Resurrection Road

by Hannah Marae

  He took a careful step forward, setting his boot between a broken bottle and a stain of dubious origin. He thought about sending Hades to draw out the spirit, but when he looked back, Lazarus saw the dog was now sitting in the driver’s seat, panting as he peered out the window. He was on his own.

  Lazarus moved again, stepping over a tangle of clothing to stand beside the sink. At the back of the RV, he could now see a bed behind a half-opened beaded curtain. A form slumped, face-up on the bare mattress. It was a thin, scruffy-looking man wearing a sweaty T-shirt with a dark stain down the front. That definitely wasn’t Meyer. Lazarus couldn’t tell if the man was alive or dead. Was he the owner of the RV or one of the spirit’s victims?

  Lazarus turned to the sink, seeking a clean spot to grab onto while he scaled the pizza boxes that had spilled across the path. He paused as something inside the dirty basin caught his eye. Six or seven IV bags rested carelessly in the sink, all of them emptied.

  Blood bags.

  There was never a spirit at all, Lazarus realized. Meyer had found himself a vampire.

  He returned his gaze to the man on the bed. The same question still stood: vampire or victim? If the stain down the front of the man’s shirt was any indication, Lazarus would say he was the monster they were looking for. Leaning in, Laz spotted a messy ring of dried blood around the man’s slack mouth and chin.

  Definitely a vampire, then. Either the original fang or something newly made, it made no difference. Vampires were notoriously difficult to kill, especially if they’d recently fed. They didn’t need blood to survive; it just gave them super-speed, super-healing, and basically turned them into super-bastards. He’d be crazy to make an attempt, crazy to do anything but back out of the trailer and get Zeke and Ignatius before the fang awoke.

  Then again . . .

  The vampire was asleep, and Lazarus was ten feet away, ready to end him with a knife to the heart. He took a step, drawing the spelled blade and gripping it tightly in his palm. One shot. He had one chance at making this the smoothest hunt of his life. Moving through the RV, Lazarus raised the blade high, keeping the sleeping vampire in his sights.

  His foot caught on something jutting out from beneath the table. Glass shattered, magnified in the quiet darkness.

  “Shit.” Lazarus looked up at the same moment the vamp opened his eyes. Their gazes met, the vampire staring with eyes like chips of coal. “Shit.”

  The vampire tore himself from the bed, black claws sprouting from his nail beds, shredding the mattress as he propelled himself forward. Lazarus fought the urge to take a step back, to run out the door to Zeke and the others. It wouldn’t do him any good. He’d never make it in time. Instead, he widened his stance and raised his fists, the spelled blade reverse-gripped in his right hand.

  The creature wasted no time. He charged, tearing through the beaded curtain. A rattling sound filled the RV as the beads went flying, a thousand glittering projectiles that threw Lazarus off-balance.

  Raising his knife to slash at the vampire’s core, Lazarus felt a chill pass through him. A cloud of smoke gathered, red eyes blazing in the black. Enraged, the vampire paid no mind to the partially intangible hellhound that stood in his path. Hades snarled, lunging for the fang’s arm as a set of claws reached for Lazarus, brushing over the front of his shirt. He ducked back as the vampire growled, batting at the hellhound. Hades anticipated the move, erupting into smoke, and then rematerialized on the other side.

  Grinning, Lazarus swiped the blade across the man’s chest, opening up a bloody slice and, hopefully, sapping at the fang’s strength. He ducked beneath a wild blow, the vampire growing desperate as Hades wrenched him to the ground. Putting all his weight behind the blade, Lazarus buried his knife in the vampire’s heart.

  He missed, the blade sliding a fraction too high.

  The vampire curled back, hissing in pain. His grip on the knife lost, Lazarus stumbled back as the fang broke free from Hades. Clutching his ruined arm, he collided with Lazarus, driving him to the floor. The detritus crushed beneath him, Lazarus managed to get his hand around the vamp’s throat, long white fangs snapping bare inches above his face.

  With a muffled curse, he reached for his gun.

  Eden hovered close to Zeke as they walked away from the camp.

