Hellborn

by Lisa Manifold

  We found parking, and walked to the church, tucked in between houses on Williams Street. It was filling up. Meema was believed to be the granddaughter of Granny, and the stigma of dance hall girl had finally faded. We were nice ladies who owned a tea and herb shop.

  For the next two hours, we shook hands, hugged, introduced the Deanas, and then listened to a nice sermon for Meema. Then it was out to Mt. Moriah, and watching the coffin lower made all my tears come leaking out again.

  Then they wouldn’t stop. Dee leaned across and gave me a handful of tissues. I mopped at my face.

  Meema was gone. I couldn’t get my head around it, but this was final. Even though I knew she’d been gone since we’d gone to Hell, this was final. Real. What were we going to do without her? We had no plans because we’d never planned on her being gone.

  I’d always figured if she wanted to go, we’d all talk about it, and then make plans from there. Not like this. Not by someone else’s choice.

  “We still have to get through the shop,” Deirdre whispered in my ear, putting an arm around my waist.

  “Jesus,” I whispered back. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You can.” Daniella came up on the other side of me. We stood together, the Nightingale girls, girls no longer.

  Then Deana, and Dee, and DeAnna came and stood with us. “We’re here with you. This is some screwed up shit, but we’re here,” Dee said quietly.

  I reached across Daniella and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

  As I looked around, I saw the townspeople watching us. I could feel their approval. They liked seeing all of us, knowing that there were Nightingale women still there. We were a founding family. I tuned them out, because I needed to focus on getting through this, and then all the people who would come to the shop.

  The shop was packed. Everyone had known and loved Meema, even the people on the Historical Society she’d gone hammer and tongs with when she’d wanted to move our house. We lived too close to the shop, and she wanted some privacy for us. Otherwise, people thought they could come to the door, seeing us during non-business hours. Plus, with Sturgis every year, she didn’t want to be on Main Street anymore all day. Not that she didn’t love the bikers, but it was nice to head up to Pearl Street and leave all the noise behind each day.

  People brought food, because that’s what they did. Deirdre and Daniella had been down here the day before and set up lots of teapots in readiness for today. They got them going with super speed.

  “What can we do?” DeAnna asked.

  “Get the tea going, and corral the food,” I whispered back.

  I’d say this for the Deanas: For all the carrying on earlier that morning, they went into efficiency mode, and were fantastic hostesses. It gave me hope, kind of like the new relationship I’d found with my sisters and Doc.

  I clasped hands, accepted hugs, and listened to stories, and cried with the people of Deadwood; our neighbors and friends. By four o’clock, the last of the stragglers were leaving. We’d been taking shifts of cleaning up.

  Zane had come to the church, the graveyard, and the shop, and he approached me. “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Let’s get this cleaned up, and get home.”

  He nodded, and the next time I saw him, he had a trash can, picking up all the paper cups. He was worming his way into my good graces whether I wanted him to or not. I wasn’t sure anymore that I wanted to keep him out of said graces.

  Finally, the shop was clean, and we walked out together, Daniella locking the door behind us. The entire day felt surreal, and my first thought turning onto Pearl Street was that I needed to tell Meema how nicely it had gone in the shop today.

  But I couldn’t. Meema wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be ever again. The tears fell again. “Oh, God,” I whispered. We all walked into the kitchen, and everyone dropped into a chair, either at the island, or around the large table, where Granny’s diaries were still spread out from our reading the night before. I sat at the table, and put my head down.

  I must have fallen asleep, because when I sat up, my cheek felt sticky, and the imprint of my wrist was on the side of my cheek.

  “Here, have some tea,” DeAnna said, sliding a cup next to me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She smiled, a small, sad smile. “I was so busy being aggravated that I forgot you girls were burying your mother. You might be way older than me, and my auntie, but today, you buried your mom. And I’m sorry, honey,” she added. She patted my shoulder, not waiting for an answer, and walked away.

  I could see all the Deanas were in the kitchen, with my sisters perched at the island, drinks in hand. Zane and Doc leaned against the counter out of the way of the Deanas, and to complete the family picture, Beeval came in with Evil on his head.

  Beeval looked us all over and veered toward me. “Desimo. Feel better?”

  He still smelled like brimstone and ass. But when he reached up to pat my arm with one of his long arms, I let him. I even leaned close, getting a face full of Evil feathers for my trouble. Evil clucked, and pecked at my head.

  “I do now,” I said.

  Beeval patted me again, and then moved back to the kitchen. “Bacon?” he asked hopefully.

  The Deanas turned around.

  “What is that?” Dee asked.

  “That’s the demon with the chicken hat,” Doc said, and he was trying not to laugh. “Welcome to Pearl Street.”

  “Is the chicken alive?” Deana asked.

  “Yes,” Daniella said.

  “There is a story here, isn’t there?” DeAnna asked.

  Deirdre told the Evil story, and then added on the Beeval story.

  “Bacon?” Beeval asked again, hearing his name.

  “There’s some in the lower drawer in the fridge,” I said, getting up, feeling more than one hundred years old. I took my tea with me.

