by Hannah Marae
Eden jumped as Mab’s eyes flicked open. “Mab. Shit, you had me scared for a minute. What are you doing here?”
Mab just lay there, staring at the sky. A sinking feeling clenched in Eden’s stomach. She jumped as Mab stood, eyes blank, floating to her feet. With her arms loose at her sides, she turned and started shambling back toward the path.
“No, no, no. No way, Mab! Don’t do this to me.” Eden rushed after her. She waved her hand in front of Mab’s face. “Come on, Mab. I need you.” Tears welling in her eyes threatened to spill free. How could you cry in Purgatory? It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.
She grabbed Mab’s hand, intertwining the cold fingers with her own. “I need you, Mab. Ever since you found me that night. I—you’re everything to me! I’ve never stopped needing you.” The hand broke free, and so did her tears. Eden’s fingers flicked up to cover her eyes. All she wanted to do was collapse on the ground. Lazarus and Zeke were gone. Mab was gone. What else was left for her now?
“Eden?”
She looked up. Mab had stopped walking and turned to face her, eyes bright, her blank expression replaced by one of confusion. She swept over, wrapping her arms around Eden. They stood there for a long time, cold bodies entwined in the Good Night, and Eden could almost pretend there was nothing else. That nothing had changed.
“What happened?” Mab pulled away, searching Eden’s face. “I was just . . .” she trailed off, looking toward the side of the path. Then the realization seemed to hit her. “It started, didn’t it?”
Eden wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “What started?”
“I was slipping,” Mab answered. She squared her shoulders and shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “Becoming one of them.”
“A spirit.” Eden could hardly bring herself to say it, couldn’t believe it was real. She had crossed nearly the entire country for Mab, had crossed realms. This couldn’t be the end. Not yet.
“Yeah,” Mab said. “Pyke said it’d happen. That I’d grow ‘at home with this place’ and become like the others. It’s how I’ll move on to the next plane.”
Eden shook her head. “You’re not moving on from anything, Mab. I’m gonna get you out. I have a plan.”
Mab pushed away. “No. Fuck no, Eden.” She turned and walked a few paces up the path before cursing and circling back. “Goddamn it, I told you not to look for me. It was my deal. You can’t pay the price.”
“No one should pay the price,” Eden protested, voice cracking. “Especially not you. Not after all you’ve done.” She took a breath. “I already had my second chance, Mab. It’s your turn.”
“Like hell it is.”
“You can’t stop me.” Eden squared her shoulders and took a breath. She grabbed Mab’s hands in her own. “When you get out of here, go find Florence. Be happy. Promise me, Mab.”
“Eden.” Mab stared at her hard. Helpless. Eden pulled away, their fingers grazing as the forest slipped away.
Eden opened her eyes in time to see the galaxies fading across the yellowed shower tiles. Groaning, she pulled herself up to sit. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t tell if her body was tired or her soul. The world felt alien, like it was already casting her out. Like she no longer belonged.
Eden climbed out of the tub and stood in front of the mirror. She took the compact and held it open, smashing the mirror against the faucet. Glass exploded into the sink. The spirit emerged, dissipating into the air as it was sent back to the Good Night.
Heading outside, Eden stopped to grab the energy drink off the table and her phone from the bed, not bothering to check the notifications.
Lazarus patrolled the aisles, shotgun in his hands, and a pair of aviators perched on the bridge of his nose. He walked past colorful cereal boxes and precarious stacks of canned goods, looping by the cold cases to make another pass.
They’d been about to leave the coffee shop when he overheard someone whispering about ghosts. His interest piqued, he eavesdropped as the old woman in the booth behind him confessed to her friend that she believed her late husband’s spirit still walked the earth. Typically, Lazarus would be wary about such claims. If he went chasing after every ghost story he heard, he’d never have a day’s rest. But something about the woman’s quiet urgency spoke to him, the way her friend chuckled nervously and dismissed her claims.
