by D. D. Miers
Ethan studied me thoughtfully when I came back down the stairs. I hardly blamed him, considering what a disaster I’d looked like the last two times he’d seen me. At least he knew I cleaned up well now.
“Let’s get going,” I said, and Ethan stood up, reminding me he was only wearing a robe again. “I assume you have clothes in the car?”
“Nah,” he said with a shrug. “I ran here. When planning a break in, big-ass wolves are less suspicious than strange cars parked in the area. But it’s no problem. You can ride me.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he started taking off the robe. I turned my back quickly, which made him laugh.
"Oh, hang on. Here, take this."
I glanced over my shoulder, trying not to stare, in time to see him remove a necklace I hadn't even realized he wore. I caught it as he threw it to me, examining the wooden pendant curiously.
“Were you wearing this the whole time?” I asked, turning it over in my hands. It was shaped like a wolf, curled up in a circle, the back side heavily engraved in tiny, esoteric symbols. It hummed with a strange energy, which got stranger the longer I stared. The power was barely noticeable at first but then folded in on itself like a fractal, deeper and deeper, denser than the wood it inhabited. Someone had made this, I realized. Someone had worked this spell, folded and shaped it into this incredibly subtle, delicate item. The person who had made this was an artist while I was like a toddler upending buckets of paint onto the floor. I just threw power at corpses and hoped for the best.
“Yup,” he confirmed. “It’s got a don’t-look-at-me spell on it. Makes it easy to miss. Which is a real bitch when I put it down somewhere and forget where I left it.”
"What is it?" I asked, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Just put it on," he said, and then I heard him groan, a sound which changed as I listened, becoming a low growl. When I peered back, the enormous wolf stood in my front hall, shaking itself. The undead wolfhound growled at it in warning. Ethan just let his tongue hang out of his mouth, tail wagging happily.
"Now what?" I asked warily.
He trotted closer, expectantly. I wasn't tall, and the wolf was at least four feet high at the shoulder. He stared at me until, remembering what he'd said a moment before, I put the necklace on. The pendant settled on my sternum, radiating a strange warmth.
"Can you hear me?"
I jumped, startled, as the words appeared in my mind, accompanied by a sensation of distant fondness.
"Was that you?" I asked the wolf, unsettled.
"Yep." The wolf Ethan grinned at me, tail beating the floor. "That there's a thought-speech charm. A friend made it for me. It, uh, translates the directed thoughts of the subject directly into the mind of the wearer. Means I can think it and you'll hear it. Nifty, huh?"
"It certainly is convenient," I agreed, a little skeptical. "Whatever. Let's get going."
He faced the door and the wolfhound moved out of the way. Ethan looked back at me like he was eager for a walk. Rolling my eyes, I opened the door for the massive wolf, which ran out into the yard.
The sky was pre-dawn gray, probably around four or five in the morning. Mist lay heavy on the neighborhood, turning the bare, early spring trees and wet lawns into an ominous monochrome. I shivered as I moved out onto the doorstep, then peeked back in at the wolfhound sitting in the hall. I couldn't bring him with me, not appearing as obviously corpse-y as he did, but guilt assaulted me about leaving him behind. I bent to pat the stitched-together fur between his ears.
"Stay put and guard the house, buddy," I told him. "I'll get you back to your rest soon, I promise."
To my surprise, he licked my hand, wagged his tail, and trotted off farther into the house. I wasn't used to corpses, even animal ones, being that active on their own. But then, he was unusually full of energy.
I tried to shrug off my worries, following Ethan out into the yard.
"All right," he said, crouching down. "Get on."
"What?"
"I didn't bring my car and yours is in the impound lot waiting for your insurance company to declare it totalled," Ethan said, hiding his impatience under his good-natured attitude. "We don't have time to walk. Get on."
I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right. Cautiously, I swung a leg over his broad, furry back, holding on tight to the ruff of longer fur at the back of his neck as he stood up.
"Ow! Don't pull," he complained.
