Resurrection Road

by Hannah Marae

  He had never been healed by a mage.

  Was it always like this?

  He tried not to think of her warm hand pressed against his chest, her slender wrist in his grasp. Why had she rushed out of the room afterward, an almost stricken expression on her face? And why did he have this awful feeling that it was his fault?

  Sighing, Lazarus stood. He cranked on the shower and undressed, stepping beneath the cold spray. For as long as he could bear, Lazarus stood in the frigid water, the light inside him slowly leaking away. When he stepped out, he felt heavier. Burdened.

  In other words, normal.

  He dried off and pulled his clothes back on. Then he braced himself for whatever lay on the other side of the door.

  ——

  Zeke and Ignatius hadn’t moved, the latter snoring with his arm slung over his eyes. Looking from the TV, Zeke pushed to his elbows. “What’s going on? Eden left, said—” He eyeballed the new set of scars on Lazarus’s chest. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah,” Lazarus replied, digging a clean shirt from his duffel bag. “It might’ve been worse than I let on.”

  “Shit, from the look of those scars, I’d say you’re right.” He shook his head, if not in surprise then disappointment. “You have to stop doing that, Laz. You gotta let people help you.”

  Gesturing at his chest, Lazarus said, “What do you think I just did?”

  Zeke snorted. “Knowing you, you only let her do it so she’d leave you alone.” He turned back to the television, the remote cradled on his chest.

  “Did she say where she was going?” Lazarus sat on the bed, pointedly ignoring Zeke’s unnervingly accurate remark.

  “Said she was getting some air,” Zeke replied. “Guess healing takes a bit out of a mage.”

  “I guess.” Lazarus wasn’t sure he bought that. The look on her face, the way she stared at him, that wasn’t exhaustion. That was something else. He stood. “She’ll be back sooner or later; why don’t you go share the bed with Ignatius and let her have this one?” To save cash, they’d only gotten the one room tonight.

  Zeke grunted his assent and hauled himself up, grabbing his stuff and tossing it on the bed beside Ignatius, who rolled over with something close to a growl. “What about you?”

  “I’ll sleep in the truck.” Lazarus was relieved when the idea came to him. A few hours of solitude would do him right, give him the chance to clear his head. God knew he needed it.

  Zeke waved as Lazarus left the motel room. Outside, Laz looked for the mage, thinking he’d find her walking the exterior corridor or maybe holed up by the vending machines.

  She was nowhere to be found, and Lazarus couldn’t decide if he should be worried. If his worry was justified. So what if she walked off? She was certainly free to do so; he couldn’t even blame her after all the running around and random jobs he’d put her through. It wouldn’t be a good idea, not with her sigil on the fritz, but Lazarus knew from experience that a good idea could be a lot harder to follow than a bad one.

  Making a choice to ignore his concern, Lazarus took the stairs to the first floor. Emerging out to the parking lot, he made for the truck. As he opened the driver’s side door, he spotted her standing near the lot’s edge, facing away from him.

  His first instinct was to duck into the truck and pretend he hadn’t seen her. Instead, he stood there, transfixed by the woman standing in the distance.

  She didn’t look like she was running. Eden turned her face to gaze at the stars with her bare arms pulled tightly around her. Even from here, Lazarus could see the pinkish glow, a halo around her heart. She was otherworldly. Angelic.

  Like something out of a dream.

  Eden pressed her hand to the bathroom mirror. The small room was like a sauna after her long, scorching shower. She breathed in, holding the warmth in her lungs, trying to replicate that feeling when she pushed her hand against Lazarus’s chest and poured her magic into him.

  The moment was beautiful. Broken flesh mended beneath her touch, a life force rejuvenated by her hand. It was exhilarating. It made her want to sing, to dance, to twine her fingers through his hair and brush against the possibility.

  But there was something else there, something hiding within the forgotten recesses of her mind. Standing there, in this very room, Eden was struck by the feeling that she’d done this before. A firm grip circling her wrist, her hand pressed against a heaving chest, power slipping out of her like sand from an hourglass.