  The tent was a bust. There was nothing there but a rumpled sleeping bag and an alarming number of animal bones. Zeke claimed it was due to the dark energies surrounding a poltergeist, but they both knew better. There was something desperately wrong about this place.

  Next, they moved to the outskirts of the camp, where the trailer sat derelict. As the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the shadows grew, a feeling of claustrophobia spread over the field, the miles shrinking down into this small clearing. The moon was rising, and in its light, Eden could see a coyote prowling a short distance away. Just the sight of Ignatius made her feel better.

  When they reached the trailer, Zeke led the way around the back. The door was closed, latched tight and padlocked shut, and Eden couldn’t help but feel it should stay that way.

  Footsteps sounded beside her. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Ignatius shift back into human form.

  “What do you think, Ig?” Zeke slid the duffel off his shoulder and tossed it to Ignatius, who dug out a set of clothes and quickly dressed. “Should we open it?”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “What about the spirit?” Eden pointed out, taking a step back.

  “I’m not sure there even is a spirit.” Ignatius rolled his shoulders, grabbing the blade that Zeke thrust in his direction. “And if there is, it’s not in there.”

  “Then what’s inside?” Eden thought back to all those animal bones piled in the tent. A bad feeling rose inside her chest, her throat burning.

  “Only one way to find out,” Zeke chirped. He jiggled the padlock and sighed. “Do you mind?”

  Eden stepped up to the door. She ignited the small sigil inked onto her knuckle. She touched the tattoo to the lock with just a wisp of power, jumping as it popped open with a click.

  She moved aside while Zeke unlatched the door. He lowered it and stepped back, holding his knife ready. Sipping in a breath, Eden prepared for the worst, waiting for some sort of creature or spirit to come scrambling out.

  Nothing happened.

  The waning light of the day did little to illuminate the trailer. Eden could see only a few feet deep before shadows obscured the interior. There could have been anything inside. Or nothing.

  “Hold on,” Zeke said, digging into the duffel. “I got a light somewhere.”

  Pulling back the sleeve of her leather jacket, Eden empowered a sigil on her inner wrist. Illumination. The mark flared to life, bathing the trailer in light.

  The floor was a mess of rusty stains and bloody footprints, smeared handprints running up the walls. Three figures lay prone on their backs, swathed in torn clothing, their chests rising and falling with weak breaths.

  Eden started forward but faltered as someone grabbed her hard by the arm.

  “Zeke.” She wrenched away. “These people need help.”

  “It’s too late for them.” Ignatius came up behind them, lips curled in disgust.

  Turning back to the trailer, Eden studied the figures: two men and a woman, frail and broken. Each of them appeared to be asleep. It was only when Eden looked closer that she noticed the blood running down their chins, wrists and necks covered in bloody punctures. Her stomach churned.

  “Look.” Ignatius nodded at a thin man, skin mottled and waxy. “That’s Meyer. He’s been turned.”

  Beside her, Zeke nodded. “Ig is right. It’s too late.” He looked at the shifter. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a vampire.”

  “A vampire,” Ignatius added, “and a goddamn hive in the making.”

  “What do we do?” Eden asked.

  “We put them down.” Ignatius’s voice was stern. If he bore any regret over his friend being turned, he hid
it well. “Then, we go find the bastard that turned them.”

  A gunshot cried out in the dark. Eden jumped. Her heart pounded, adrenaline making her limbs feel hot and loose. She turned to Zeke, who stared into the distance with wide eyes.

  “Laz. . . .”

  An angry hiss sounded behind them. Eden whirled, shining her light to reveal the three newly born vampires had woken.

  Lazarus went slack as the vampire collapsed on top of him. Head thumping to the floor, he breathed in ragged spurts, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. After he caught his breath, he heaved the vampire, dead from a bullet to the heart, to the side.

  “We did it,” he said to Hades, who sat nearby, black muzzle wet with blood. Now that it was over, Lazarus could admit he was worried for a minute, convinced this was the end.