"How am I supposed to hold on?" I asked.
"Use your thighs. Haven't you ever ridden a horse before?"
I blushed, deciding against citing the pony ride I'd had for my sixth birthday.
"This is a bit different!" I said, instead. "I don't exactly have a saddle, for one thing."
I heard him sigh inside my mind, which was a strange feeling.
"Just squeeze with your knees and lean down low against my back," he said. "And hang on tight."
As soon as I leaned down he took off, bolting down the road at breakneck speed. I yelped, hiding my face in his fur as the cold morning wind tore at my hair.
"Which way are we going, princess?" Ethan asked. "Give us an inkling."
"West," I told him, not moving.
He turned, following my directions, and ran away from the slowly rising sun. We needed to do this fast, before morning commuters spotted a bear-sized wolf running down the road carrying a terrified funeral home employee.
"So what kind of werewolf are you?" I asked, mostly to distract myself from how close I was to being flung off at any moment.
"Um, cursed," Ethan admitted, sounding a little embarrassed. "Years ago. It’s kind of a complicated situation. There’s a natural werewolf colony up in Maine and I figured they might have some tips on how to cope. Instead I met the folks at the library and ended up hanging around to help them."
"Yeah, you mentioned them before," I said, curious and sensing that the curse wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. "Who are they exactly?"
"The curators?" I sensed the wave of nervous evasiveness rising in Ethan's thoughts. "Uh, I can't really tell you too much. I'm not supposed to."
"Then just tell me what you can," I said. "If this candle is connected to my actual life and they want to take it, I need to know if they're trustworthy."
"Oh, they are!" Ethan said quickly, with doggish enthusiasm. "They're great people! They work in conservation mostly, monitoring and maintaining magical populations, locations of magical importance, and magical artifacts. Relocating pixie nests endangered by development, rehoming domovoi. Just recently they stopped a proposed dam that would have cut off a river teeming with twenty different kinds of water spirits. You ever see a kelpie, a kappa, and a vodyanoi cohabitating? It's amazing!"
"I don't know what half of those things are," I admitted.
"Oh, wow. You're in for a treat. Magical folk are real thin on the ground, and isolated, but with the internet and the efforts of groups like the curators, we're starting to build a real community."
It was a strange thought, the idea of having a community. People I wouldn’t have to hide from or explain myself to. I never dared to imagine it. Aunt Persephona had made it seem like necromancers were the only magical people in the world.
“You’ll get to meet them all once we get the candle back,” he said. “I mean, probably.”
“Why only probably?”
Again the awkward discomfort coming from his thoughts whipped through me as he searched for the right words.
“It’s complicated,” he said at last. “They’re secretive, you know. But even if the curators don’t want to meet you, I can put you in contact with the New England Coven. There are a handful of magic users, witches, mages, and specialists like you, scattered around the area. They get together a couple of times a year to swap spells and such. You won’t be alone anymore.”
That was a dizzying thought, and also an emotional land mine I wasn’t ready to deal with right now.
“Let’s just focus on th
e candle for now,” I said, unsettled.
"Are we getting any closer?" he asked. We had left my more urban neighborhood behind and moved into the more spaced-out residential streets, the houses separated by generous groves of spruce, fir, and just-budding oak. I turned my head, searching for the buzz of the candle's presence.
"Yeah," I said, feeling it jump in strength. "Turn here."
We ran on, occasionally adjusting direction as I tracked the candle. Once I'd moved past being terrified, riding on a wolf’s back was exhilarating. The world rushed past on either side of us, a green-gray blur in the early light. Ethan's energy was evidently endless, like he could run forever. The air was cold as it flung my hair out behind us like a golden banner. It wasn't a smooth ride and my bruises complained, but I was finding it hard to care.