  “Okay, so let’s get back to our earlier conversation. If that’s all right,” Deana said. “What do you need from us?”

  “We haven’t talked about this,” DeAnna said, not even turning around from the stove.

  “Mom, if a demon is after Nightingale women, we don’t need to talk about it. We’re Nightingales,” Dee said.

  “Not that anyone else knows,” DeAnna said. “We go by Holliday.”

  “You do?” Doc asked, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Well, isn’t that a treat.”

  “Mom didn’t know what else to use. She always said you were a fourth cousin,” DeAnna said.

  “You think the demon can’t find us? I’d rather try and stop him than be worried about him,” Deana said.

  “We need your help,” I said, stopping the arguing. I knew what women in the middle of an argument that wouldn’t end soon sounded like. “We can’t leave for long. Zane, what did you find out about angel swords? Please tell me you found something,” I added.

  Dee added a pan to the stove, putting bacon strips in it. Beeval hopped excitedly near her.

  “The whole thing?” Dee asked to the room at large.

  “Probably a good idea,” Deirdre said. “Desi is right. We need you. And I’m hoping like hell you found something,” she added to Zane.

  “I did, but I’m not sure it’s good news.” Zane spoke quietly.

  I felt the weight of his words like a bomb. Part of me felt like we’d just wasted a day. As much as I wanted to curl up and cry, that wasn’t going to happen until the demon was stopped. We were on a ticking clock. I forced myself to take a breath. We needed to live, to make Meema’s sacrifice worth it.

  “It’s okay,” Daniella said. “We’re used to less than great news.”

  “There’s one angel sword that I think we have a chance of. I found a list of them in one of my books. And I’ve seen this one. I can get the book if you want to see it,” he added.

  “No,” I waved my hand. “Give us the overview.”

  “We’re going to have see a necromancer.” He grimaced. “And one that’s not very nice. In fac
t, he’s kind of a big jackass. But he’s the only one who has it.”

  “That’s listed in the book?” Deirdre asked, disbelief all over her face.

  “No. There are pictures of the swords, and I have seen this in his collection.”

  “Shit. Does he know what he has?” I jumped in.

  Zane shook his head. “But the minute we go there, and try to buy it or barter for it, he’ll know it’s important to someone, and he’s going to be a royal pain to deal with.”

  “Nothing like going uphill both ways, right?” Daniella said to me with a half-grin. “Wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

  “No, that tends to be our luck,” I said.

  Zane looked like he wanted to say something, then thought the better of it. He crossed his arms, and leaned back.

  “What?” I asked. “Don’t hold back.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m just going over all the things I know about Gareth, and I decided it didn’t matter. He’s going to be a nightmare. That’s all we need to know.”

  “Where is Gareth?”

  “Vermont,” Zane said with a frown.

  “Oh, so somewhere totally close, then.”

  “How do we get it from him?”

  “We’re going to need to barter.” Zane said. “He’s more of the kind of stereotypical necromancer. You know, the kind you thought I was?” That was directed at me.

  “Well, what does he like?”

  Zane held his head in his hand, clearly not wanting to say. But he said it anyway. “Grave dirt.”

  “Oh, for goddess’s sake,” I said.

  Daniella started to laugh. “How in the hell did this guy get an angel sword?”

  “Honestly? He probably found it or stole it. Or bartered with someone who stole it.” Zane looked embarrassed.

  “Aren’t angel swords kind of, I don’t know, rare?” Deana asked. “How do you lose that kind of thing?”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said. “If people don’t know what something is, they don’t put any value on it. So?” I looked at Zane. “We have grave dirt. It’s a staple for people who think we’re more than herbalists and tea shop owners.”

  “Well, you are,” Dee said. “Good to know you have what the weirdo will need.”

  “I need one of you to be a collector. He’ll believe that,” Zane added. “You might be good at this, Dee.”

  “This could be fun. Is he dangerous?”

  “Mom! Really?” Deana asked.

  “Well, it’s a legitimate question!”

  “He’s a little nutty, to be honest. But he’s not very skilled at any real magic. His talent is finding things, although he can’t see that.”

  “It sounds kind of sad,” Deirdre said.

  Zane nodded. “It is. You’ll need to give him a lot of grave dirt, so I don’t feel bad. Where’d you get it, by the way? He’ll want to know.”

  “Tell him it’s from Deadwood. We collected it when the graveyards were moved, and not all the bodies made the move.”

  “Is that verifiable?” Zane asked.

  “What, he checks?”

  “Yes. I told you, he loves the stuff.”

  “You know some odd characters,” Doc chimed in.

  “Says the ghost,” DeAnna added. “Everyone ready for something to eat?”

  She’d pulled together food from all the leftovers we had from the shop, and made eggs and hash browns as well. It sounded crazy, but food was exactly what we needed right now.

  Everyone grabbed a plate, and conversation ended. The only sound in the kitchen were the interesting sounds Beeval made eating his bacon, some clucking from Evil, and the clink of silverware on plates.