  A sharp pain lanced across his chest as he pushed to his feet. Raising trembling fingers to his collarbone, Lazarus probed at three shallow slices where the vampire had caught him with his talons. His shirt was wet with blood, but he still considered himself lucky. If it’d been teeth, then he’d be done for. All it took was a bite for the change to begin.

  The proximity to disaster scared him, but he tried not to dwell on it. Hades shifted toward him, licking at his fingers with a whine. Wounds aside, Lazarus realized he felt great, riding the hunter’s high, basking in victory. He’d taken out a vampire, and he’d done it, more or less, on his own. For the first time in weeks, he was sure of himself, like his existence brought something of value to the world.

  Like he had been brought back for a reason.

  Hades whined again, and Lazarus chuckled at the absurdity of it all. He bent down and pulled his blade from the vampire’s chest, wiping it on his blood-stained shirt. “Cheer up, Hades. We did it. Let’s go tell—”

  The others.

  Why hadn’t they come running at the sound of the gunshot?

  Scrambling over the mounds of trash, Lazarus stumbled out of the RV into the cool night air. He could hear a scuffle somewhere in the darkness, labored grunts slashed through with animal shrieks.

  Behind him, Hades erupted from the RV, smoking toward the trailer. Lazarus wasted no time following. He sprinted across the campsite. A vicious growl filled the air, and he hoped to god it was Ignatius and not something else.

  Lazarus came around the corner to find Zeke and Ignatius tangled with a pair of vampires, a third lying on the ground with her throat ripped out. Eden was nowhere to be found. Quickly he scanned the area, afraid to see her bleeding out on the ground. But there was no sign. Struck with the awful idea that she may have been carried off by a fourth vampire, Lazarus almost took off running. But a few yards away, Zeke was holding back a fang that had pinned him against the trailer, furiously clawing despite the bloody slashes that marred his own body. Ignatius was darting around the other, nipping and growling and leading her away, barely staying out of reach of talons and fangs.

  He had to make a choice, and he had to do it fast.

  “Find her!” Lazarus shouted to Hades, who collapsed into a cloud that rapidly snaked away from the camp and into the night.

  Lazarus charged. Zeke’s vamp had managed to disarm him, driving his back into the trailer’s side, his knife on the ground useless. The vampire was poised over Zeke’s throat when Lazarus sunk his blade into his heart.

  He pulled the convulsing vamp aside, sending him toppling to the ground. Gasping, Zeke collapsed, breathing heavily, a smear of blood across his chest. But Lazarus couldn’t stop. Not yet. Turning, he watched the coyote wrestle the remaining vamp to the ground, a river of blood spurting from his open throat. He strode over, flipping the knife in his hand. Going from one to the other, Lazarus pierced the other fangs’ hearts, just in case they managed to heal ripped up throats and disembowelment.

  While Ignatius shifted, Lazarus checked on Zeke, who leaned against the trailer, catching his breath. Giving him a quick appraisal, Lazarus nodded at the blood that drenched his shirt. “Is it yours?”

  “Think it’s the other guy’s.”

  Lazarus exhaled through his teeth. “What the hell happened?”

  “It was a hive,” Ignatius replied. “They were newly turned. Locked up in the trailer.”

  Zeke straightened. “Your shot woke them up. Did you . . .?”

  “I took care of the one who turned them,” Lazarus answered quickly. “Where’s Eden?”

  “I don’t know.” Zeke swept the hair from his eyes. “As soon as the fighting started, I turned to tell her to get back, and she was gone.”

  An unsettled feeling crawled up Lazarus’s spine. A few days ago, he might’ve thought she’d decided to turn tail and run. It would’ve fit in with his idea of mages. But now he knew better. Something was wrong. He took a step, scanning the dark for some sort of sign. When Hades barked, Lazarus nearly jumped out of his skin.

  He wasted no time, bolting away from the campsite and into the dark plains.

  When he came around the side of the trailer, a light shone in the distance. Pushing his speed, Lazarus sprinted toward the all-too-familiar galaxy of gray and blue light. This time, it was nearly consumed by red lightning strikes, a bloody storm piercing through the night. When Hades came into view, the dog was in his shepherd form, the fur on the back of his neck puffed up as he barked frantically at something curled up on the ground.