When Zeke returned from the bathroom, they packed up and left, following the old woman to the parking lot. There, they introduced themselves. The woman, Perl, thanked them profusely and led them across town to a little mom-and-pop grocery store with boarded windows.
Zeke was up front now, chatting with Perl by the cash registers and gulping down an energy drink in an iridescent can. He waved meekly as Lazarus passed by, trying to disengage himself from Perl’s stories about her “asshole husband who wouldn’t stop haunting her.”
“Better him than me,” Laz muttered to himself as he rounded the corner into another aisle.
The walking felt good, even if it was aimless. Especially because it was aimless. Lazarus couldn’t stop replaying last night in his head. Though he stood among the endless rows of shiny chip bags and colorful jars of salsa, he only saw himself in the motel room, the argument flaring around him. Lazarus turned it over in his mind, compulsively inspecting every facet, unearthing each mistake and all the ways he could have been better.
God, that would keep him busy for hours.
He completed another loop around the store, ignoring Zeke’s pleading gaze as Perl droned on about her husband’s affinity for cheap whiskey. Checking his watch, he realized he’d already been at it an hour. Though he itched to check his phone, Lazarus kept it safe in his pocket. What would he even say: Sorry for being an asshole? Wish we could save your friend? He dreamed up a thousand ways to reach out, but he couldn’t figure out how to make himself do it. How to fix things.
And if he couldn’t fix what was broken, what was the point of anything?
A sudden chill stirred him from his thoughts. He looked up, expecting to see Zeke raiding one of the cold cases that sat nearby. Instead, he came face-to-face with the wavering form of a spirit.
“I’ll be damned,” Lazarus muttered to himself. It seemed Perl was right. There really was a ghost.
Across the store, Perl shrieked. “Earl!” Zeke tried to stop her as she came stumbling down the aisle. “Get the hell out of here, Earl! You’re not welcome!”
Shit. Lazarus moved into Perl’s path, positioning himself between her and the ghost. Earl, for his part, looked over, the expression on his face blank. Just a minor spirit, Lazarus realized. He probably had strong ties to this place, ties that kept him from moving on. This should be a piece of cake.
A crash sounded behind him. Lazarus turned to see Perl had shattered a bottle and was now brandishing the broken end, intent on chasing Earl down. This was getting out of hand.
Lazarus reached into his pocket for a channeling coin and pressed it to his palm. Then he stepped forward, grabbed Earl by the face, and guided his blank eyes into the sunglasses sitting on his nose. The spirit dissolved with barely a whisper, sinking into the glass.
“Well, holy shit,” Perl murmured, dropping the broken bottle she still clutched in her hands. She spat. “Good riddance.”
“Right,” Lazarus said. “Is he buried in town? We can head over and lay Earl here to rest.”
Perl huffed. “Rest? Rest is all he did in this life. But if it’ll get him out of here for good . . .”
“It will,” Zeke promised eagerly.
“All right, boys.” Perl turned and hobbled back toward the front of the building. “Cemetery’s across town. Let’s go.”
The driver let Eden out at the end of Cadence Lane.
She paid with a spelled card and hopped out. No sooner than she’d closed the door did the car zoom off, leaving her alone on the dead-end street.
Dead end, she thought.
She walked down the road, coming to a stop in front of the manor. S
ettling onto the sidewalk, Eden opened the energy drink, taking a sip before sitting back to watch the house.
It felt strange to be here, at the end. Strangely freeing. Eden knew precisely what she needed to do, and now there was no one to stop her.
Taking another sip, Eden cringed. She didn’t know how Zeke drank these things, much less in the quantity that he did. It felt like sucking down liquid sugar.
When she was ready, she stood, leaving the can on the sidewalk. Eden crossed the street and walked up the driveway to the front door. A breeze ruffled past, and she paused, closing her eyes, trying to take in the scents and sounds of everything that meant living, everything that grounded her here, in this place. Then, steeling herself, she stepped up to the door and gave it three sharp knocks.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing the same elfin woman from the festival.
“Can I help you?”
