Resurrection Road

by Hannah Marae

  Eden nodded slowly. “Digging up a corpse is a lot more work, but it means finishing the job. What if there’s no corpse? What if they were cremated, or”—she winced—“decomposed. Are they stuck in the Good Night forever?”

  “Nah, a spirit can move on by itself given enough time.” Zeke heaved himself up and grabbed his shovel. “Some of them are just particularly stubborn.”

  Lazarus took out the second pair of glasses and placed them on the ground, crushing them beneath his boot. There was a flash of light and then darkness. It was nothing like Father Jackson, the air heavy with the sense of unfinished business.

  “She was a mild spirit, at least,” Lazarus said. “She might’ve slipped through the cracks the pastor left behind, maybe even by accident. With him gone, she could figure out how to move on.”

  They walked back to the truck. Hades ran ahead, leaping into the bed as they approached. When Zeke opened the passenger door, Eden stepped in front of him. Wordlessly, she climbed into the middle seat, hoping to give Zeke some room to stretch out. If Lazarus had any doubts about sitting beside a mage, he kept them to himself, and Zeke seemed grateful for the legroom. He stretched out and sighed, not even bothering to mess with the radio.

  Shortly later, the truck pulled out of Lonesome End and onto the deserted road, its passengers silent beneath a blanket of stars.

  They spent the next day on the road. With every mile marker the truck passed, the tension lifted. After a strained evening in a cheap motel, Zeke was glad to see it. They’d hit up a fast-food joint last night, sitting quietly in the tiny booth. He tried not to notice how Eden fidgeted through dinner, biting her lip while staring pensively out the window at the highway lights beyond.

  Zeke could imagine what she was thinking. It had been almost a full day, and they had barely gotten anywhere. Lazarus ignored that fact completely, behaving like he always did, which was terse and, frankly, a little boorish. All three of them went to bed exhausted and peeved.

  But they hit the road early—stopping for donuts scarfed down with black coffee—and slowly, the tension bled away.

  As they snaked their way through Arizona, the light from Eden’s tattoo grew brighter. They were on the right track, she decided, the call still urging her east. They had no idea how far the mark would take them, where it would lead. Lazarus peppered the mage with questions, trying to get a feel for Mab and her habits. Would they find her in some vampire’s lair or hunter’s cabin? She could’ve been locked up in a jail cell somewhere, for all they knew.

  That was the worst part, Zeke decided. Not knowing what to expect at the end of the line. He would fight just about anything to save a life, but it sure would be nice to know what they were fighting.

  Tired of the quiet, Zeke grabbed his CD book and flipped through it, selecting a nineties punk mix he’d burned last time he was home. Sliding it into the player, he cranked up the volume. It was late afternoon in the New Mexico desert, and the road stretched as far as the sky. They’d been in the truck since lunch, and he was starting to feel jumpy, bopping his head to the beat, boot tapping against the floor. When he spotted the turnoff ahead, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Lazarus slowed and made the turn.

  Eden glanced up from that weird mage book she carried. “Where are you going?”

  “We’re stopping for the night,” Lazarus said without glancing over.

  “But it’s still early!” She pointed to the clock set into the dashboard. “If you need a break, I’m sure Zeke could—”

  “Supply stop, remember?” Zeke cut in, relieved there was a reason to pull over. She may have been fine driving around the clock, he could only sit in a car for so many hours. “You wanted to make some proper sigils, right? And we’re out of channeling coins.”

  “Okay,” she conceded. “Where are we headed?”

  At that, Zeke grinned. “You’ll see.”

  She huffed and held up the grimoire, open to a page with a spiky-looking sigil. “If you try anything, I’m pretty sure this will knock you out in two seconds flat.”

  “Only pretty sure?” Lazarus commented dryly.

  The mage shrugged. “I’ll keep reading.”

  A few miles down the road, the truck rolled past a sign reading Nowhere, New Mexico. Eden straightened, closing the book on her lap.

  “That looks just like . . .” she trailed off, her brows furrowing.