  “What the hell, asshole?” Mab croaked. Her fingernails raked at the hand that gripped her neck. The connection sigil on her collarbone flared, pulsing with a ruby red light.

  The man stared at her, eyes like hot coals. Mab’s legs kicked helplessly, her mind screaming as her air supply was mercilessly cut off. She kept waiting for the darkness to close on her vision’s edge, for consciousness to fade. But it never happened. She hung there, clawing her captor’s hand to a bloody pulp, actually growing bored with the situation.

  Apparently, death had its perks.

  “Listen,” Mab ground out, “are we gonna sit like this all day? Because eventually, I’m gonna claw my way through your fuckin’ hand, and then you’ll really be sorry.”

  The man’s eyes swiveled toward the bloody mess before him, as if he’d only just noticed. Embers intensifying, he tilted his head to the side. And, just like that, the wound was completely healed.

  “Oh, come on,” Mab groaned, dropping her arms to her sides. “Seriously? What are you?”

  “You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice ancient and graveled and void of all emotion.

  He released his grip. Mab landed squarely on her feet, apparently nimbler in death than in life. She took a few steps back—that seemed prudent—before crossing her arms over her chest. The connection sigil faded and went out.

  “Seriously, though,” she told him. “What are you?”

  The man stood straight, posture perfect, his hands now stiff at his sides. He wore a suit, which was a little weird, his black hair perfectly slicked back. The eyes, blazing red just a moment ago, faded into an ordinary brown.

  “What are you?” he shot back, his voice becoming more human. Hoarse, almost jagged on the edges. “You don’t belong here.”

  Mab popped her gum. “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling.” She looked around, noticing the spirits floating down the path now gave them a wide berth. “So, what are you, the grim reaper?”

  “Sometimes,” he replied. “Not today. How did you get here?”

  “Sometimes—seriously? You’re really a reaper?” Mab looked him over, taking in this strange man who was so without flaw he seemed otherworldly. “Where’s your pitchfork?”

  “It’s a scythe,” he answered. “How did—”

  “Where is it, then?”

  The man held up his hand to show a black mark on his palm, a dark line stretching from his thumb to his pinky. “Now, will you please tell me how you got here?”

  “Some bitch threw me in.”

  “Some . . . bitch?” the reaper repeated, his brows tenting like he didn’t quite understand.

 
; “Yep.”

  “Could you . . . elaborate?”

  Mab launched into her story with a dramatically heavy sigh, carefully avoiding unsavory words like blood magic. “Basically, I made a deal,” she explained. “It was a stupid, fucked-up deal, and I guess now I’m paying for it in the Good Night. It’s messed up, right?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated. Didn’t he have any better lines?

  “Yeah, you keep saying that.” Mab snorted, wondering if this reaper had a screw loose.

  “No, it’s—” He frowned, turning to look at the forest. “I came to this place because I sensed the balance was disturbed. Something had been thrust into Purgatory, something that didn’t belong.”

  Mab scrunched up her face. “Well, I don’t know about the thrusting, but yeah, I guess that’s me.”

  “All right.” The reaper turned to leave, taking a few long strides down the path.

  Staring at his receding form, Mab threw her hands up in the air. Was this guy for real? “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, stomping off after him.

  Slowly, he turned. “I sensed a disturbance in the balance. I have seen the cause.” He moved to leave again.

  Mab lashed out, grabbing him by the arm. “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

  Sighing, like he was supremely annoyed by this whole situation, the reaper pulled his arm away. “By your admission, you’re here by your own hand.” He spoke slowly, giving the words time to sink in.

  Balking, Mab was momentarily at a loss for words. “Yeah, but—but how was I supposed to know the price was my soul? That’s not fair. It’s bullshit!”

  He shrugged. “You should have read the contract.”

  “I did, asshole.” She crossed her arms. “There was nothing in it about my soul. How can a mage even do that, huh? Last I heard, veil magic wasn’t a thing.”

  At this, he paused, finally seeming interested. “I had assumed you had dealings with another reaper. You are correct. No mortal can touch a soul, much less cast it through the veil.”