait.
WTF?
I said Dags, didn’t I?
Shiiiitt. I mean Daniel. DANIEL. He would be outside grilling, and I would be happy and not bothered by any of this shit.
...
It really bothered me that I said Dags.
Skip it.
It was June and damn hot. Let’s stick with that.
And those below me? If they had noticed me at all, it would have been the distant beating of wings. No, I didn’t make that up. TC told me.
Now the dogs? I could just breeze by overhead and set one of those things off in a New York minute.
Something . . . I rose higher and hovered again. What was it I was hearing? Or smelling? Or both? It felt . . . familiar. But somehow . . . not.
Will you stop fucking around?
Cursing, I moved farther up and followed TC. I couldn’t really see him, but I could sense him. And though directionally if I wasn’t on a Georgia road, I would get lost. I don’t do aerial travel. So I just followed him and eventually touched down in front of the morgue.
Parking lot was empty, kinda like it had been this morning. Even the Bentley was gone.
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