  Zeke coughed to suppress a giggle and buried his face in the elbow of his jacket. He caught Eden staring at him, so he shrugged nonchalantly. On the other side of the bench seat, Lazarus rolled his eyes.

  A few minutes later, they entered the town. It was eerily familiar in a way that always put Zeke slightly on edge. The grid of well-kept streets, the rows of tidy shops with campy names, the people who strolled the sidewalks. The truck passed a diner nearly identical to the one where they’d met yesterday morning. Down the road was the mechanic’s garage with the Strange Weather Motel sitting neatly across the street. Eden leaned over Zeke to peer out the window, her face screwed up in confusion.

  “What the hell is going on?” She turned down the music. Fixing her gaze on Zeke, Eden narrowed her eyes. “You know something. What is it?”

  “It’s Nowhere,” Zeke said, feigning ignorance.

  “Yeah, I saw the sign. But—”

  “Nowhere. Capital N,” Zeke cut her off. “It’s a . . .” He racked his mind for the simplest explanation, one that wouldn’t have her staring at him like he was a dumbass. “Lazarus, you do it. You always describe it better.”

  When they stopped at a red light, Lazarus turned to Eden. “Nowhere is an in-between place—an anomaly. For whatever reason, the veil here is thin. What you see around you is the result of the Good Night seeping through.”

  “This is the Good Night?” Eden looked out the window with wide eyes, as if seeing the world anew.

  “No, it’s what happens when the Good Night mixes with our plane of existence,” Lazarus explained. “It’s like a reflection. Or theater. Everything you see here feels real, and it is, but it’s not of this earth.”

  “Pretty cool, right?” Zeke nudged her with his elbow.

  Eden gave a slow nod, still staring out the window with childlike wonder. “Yeah.”

  The light changed, and Lazarus accelerated, taking them deeper into town. They passed a park, a restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall bookstore—just about every sort of shop one might expect in a classic small town. Nowhere was busy this time of day, shoppers moving in and out of stores, cars driving slowly and methodically like they were on a rail. It had taken a long time for Zeke to really understand the truth of this place and longer still for him to be anything other than creeped out by it. Now, he considered it a sort of carnival ride, or like Laz said, something akin to a play.

  “So, it’s the same as the place in California?” Eden asked. “If we go to the garage, will my car be there?”

  Zeke shook his head. “No, they’re all different places. It’s just that they’re the same. Or almost the same. Nowhere, California, is almost identical to Nowhere, New Mexico, because the veil is running the same script.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “We figure there’s one in almost every state, two in some of the bigger ones, but sometimes new ones crop up,” Zeke said. “I hear there’s a few in Canada too, so there may be a Nowhere pretty much everywhere.”

  “And they all look like this?”

  “They all follow this blueprint,” Lazarus said, “but there are locational variations. Nowhere, Alaska, will have snow, but Nowhere, Hawaii, has palm trees.”

  “What about the people?” Eden nodded out the window. “Do they know they’re living in the in-between?”

  “They’re not people,” Lazarus replied, almost cheerfully. He was the happiest Zeke had seen him all day, though he didn’t know if it was because of the pit stop or the fact that he got to explain something. It really could have been either. “Nowhere is a reflection, remember? It’s
how the Good Night thinks our world looks. What better way to perfect the illusion than to populate it?”

  “So they’re spirits? But they seem so real!”

  “Because they’re still in the Good Night . . . kinda. And none of them know it. I don’t think they’re aware at all. Every person we’ve ever met in Nowhere seems like they’re reading lines.”

  “And it’s the same in each one,” Zeke added. “Remember the waitress at the diner in California? Her name was Jan. She’ll look different here, but she’ll act the same and her nametag will read Pam or Sam.”

  “This is so weird.” Eden sat back in her seat. “I can’t even wrap my head around it. How did you guys even find this place?”

  Reaching out, Zeke turned the music back up, but not too loudly. He was enjoying the questions. “It’s become a safe haven for hunters and for, well, anyone who knows how to find it, I guess. I don’t think anyone knows who first figured it all out. The place is hard as hell to find unless you’ve been there before. You have to sort of stumble into it.”