Eden bit her lip. It wasn’t too late to turn around and take a different path. To find Lazarus and Zeke, to live a life. But she had seen Mab in the Good Night, drifting, helpless, her body ageless, forever waiting in the vault. And she couldn’t let that happen.
“I want to make a deal with Josephine Laurent.”
The acolyte tilted her head, her eyes going blank for a moment. Then they snapped back, settling onto Eden. “Come with me.”
Through the house they walked to the same parlor as the previous night. The acolyte ushered Eden inside, bidding her sit and wait. She obeyed, perching on the edge of the sofa, breath coming in slow waves. Laurent took her time, most likely a power play to make Eden nervous. But it didn’t matter. Eden felt steady as a river, resolute and thundering down her path.
When Josephine finally swept into the room, Eden stood, eager to get it over with. “I want to make a deal,” she said, ignoring the mage’s attempts at pointless pleasantry.
A blonde brow arched. “What sort of deal could you possibly wish to make?”
“You know exactly what I want,” Eden replied.
Laurent sighed as if the humor had been sucked from the room. “You wish to trade your soul for Mab’s. That’s quite noble.”
“But is it possible?” Part of her, a small part, hoped Laurent would say no, that whatever means she had used to extract Mab’s soul could not be repeated. Because Eden didn’t want to give up her soul. But, after everything, she owed it to Mab to try.
The mage gave a flippant shrug. “I don’t see why not. A soul is a soul, as far as the Good Night is concerned. It doesn’t keep track of the specifics.”
Eden chewed her lip. “Why did you do it, anyway? What could you possibly get out of taking people’s souls?”
“I didn’t take her soul.” Laurent crossed her lithe arms, pointed nails tapping against her pale flesh. “It’s on a higher plane, where it was bound to go after her natural death. I just quickened the process.”
“But why?”
Beckoning her to follow, the mage left the room and casually strolled into the foyer. “I have my reasons. I don’t suspect you would like them, but I’m in no position to care.” She looked down at Eden with an amused smirk. “And you’re in no position to argue.”
They went to the staircase that led down to the vault, passing a young man with his head bowed.
“I thought they were acolytes,” Eden said. “But now I wonder if they made some kind of deal. Did you take their souls too?”
“And their blood,” Josephine replied. “All in fair trade, I might add, just like your friend.”
“Their blood.” Eden went cold, understanding clicking into place. Each person inside this house was a soulless husk, their bodies empowered by blood magic, nothing more than puppets on strings. “They’re thralls.”
They came to a stop at the top of the stairs. Josephine gave a shrug. “I thought you knew, darling. How very awkward.”
The mage descended, and Eden followed. There was no point in hesitating, in pondering her decision. It’d already been made. The only thing left to do was follow it through.
The vault looked the same. Mab lay in stasis, waiting to be revived. Wordlessly, Josephine motioned to an empty platform. With shaking hands, Eden climbed up and settled herself onto her back.
“Will it hurt?” she asked, though she didn’t really trust Josephine to give her a straight answer.
The mage looked down on her sympathetically, long fingers reaching out to brush the hair from Eden’s face. “They call it the Good Night for a reason. It’s like a deep and dreamless sleep. Now, are you ready?”
Eden swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
Looking up, Josephine said, “Can you hear me, darling? I have another one for you. An exchange.” Eden was about to reply when someone else appeared over her.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “This one.” It was a strange voice, like the rushing of rivers or mountains cracking apart. “This one is familiar.”
Eden caught a glimpse of a black suit and fiery eyes, but then a cold hand pressed to her forehead, and her mind quieted, her soul breaking free and drifting into nothing.
For the first time in what felt like eons, Mab took a breath.
She knew straight away something was wrong. The air felt warm on her skin, her limbs stiff and sore. When she opened her eyes, her sight was blurry, and she winced at a bright light above her. This wasn’t the Good Night, that was for damn sure.
“Hnngh.” With some effort, Mab managed to roll onto her side. She gripped the cool edges of the platform and willed her eyes to focus. What the hell happened to her?