  “That was perfect, DeAnna,” Daniella said, pushing her clean plate away.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “You don’t stop the mom things,” DeAnna said. Then her face showed horror as she registered what she’d just said. “Oh, Lord, I have the biggest feet that I put into my mouth on the regular. I am so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Deirdre said. Her face was soft, softer than I’d seen it in a long time.

  “So, when do we head out to visit grave dirt guy?” Deana asked.

  “You want to go?” I asked. “We can’t, so it has to be one of you.”

  She nodded.

  “Zane, is there any other way to kill this bastard?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. That’s it.”

  I scrubbed at my hair with both hands, ruining the bun. “If we could just…wait.” I stopped, staring off into the distance. “Zane, can I go do some reading in your library?”

  He started, and then looked uncomfortable. “Yes, but…”

  “But what?” I asked.

  Everyone stared.

  “I need to show you how it’s organized.”

  “Okayay. No biggie. We get it. You like your stuff the way you like it.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m about to step right into your alley. Raising the dead,” I said with a grin.

  Chapter Twelve

  That night, Zane took me over and showed me his library in the basement of his little house. It was packed, and it was organized. He went over his system three times, which was done by date. It was obsessive, but with this big of a library, I could understand.

  Then it was time to get Deana and Zane on the road to Vermont.

  I nearly died when Deana asked if we couldn’t just portal or something.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Daniella said kindly. “It would be nice if it did.”

  Deirdre booked them a hotel, a flight, and sent a huge box of grave dirt via UPS to the hotel. I wasn’t kidding when I said we had some. All the moving of cemeteries here had caused a lot of dirt to be grave dirt—and Meema had suggested we collect as much as possible. That’s what we kept in our basement. Along with the supplies for spells, and the bits needed for the kinds of potions the townspeople would ask us for. We were set for an apocalypse, materials-wise. But back to getting the angel sword. All they had to do was make the deal, and get the sword. They should be able to do it in a couple of days. We were already three days in, so if we got a week, we’d be lucky.

  And while they were gone, I’d be working on the backup plan. Zane, to his credit, didn’t ask me for details on why I was looking in his library to raise the dead. Not the actual dead, like he used to, or whatever. But the spirit of someone dead. He was a restful research helper. He just showed me where to look, and told me to text him if I had any questions.

  “You might save the actual raising for when I get back,” he said as we walked back to our house. On the way, Mrs. Kittrick came to her gate. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said. “She and I weren’t close, but she was a good woman.”

  I had to stop myself from staring. “Thank you,” I stammered. “We miss her.”

  “I’m sure you do. I wanted to let you know.” She whirled around and shuffled back to her house.

  “I thought she hated you,” Zane whispered.

  “She does,” I whispered back.

  “The dead are all saints,” he responded. “So no one feels like they can speak badly. She looks like she comes from that generation.”

  “You need to tell me what the cats say,” I said. “Later.”

  Zane stared for a moment, then laughed. “It took me a sec to figure out what you were talking about.”

  “When did you learn to talk to animals?”

  He shrugged. There was something about him that told me he was reluctant to talk about his past, his learning, his history. A slight warning bell sounded in my head.

  I brushed it off. He’d been nothing but helpful, and nice to all of us. Were he a typical necromancer, he’d have already killed the cats, and crossed us. They were generally a selfish bunch. From what he’d said, he came from that background, but made a change. I wondered why.

  Then I decided it didn’t matter. His actions spoke for him, and his actions said he was a dec
ent man, with honor, and principles. I’d leave it at that until I had a reason to think otherwise. I’d been right about Beeval. I just hoped I’d never see a reason to be wrong about Zane.

  “I told you, I trained with a witch. We… discovered that being able to communicate with animals was a gift.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me what Evil thinks,” I said.

  “I don’t get a whole lot going on there. I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “I know you all love him. But… he’s a chicken who was partially dead.”

  I laughed then. “That’s true. But what is there is harmless, and sweet.”

  “He likes Beeval.”

  “You think? Jeez, it’s like an instant bromance with those two.”

  “Better than Beeval trying to eat him.”

  “Bacon is better than chicken, apparently.” Which reminded me we needed more bacon. We might have to find someone to buy from directly in the amounts that Beeval ate. “Moving along, thank you for letting me look into your library.”

  “Who are you raising from the dead?” His curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

  I was impressed. “I don’t know if it’s possible, but I want to see.”

  “You know, that is kind of my forte. You know, my job. I could help you with it.” He gave me a look.

  I took a deep breath before speaking. “It feels like a long shot, and maybe sort of stupid.”

  “There is no stupid when you’re looking for ways to take down a demon.”

  “Is it possible to find Granny’s soul?”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve read the diaries, well, part of them,” I amended, because we certainly hadn’t read all of them, “And I feel like there’s more she’s not telling us. Like we’re missing something. I could be wrong, but I listen to my gut, and that’s what it’s telling me.”

  He frowned as we walked back into our house. “I don’t know. How long has she been dead?”

  “Over one hundred years. And she chose her death. Which is weird, too, because neither Doc nor Meema ever talked about how she died, and we’re not supposed to be able to die. Jeez! This family! The secrets are going to kill us all!”