  “Like I did.”

  “Pretty lucky, right?”

  Zeke was enjoying Eden’s awe, remembering how he felt the first time he’d entered Nowhere. Lazarus had taken him shortly after the incident. They’d stayed there for almost six months, ingratiating themselves into the script until Zeke started feeling like a Nowhere person himself. It was unnerving to live in a place where the same day played out over and over. He’d only stayed because Laz refused to leave, and Zeke didn’t feel right going off without him. They might have still been there if not for Ignatius calling with a job that no one else wanted.

  It was that call that pushed them into action and set them on the path they’d followed for almost six years. Hunting and driving and hunting some more with quick trips home until Lazarus grew restless and burdened and it all started over again.

  A few minutes later, they emerged on the other side of town. The buildings became sparser, the streets less well groomed. The shops gave way to picturesque neighborhoods that eventually became a wide swath of land marred by a single house in the distance.

  “I thought we were getting supplies,” Eden said as they turned down a long dirt road heading toward the house.

  “We are,” Lazarus said as they passed by a chain-link fence covered in No Trespassing signs and ominous warnings, with a few sigils to boot. “Welcome to Ignatius’s place.”

  A rundown farmhouse sat at the end of the gravel drive.

  Eden could see straight away the house didn’t belong in Nowhere. The rest of the town—or towns, she supposed—were generic in that white picket fence sort of way: colorful storefronts, bright signs, cloying Americana. Ignatius’s house was halfway derelict, faded gray paint, entire patches of shingles missing. A detached shop across the dirt yard boasted several rusty, broken-down vehicles with missing tires and dirty windows. She could see a classic Winnebago tucked around the back.

  The truck pulled up to the house and shuddered to a halt. Both Eden and Zeke practically leaped out. Even Lazarus seemed relieved to be free of the vehicle, stopping to roll his shoulders and neck with a pop. Eden looked up to see a shadow hovering behind the front window. A moment later, the door swung open. A lean man stepped onto the porch, crossing his brown arms over a frayed T-shirt.

  “You staying or just passin’ through?” Ignatius asked in a gravelly voice that made him sound older, even though he looked roughly the same age as Lazarus. He had close-cropped black hair and a stern expression, his dark eyes sweeping the yard as if searching for every detail.

  “Staying,” Lazarus called as he circled to the rear of the truck. He pulled down the tailgate and dodged Hades as the dog bounded off across the yard. Lazarus climbed into the bed to sort through the bags, tossing a beat-up duffel at Zeke, who caught it with a huff. He passed Eden her backpack before retrieving his own and climbing back down.

  Ignatius still stood on the porch with his arms crossed. “This the mage?” He nodded at Eden, who bit her tongue. Apparently, Lazarus had warned him. She tried not to feel offended. Mages and hunters sometimes worked together, but most still retained a healthy dose of suspicion.

  “She’s a friend,” Lazarus said without hesitation. Eden glanced his way, flashing an appreciative smile that he played off with a shrug.

  “All right.” Ignatius nodded, plainly satisfied. “I’ll put dinner on.” With that, he disappeared back into the house, leaving the others to follow.

  Zeke sidled up alongside Eden and threw a friendly arm around her shoulder. “Don’t mind him. Living in a town with a bunch of spirits doesn’t do much for his social skills.”

  “I’m starting to think that’s just a hunter thing.”

  Laughing, Zeke glanced over his shoulder at Lazarus. “Yeah, you’re probably right on that one.”

  The front door opened into a living room with dull floorboards and faded floral wallpaper. There was a hallway to the right and a staircase straight ahead. Against the stairs stood an old piano that would look right at home in an old west saloon, complete with a half-drained bottle of whiskey sitting on the keys. Lazarus walked in like he owned the place, dropping his bag at the bottom of the stairs before moving deeper into the house. Eden left her backpack and then followed Zeke down the short hall hung with paintings straight from a Bob Ross special.

  They emerged into a cramped kitchen attached to a small dining room. The appliances were left over from the eighties, all blocky and faded yellow. The round table was covered in dings and scuffs like it had been taken out of a bar. As they came in, Ignatius placed four beer bottles on the table and motioned for them to sit.