I'd loved fantasy stories as a little girl and, when I'd found out I was magic, I'd been certain it would lead to exactly the kind of fantastic adventures I'd always dreamed of. I'd searched every inch of the backyard for fairies and checked the backs of every wardrobe for secret passages. I never found them, of course. And my kind of magic was more likely to make me a villain in those kinds of stories, anyway. But this was closer to that old, indulgent fantasy than I'd been in a long time. It was a good feeling.
"So, do you know any more about the candle?" I asked. "Where it came from, I mean?"
"Not really," Ethan said. "You're more likely to know about it than I am. It belongs to your family, after all."
"I know," I said. "That's why it's so weird that I've never heard of it. The only thing even close to it that I can remember is this fairy tale my aunt used to tell me."
"Hey, in this business, fairy tales tend not to be too far from the truth. Maybe it's a clue. What's the story?"
I was quiet for a moment, considering whether he might be right. I supposed it was silly to discount all fairy tales as nonsense when you could actually do magic.
"It's called Godfather Death," I explained. "A poor man has too many kids and decides the only way he can ensure his youngest son has a good life is to find him a rich godfather. He gets offers from both God and the Devil, but he turns them down because they don't treat people fairly. Then Death walks by, and Death treats everybody exactly the same, so the man begs Death to be his son's godfather. And Death agrees and makes sure the kid is taken care of."
"I got a feeling something else was going on in that house if God, the Devil, and literal personified Death were regular visitors," Ethan said, amused. "Can you imagine God offering to be your kid's godfather and rejecting him? The guy had some balls."
"Oh definitely," I said with a laugh. "I'm betting that was a very interesting family."
"What happens? I'm guessing that's not the end."
"No, the kid grows up and needs to get a job, so Death tells him he's going to be a doctor. Death gives him a magic herb that cures anything and says that whenever the doctor goes into a patient's room, he'll see Death standing by the bed. If Death is standing by the foot of the bed, the doctor should use the herb and cure the person. But if he's standing at the head of the bed, it's that person's time and the doctor has to let them go."
"Good, simple rules," Ethan says as we head farther out of town, the sun growing brighter behind us. "But this is a fairy tale, so he fucks them up somehow."
"Not at first," I say. "He becomes a famous, wealthy doctor whose prognosis is always correct. Eventually he ends up working for royalty. But then the young, popular king falls deathly ill and everyone begs the doctor to save him. The doctor agrees, of course, but when he goes into the king's room, he sees Death standing at the head of the bed."
"Ah, there it is. I knew it was coming."
"So the doctor can't let the king die. He'd probably get killed for failing to save him, not to mention throwing the kingdom into turmoil or whatever. He orders the king's bed turned around backward, so that Death is now standing at the foot."
"Clever."
"The doctor treats him with the herb and the king recovers. But Death is pissed at the guy for misusing his gift. Death treats everyone the same, even kings. He warns the doctor never to do it again. But then the king's beautiful daughter gets sick. The king begs the doctor to save her and promises the doctor can marry her if she lives. And the doctor is already in love with the princess. But Death is standing by the head of her bed. The doctor decides he has to save her anyway. He orders the bed turned around backward again and the princess is saved.
“No sooner is the color back in her cheeks than Death drags the doctor away, down into the underworld, where there are millions of candles, jumping to life and being snuffed out in sequence, so it appears like the fire is jumping between the candles. Death says these are the lives of all mankind, and that when one is lit another must go out. Death shows the doctor a candle that's been melted down to a puddle but continues to burn and says it belongs to the king. And next to it a tall candle belonging to the princess, whose light would have been snuffed out to keep her father's lit. And next to them both an almost vanished stump, which Death says belongs to the doctor. The doctor starts to beg for his life, but Death treats all people the same, even his godson, and blows out his candle. The doctor falls down dead immediately."
Ethan was quiet for a moment, as though waiting for me to keep going.
"That's it?" he said when I didn't continue. "What a weird ending."
"Yeah, I always thought so, too," I said with a shrug. "But that's really how it ends."
"So, you think the Candle of the Covenant is like the candles from the underworld in the story?"
I shook my head, the buzz of the candle's presence becoming annoyingly strong.