  Eden was out the door before she realized. She’d always been good at running.

  She wiped the condensation from the glass, turning away from her own reflection. After drying off, she put on a pair of cut-off shorts and one of Mab’s old band tees. Hopefully, their next stop would have adequate laundry facilities.

  When she stepped out, the room was still quiet. Zeke lay curled in a pile of blankets, but Ignatius was up, sitting on the edge of the bed sipping from a glass of water.

  “Morning,” he said good-naturedly. “Early riser?”

  Eden smiled as she slipped past. “Eager, mostly. And in desperate need of a long, hot shower.”

  “I’ll second that.” Ignatius downed his water and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower cranked on.

  Sitting on the bed with her legs folded, Eden attacked her hair with a brush. She had just tamed the last snarl when she noticed a cloud of black smoke seeping in from under the door frame. The smoke curled up toward the ceiling, clinging there as the doorknob jiggled. Eden looked over as Lazarus clumsily opened the door, one huge hand precariously clinging to a pair of paper coffee cups.

  “Sorry about Hades,” Lazarus said as the door swung closed behind him. He crossed the small room, boots tapping against the worn floorboards. “He has no manners.”

  Eden felt her cheeks go pink, her body hot and clammy in a not entirely unpleasant way. She wondered if Lazarus had anything to say about last night. Had he danced with the same lingering thoughts?

  When he offered her one of the coffee cups, Eden took it gratefully. Maybe it was a peace offering or just a kind gesture, but when her lips touched the rim, and she tasted the caramel-drenched sweetness, she knew Lazarus had at least thought of her.

  “Thank you,” she said. Above, Hades floated toward her, the smoke folding over on itself until a black dog smiled happily on the bed’s end. “Good morning to you too.”

  Grinning, Lazarus set down the other coffee cup and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Wake-up call, Zeke.” He spoke loudly, nudging the bedframe with his boot. A whiny groan was all he got in response. Shrugging, Lazarus produced a shockingly colorful can from his pocket, one of those toxic energy drinks Zeke loved. He tossed it near Zeke, then went to sit beside Hades at the end of Eden’s bed.

  She watched, weirdly fascinated, as one of Zeke’s tattooed hands emerged from the pile of blankets. “Oh, thank God,” he said as his fingers closed around the sweating can. He sat up, throwing back the sheets and cracking open the energy drink to take a long, painful-looking swig.

  “Give him ten minutes,” Lazarus said. “He’ll be spilling out energy and quoting punk-rock lyrics.”

  Eden laughed. “About time too. We need to get back on the road before a werewolf or something falls into your lap. What’s the plan?”

  One of Lazarus’s dark brows arched. “I thought the plan was that there was no plan. We’re just following this”—he gestured at the sigil faintly glowing beneath her T-shirt’s collar—“until Mab shows up.”

  “Admittedly, that might not have been the best idea.” Eden winced. “I think maybe we need a plan. A real one.”

  “I like plans,” Zeke piped in. “What’s it gonna be, Laz? What’s the plan?”

  Lazarus made a face. “Why am I the one making the plan?”

  “Because you’re the grown-up.” Zeke rolled his eyes. “And”—he pointed at Eden—“her plan would just be to go out and touch another spirit, and we all know you won’t like that.”

&nb
sp; “It’s true,” Eden told him. “That’s the only plan I’ve got.” She grabbed a hair tie off the nightstand and wove her wet hair into a sodden braid.

  The bathroom door opened, and Ignatius came out. “Hey,” he said when he saw everyone was awake and gathered. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I spent some time thinking it over,” Lazarus said. Everyone settled in to listen, passing around a handful of half-stale cereal bars Zeke found in the truck’s glovebox. “But Eden’s going to like it too much.”

  Eden perked up. She sat beside Lazarus, her fingers wrapped around the warm coffee cup, mind itching to get back on the road. “Go on,” she urged.

  He sighed, reaching up to sweep back his dark hair. Stalling. “We have no idea where your friend is except that you think it’s a forest. It’s dark. Cold. It’s not enough to go on. But . . .” Lazarus hesitated as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Maybe we could get you to have another vision.”