A pair of hands latched onto her upper arms, and she was roughly dragged from the platform and set on the ground. Her feet hit hard, sending shocks traveling up her legs. Looking around with watery eyes, Mab recognized the vault. The thrall, a burly man with a face void of expression, released his grip, and backed away. Two more flanked the door. That meant . . .
She whirled, coming face-to-face with Josephine Laurent. The mage wore a satisfied smile, her hands clasped casually behind her back. Without thinking, Mab lunged.
“You bitch,” Mab hissed. She reached inward, seeking the familiar well of power that was her magic. It was empty.
Mab collapsed to her knees, and the blood mage’s smile deepened. “Are you rather finished?”
“What did you do to me?” Frantically, Mab prodded inward, her mind seeking that piece that was always there. It felt like someone had removed something vital, had reached inside and ripped her heart out of her chest.
Laurent brought up a hand to examine her nails. She glanced up, and Mab followed her gaze, spotting a large dampening sigil carved into the ceiling. That was new. “Don’t worry, darling, it’s only temporary. Call it a . . . failsafe.”
Unsteadily climbing to her feet, Mab weighed her chances against the mage in a straight-out brawl. If her own magic couldn’t work in this room, then neither could Laurent’s. Guess that explains all the thralls, she thought bitterly.
“Why did you bring me back?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me it was out of the goodness in your heart, ’cause I ain’t buying it.”
“Actually.” Laurent nodded past Mab’s shoulder. “I was offered a better arrangement.”
A sinking feeling filled her as she turned. Even before she lay eyes on the plinth, Mab knew what she would see. Eden lay there, her arms splayed at her sides, brown hair framing her sleeping face. Only, she wasn’t asleep. Of course she wasn’t. It was that fucking place.
Mab walked over and took Eden’s frozen hand in her own. Gently lowering her forehead to rest against Eden’s shoulder, she whispered, “I told you to leave it alone.”
Across the room, Laurent tapped her foot. “You’re free to go.”
“Fuck you,” Mab growled. She released Eden’s hand and turned. She didn’t care about magic, didn’t care about the thralls. All she wanted to do was grind Josephine Laurent’s face into the cold cement floor. She raised her fist, and the mage laughed, snapping her finger
s.
The burly thrall stepped forward and grabbed hold of Mab’s forearms. She let loose a scream of frustration as the creature dragged her out of the vault and up the stairs. Before she could blink, Mab was on her ass on the side of the road.
“Goddamn it,” she shouted at the top of her lungs. This was fucked. So fucked. Yeah, getting herself thrown into the Good Night was a particularly shitty sort of ending, but at least it was her ending. Eden had no business sacrificing herself. There was no way in hell Mab could let that stand.
But how was she supposed to fix this? If Eden had to trade her soul to get Mab out, then the only way to get her back was to trade another soul. Josephine already stated that Eden was the better deal. Mab had a feeling she wouldn’t give it up easily.
“Pyke,” she realized, shooting to her feet. If anyone could go up against a mage, it had to be a reaper. And luckily for her, he had told her exactly how to call him.
——
The first thing Mab did was hitch a ride across town to the impound lot.
Through the gate, she could see it. Her motorcycle, a scrambler with a custom headlight and matte black tank, sat among a court of chromed-out garage queens. Mab rushed up to the fence, threading her fingers through the links.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I won’t ever leave you again.” She stepped back, eyes traveling across the yard to the office. Bingo.
Inside, the office was quiet but for the hum of the air conditioner and the click of a computer mouse. The clerk on duty sat behind an ancient computer screen, a solitaire game reflecting in his dirty glasses. He barely looked up as Mab entered.
“If you’re here to retrieve a vehicle, you gotta fill out form 4-E.” He nodded at the table tucked beside the door.
“Why, thank you.” Spinning on the heel of her boot, Mab stalked over and grabbed a form at random. She hunched over the table, making quick marks with a scratchy pen that’d probably been stolen from a bank. Turning it over, she read the name of a boutique that sounded a lot like a sex shop.