  The house was almost cozy, if a bit tattered at the edges. There was a comfortable clutter to the place, the way a grandmother might decorate. Teacups sat on a narrow shelf above the counter, lace curtains lay over the windows, and an extensive spoon collection hung in a display case above the table. She wondered if this was Ignatius’s choice of decor or if he’d simply moved into the house and left it. From the little she knew of the man, she honestly couldn’t say.

  After a quick round of introductions the boys settled in to talk. Content to sip her beer and listen, Eden sat back as Lazarus went over what happened in the church yesterday. When he got to the part about their encounter with Pastor Jackson in the basement, Eden stiffened, idly picking at the label of her bottle as Lazarus and Zeke described the scene.

  She still couldn’t shake the feeling that what she experienced was some sort of warning. It had to mean something; only Eden couldn’t figure out what. Now was as good a time as any to tell Lazarus and Zeke what happened and maybe get some answers. But what if it went wrong? They could refuse to move forward or become suspicious, asking questions about her magic that she didn’t have answers for. Maybe they would tell her it was just some fucked-up dream.

  Maybe they would be right.

  “That’s some shit, man,” Ignatius was saying. “Whoever I talked to, this pastor of yours wasn’t him. I don’t think he had any idea two spirits were haunting the joint either.”

  Zeke took a swig of beer and then set the bottle down, tapping the glass with his fingertips. “Isn’t it illegal for pastors to lie?”

  “Illegal?” Lazarus repeated with a hint of amusement in his tone. “No. Definitely not.”

  Eden leaned forward conspiratorially. “I bet it doesn’t matter anyway, considering he was dead. Ghosts don’t have to follow the law, right?”

  “Technically, their very existence breaks the laws of Purgatory,” Ignatius mused.

  Zeke furrowed his brows. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

  Soon, talk moved on to the goings-on of the wider world. Ignatius retreated to the kitchen, forming burger patties and chopping vegetables as he spoke. Eden’s stomach growled at the thought of a home-cooked meal. It had been ages since she had anything that couldn’t be grabbed from a gas station or drive-thru.

  As he worked, Ignatius told Lazarus about some hunters
they knew and the jobs they’d done recently, including putting down a banshee that had been terrorizing a summer camp in Minnesota.

  “There’s been some talk of omens up north.” Ignatius drained his beer, setting it down on the counter with a thud. He took the tray of patties and stepped outside, leaving the side door open while he prepped the grill. Returning a few moments later, he continued, “Dead cattle, mostly. Weird symbols. I think it’s just talk. Might be someone needs to go take care of a werewolf or shifter.”

  Her eyes flicked to Lazarus, who sat thoughtlessly rubbing at the stubble that dusted his jaw. Eden was worried he’d volunteer. That seemed like the sort of thing he would do. And, in a general sense, she appreciated that. If monsters and spirits were such a problem, she was glad people like Lazarus could keep them in check. But right now, Mab was in trouble, and Eden knew for sure that she lay to the east, not the north. Another detour was not an option. She’d have no choice but to set out on her own.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Lazarus looked up, his dark brow arching. Then he turned to Ignatius in the kitchen. “Call up Wiseman’s group. They’re capable.”

  “And good against things with claws!” Zeke added. “They took down that pack of shifters last year, remember?”

  Ignatius tossed his beer bottle in the trash. “I’ll give them a ring. Now, you said something about supplies? Why don’t we get that sorted? Zeke, watch the grill.”

  Standing, Lazarus motioned for Eden to follow. They went out the back door and emerged into the yard. Through the darkness, she could see they were headed toward a long, blocky building a few dozen yards or so from the house.

  They waited while Ignatius opened the padlock and completed the ward painted onto the door. It was an intricate warning sigil. If Eden had to guess, she’d say Ignatius had an accompanying sigil somewhere on his person, probably inked into his skin. It would work a lot like her connection mark, except his would flash a warning whenever this door was opened without the ward being correctly disarmed. Mab had a similar one tied to her motorcycle.