"Probably not," I admitted. "But it's the only thing I could think of that involved candles, death, and bringing people back from the dead."
"I can mention it to the folks at the library," Ethan offered. "They might know if there's a connection."
"It can't hurt to try," I said. "Turn here. I think we're getting close."
Chapter 8
This part of Connecticut was littered with historic houses dating back to the 1600s.
Some had been restored and preserved, some were modernized, but a few, like the one the candle's signal came from, had just been forgotten.
It was far off the main road, down a dirt track that may have been a long driveway or just a highly neglected road. Deep in the trees, practically lost within the boundaries of the nearby land preserve, the ancient colonial was lovely despite its obviously dilapidated state. Parts of the mansard roof were falling in, deep blue-gray under the shadow of the ancient oaks that sheltered it. Bright yellow Forsythia grew wild along the sides. The porch was almost lost under a mountain of invasive bittersweet vine, slowly pulling down the once beautiful hand-carved posts. But someone had cut a path through the brambles to the front door, which had been set back in its frame though the hinges had rusted away. I climbed off of Ethan's back, glad I'd gone with sneakers rather than heels as we picked our way through the wet, overgrown lawn.
"Not going to change back?" I asked Ethan, as he nosed around under the thorns, sniffing for something.
"Not the best place to be naked, I'm thinking," he replied, shaking his head and pawing at his snout to try and rid himself of the thorns now stuck there. "And something smells off. I didn't get a good scent of whoever took the candle from the scene of the car crash—too much burning metal and grease and blood—but I don't smell anything like it here. Or at least, it's so faint they probably haven't been here in ages."
"But I can feel the artifact," I said with a frown, rubbing my aching temples. "It’s buzzing like a motherfucker."
Concern radiated from Ethan's thoughts as he bumped his furry side into my shoulder.
"Stay close," he said. "And stay alert."
We moved together onto the porch, the wood creaking under Ethan's paws. I jumped as the rotted planks gave out entirely under my feet, jumping to the side to avoid falling through. Ethan whined
and walked a little more carefully.
The door was heavy, waterlogged and rotting. Ethan surprised me by rearing back onto his hind legs. Standing that way, he towered over me. Probably seven feet tall and then some. I barely reached the bottom of his chest. His front paws were hand-like, and he grabbed the old door, shifting it carefully aside before dropping onto all fours again.
“I didn’t realize you could go bipedal,” I whispered, a little awed. “Why don’t you do it more often?”
"Standing up in this shape kills my back," he said as we slipped inside. "It makes some things easier, but the ache the next day isn't worth it."
The inside of the house had not held up as well as the outside. Moss and grass invaded and padding the ruined hardwood floors. The walls were cracked, dusty, the plaster slumping and sloughing off. Whatever furniture and decorations had once filled this house had been moved elsewhere. Every room was echoingly empty, full of nothing but weeds and dust moving through the sunlight like ghosts.
The eastern side of the house felt liminal and unearthly with the early morning glow through the profusion of dusty windows, painting it in white and gold. But as we moved farther into the side of the house not illuminated by the rising sun, we waded into deep blue shadow, heavy with cobwebs, our path blocked by sections of collapsed ceiling and, once, a ragged hole in the floor too wide for me to confidently jump over. I assumed it led to the basement, but the pitch-black darkness within looked to go on forever into the farthest quiet depths of the earth.
"Here," Ethan said, his voice a whisper in my mind. "This way. I can smell something."
As we stepped into the next room, a black bird, disturbed by our entry, flapped noisily away through a hole in the floor. Pale light strained through it, barely touching the floor, like light glimpsed from deep below the ocean. It was the only source of light in the interior room. Little remnants of death crawled toward me in slow tendrils from the recently deceased insects and creatures.
Unlike the other rooms, this one was not empty. It was scattered with trash. A worn sleeping bag lay in one corner, next to a stack of old books. A small camp stove had made the room smell like smoke.