  “Yes!” Eden leaned forward, lightly gripping Lazarus’s forearm. “I do like that idea. You’re brilliant. Let’s do it.”

  He groaned. “See, I knew you’d be too excited.”

  “How is another vision going to help?” Ignatius wondered. He took a cereal bar from Zeke and kicked back on the bed, pulling off pieces to share with Hades.

  Lazarus frowned. “We don’t know if it will. But maybe if she maintains longer contact with the spirit, she’ll be able to see more. I didn’t like the idea before, but if these visions are going to start happening without rhyme or reason . . .”

  “Might as well try to get a little info out of ’em,” Zeke finished.

  “And”—Ignatius tapped his finger against his hollow cheek—“if you prompt it yourselves, at least it’ll be in a controlled situation.”

  “I really don’t like it,” Lazarus repeated.

  “But it’s worth a try!” Eden grinned. “It’s like you said: we can’t just keep going with nothing to go on. So what do we do?” She paced the narrow space between the beds, dodging Lazarus’s legs as she walked by. “We’ll have to go out and get a ghost, right?”

  Lazarus rolled his eyes and slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “Yeah, let me call and order one like a pizza.”

  “I’m sorry.” Eden crossed her arms. “You’ve found two since we left California. I was under the impression they practically grew on trees.”

  Zeke swallowed a bite of his cereal bar and then passed the rest to Ignatius. “It sure feels like it.”

  “Think it would work with a spirit trapped in a mirror?” Ignatius offered. “I’ve got one sitting in the trunk.”

  Eden’s lips curled into a grimace. “In the trunk,” she repeated. “Is that . . . normal for hunters?”

  “He’s buried in Oklahoma. Thought I’d head up that way after checking on Meyer.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Lazarus said. “It’d save us some trouble, at least.”

  Ignatius gave a curt nod, climbing to his feet. “One spirit coming up.”

  He was halfway out the door when Lazarus called, “It’s not malevolent, right?”

  “Not yet,” the coyote shifter called back.

  ——

  Eden ushered them out the door and into the truck before Lazarus had a chance to change his mind. They drove away from the motel and the highway, finding a quiet stretch of road with no one around. Lazarus clutched the wheel like it was a lifeline, stealing furtive glances at Ignatius’s Nova in the rearview. Frankly, Eden wouldn’t be surprised if he hit the brakes and threw them around, turning back the way they came. She’d put up a hell of a fight, but she wouldn’t be surprised.

  When he did stop, it was at the end of a long road. There was nothing around them but grassy fields beneath a cerulean sky marred by a lonely wisp of cloud. Zeke opened the door and hopped out, venturing back to talk to Ignatius, who was pulling in behind them.

  “You sure about this?” Lazarus released the wheel and turned off the truck.

  She could understand his concern, especially in light of what Zeke told her. Lazarus had experience with spirits in the worst way possible. But, somehow, it was different for her. Maybe it was the mark or the fact that she was a mage. It was like the touch amplified her magic, sending her sight to wherever Mab was. She wanted this. She needed it. But even if she didn’t, Eden knew she’d go through with it anyway. She had to for Mab.

  “I’ve done it three times already, Lazarus.” She slid down the seat toward the open passenger door. “It’ll be fine.”

  His face hardened, and he looked down at his hands before meeting her gaze. “Eden, I—”

  “Are you guys coming, or what?” Zeke hollered from behind the truck. Beside him, Ignatius had a bag slung over his shoulder, and Hades was off wisping into the sky in a black cloud.

  Eden shrugged and hopped out of the truck, shutting the door behind her. She ventured a few yards into the field, shading her eyes against the sun. “How far do we need to go?”

  ——

  They settled on a stretch of land out of sight of the road. When Lazarus deemed they’d gone far enough, Ignatius hunched on the ground, unzipping and rooting through the bag he carried.

  “Do you think we’ll have to release the spirit to make this work?” Zeke knelt beside Ignatius, grabbing a spelled dagger from the open bag. He poked at the tip with his finger.

  If they needed to, they could disrupt the sigil holding the spirit in the glass. This should, in theory, set it loose without sending it back to the Good Night. “If that’s what we have to do, we’ll do it.”

  “Absolutely not,” Lazarus cut in with a shake of his head, black waves falling over his face before he shoved them back with his hand. “We’re not freeing a ghost.”

  Irritation simmered in her chest, and she closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples. “Lazarus,” Eden began, “if we’re not willing to do whatever it takes, then what’s the point?”

  He crossed his tattooed arms. “That’s a terrible way of thinking. If you can’t go all in, you might as well not do it at all? Seriously?”

  “What’s it gonna do, huh?” Eden threw up her hands. “Haunt a field? Maybe it’ll call an Uber and go someplace that actually has people.”

  Brows knit, Lazarus opened his mouth to reply, but Ignatius cut him off. “Enough. Both of you. Jesus.” He straightened and turned toward Eden. Lazarus shot a withering glance at the back of his head and then crossed his arms again.

  Ignatius gathered them in a loose circle, about three yards apart, with Eden in the middle. She held an old compact in her hands, a relic from some makeup brand she’d never heard of. There was a ghost inside this mirror, and Eden imagined she could feel it trembling in her hands, dark energy rising like a mist.

  To either side, Zeke and Ignatius stood armed and ready. Zeke carried the same shotgun he used at the drive-in—loaded with rock salt shells—while Ignatius loosely clutched an iron blade. Just in case, she reminded herself. Only if the spirit overpowered her, flaying her soul from her flesh and ferrying it into the Good Night. Before her, Lazarus stood. He wore a pair of old aviators, a channeling coin already feeding power into the sigil on his palm. When Eden met his eyes, his hard expression softened into one of reassurance, his lips pulling into a hesitant half-smile as he nodded.

  Looking down, Eden opened the compact. The glass inside was clouded and dirty, the sigil like a bullseye at its center. She closed her eyes and pressed the pad of her finger onto the mark.

  The heat evaporated from the air, the skin of her bare arms prickling with goosebumps. Eden opened her eyes, exhaling a cloudy puff from her lips. Lazarus was no longer there.

  The grassy field was replaced by a stand of gray trees. Turning, she saw the sky was black, the world around her lit by millions and millions of stars, more than she’d ever seen.

  This time it was different. Before, she had seen only flashes. Feelings. Like a highlight reel of mundane clips. Mab waking up on the ground or walking do
wn the path, speaking words that she didn’t understand. It was like Eden had been viewing someone else’s dream, but this time, it was real. She could feel the frost biting into her skin, could sense the preternatural stillness of this place. Was she still looking through Mab’s eyes? Was this what she saw? What she felt?

  Eden raised her hand, turning it over in front of her face. It was her own, pale and trembling, the nails still painted electric blue. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t be here, not really. The sigil on her chest flared pink, connecting her to Mab, apparently allowing her to see what she saw, but it couldn’t bring her there. Not really.

  Her ears pricked as a voice disturbed the stillness—a muttering off through the trees. Eden pushed forward, slipping between slender gray trunks and thickets of black leaves. On the other side was a narrow clearing, a worn path stretching in either direction.

  “Eden?”

  She turned, and there stood Mab with her arms loose at her sides, a leather jacket draped over her shoulder. Her brown eyes were wide, mouth agape as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. As if she’d seen a ghost.

  “Mab!” Eden rushed forward, throwing her arms around her friend. To her relief, Mab hugged her back, cold arms wrapping around her shoulders. When they pulled away, Eden was dismayed to see her face had gone stern.

  “Are you dead?” Mab asked, honey voice low and serious.

  Eden shook her head. “What? No! I’m trying to find you!” She pulled back her shirt, exposing the tattoo that burned brighter than ever. “Look.”

  Mab sucked on her teeth, looking off into the forest. Eden flinched as she stepped away, muttering a curse under her breath.

  “I don’t understand,” Eden said. “You said you were in trouble. That you needed help.”

  “I never said that.” Mab scowled. “All I wanted was to say goodbye.”