The Soulkeepers Series, Part Two (Books 4-6)

by Ching, G. P.

  “I feel it too,” Bonnie said. She turned on her heel. “Cord, close the door. Maybe someone is coming.”

  Cord frowned but took a single step forward, allowing the door to close behind him. The lights went out. Bonnie couldn’t even see Cord despite his natural glow. When they came on again, she screamed.

  She was in a room of mirrors. Circling right then left, she found herself alone in a maze of warped and polished silver. “Sam? Cord? Ghost?”

  “I’m here,” Sam said. “Only I can’t see you. There are mirrors. Oh.” She made a gagging sound that seemed to bounce around the maze, impossible for Bonnie to narrow in on.

  “What’s wrong?” Bonnie called.

  “I think the mirrors are enchanted. Don’t look, Bonnie.”

  Ghost’s voice rang tinny through the labyrinth. “Keep talking, Sam. I’ll find you.”

  “Oh damn, Jesse, I can’t open my eyes. It’s horrible, horrible what I saw. Please hurry.”

  “I’m trying. Hold on. Oh crap. Hell. Don’t look in the mirrors.”

  Bonnie turned in the direction of Ghost’s voice and came face to face with her full-length reflection. At first the image was normal, stretchy black pants and dark winter jacket, but then her likeness changed. She knew she should look away. She’d heard the warnings. But, as hard as she tried, she could not pry her eyes from the mirror.

  Her winter clothes morphed into a gray, short-sleeved dress, and her skin wrinkled. The fiery red of her hair faded to gray. Before her eyes, her spine deformed. She’d become an old woman, thin and crippled.

  Inside the reflection, a church topped the hill behind her aged body. The bell in the belfry began to ring, and she joined a crowd of gatherers moving for the door. Her sister stepped in beside her.

  “Sam? Is that you?” It looked like Samantha, only she was older. Her hair was red, although likely colored, and Jesse was on her arm. Three young men stood at their side, strapping red-haired sons. Samantha’s children.

  Bonnie’s heart sank as she followed after her sister’s family. She had no one with her, no one to help her. She was pushed and shoved within the crowd, away from her sister. Finally inside, the churchgoers forced her toward the altar.

  The crowd retracted, leaving her standing alone in front of a casket. Was this a funeral? She smoothed her dress and staggered back toward the pews. All of the seats were taken. Exhausted, she rested in the aisle, leaning against one of the ornate wooden benches.

  Samantha walked to the front of the church and positioned herself behind the pulpit. No, Bonnie thought. Was this her mother’s funeral? Why else would Sam be speaking?

  Her sister looked at Jesse and straightened a paper on the podium. Then, she began to speak. “We all knew this would happen one day. After all the years she spent, plodding through life on her own, it was inevitable. But part of me always hoped Bonnie would find love.”

  Bonnie startled. Had Samantha just said her name?

  “All of us wanted her to get help when she went mad. Jesse and I tried to do what was right. But there wasn’t any reason for her to want to get better.” Samantha looked directly at her. “Bonnie had nothing. She lived for no one and died with no one.”

  Another person named Bonnie? A terrible mistake? Bonnie’s mind threw out explanations as her legs hobbled toward the coffin at the front of the church. Every step hurt. Her twisted spine made walking difficult, and her head pounded with the effort. She fell forward, catching herself on the satin-lined edge, and peered inside.

  The coffin was empty.

  Hands shoved her. Up and over, she dropped into the coffin. Her head landed on the satin pillow. Her arms crossed over her chest of their own accord. She tried to scream, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Her lips felt as if they’d been glued together. All that came was a kind of hum from deep in her throat that seemed to float away from her.

  Half the coffin lid was up, and Jesse and Samantha’s faces appeared above her.

  “Finally, Jesse. Finally, I am free of her. All my life, I’ve been forced to be her twin. Now I can be my own person and have my own life.”

  His hand rubbed her back. “It must be such a relief.”

  “It is,” she said. “You can’t imagine what a burden it was to always be the good one, the better one … the favorite. And then to constantly try to deny it to her so that I wouldn’t hurt her feelings.” Samantha shook her head.

  Jesse’s hand gripped the edge of the lid. “It’s over now, Sam. We finally have our own life.”

  “What will happen to her body?”

  “She’ll be cremated. Say goodbye. It’s time.”

  “Goodbye, Bonnie,” Samantha said. Jesse began to close the lid.

  Bonnie tried her best to scream. She thrashed inside her skin to no avail. She couldn’t even twitch her finger.

  The lid thunked closed. Total darkness. By fear or panic, her blessed hands finally moved. Fingers found her lips, dug into the corner of her mouth, catching on something that felt like dental floss. The crushing realization that her lips were sewn together gripped her like a vice. Prying and tearing, she worked the string out of her flesh. The process was painful, but fear strengthened her resolve. Frantically, she continued until her bloody lips parted on a gasp.

  She banged on the lid of the coffin with her fists. “I’m not dead. I’m not dead!”

  Chapter 24

  Consequences

  Blood and glass exploded around Cheveyo’s fist. Instinctually, Dane closed his eyes and turned his back on the spray. Razor-sharp debris blasted toward him, and he tightened his lips against the onslaught. But Cheveyo was not as careful. His piercing howl cut through the sound of shattering glass.

  “I got it,” Ethan said.

  Dane unraveled to see the glass hovering in front of the shop window, broken but safely contained. Ethan had it in his telekinetic grip, the dancing woman concealed by a thick fog that had formed within the small room.

  “Good job, Ethan,” Lillian said. “Let it go.”

  Harmlessly, the shards tumbled to the floor. Thick fog rolled from the small room, coating the floor and the tops of their feet. The shuffle of footsteps, the hiss of an animal, and the wood on floor clunk of the chair toppling over reached Dane’s ears.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?” Cheveyo reached into the room.

  Ethan grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. “Hold it, Kemo Sabe.”

  The intervention came just in time. Out of the broken glass and fog, the head of a giant red insect with two slate-black eyes surfaced. Dane took a step back, drawing his sword. Lillian sank into attack mode.

  A set of red legs as long as he was tall carried the head out the window. Creeping legs on a long, scaly body. Enormous pincers. Antennae. “It’s a giant centipede,” Dane cried, retreating as the bug snapped at his head.

  Ethan dragged Cheveyo backward despite the boy’s continued wide-eyed struggle toward the creature. “I love you,” Cheveyo called, arms open to the writhing thing. It scuttled into the room on a thousand legs.

  Dane stabbed, landing a blow between the centipede’s eyes. The bug reared, a drop of green blood forming at the point of contact.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Cheveyo screamed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Look out,” Lillian called. The beast charged. Dane dodged left, the centipede narrowly missing him and scurrying up the far wall.

  “That thing must be ten feet long,” Ethan said.

  “And it’s not alone,” Lillian said. Another centipede emerged from the broken window and another.

  “Careful, they’re poisonous,” Lillian said, dodging the snap of razor-sharp pincers.

  Dane shook his head. The sight of the two bugs made his skin crawl. “What? A centipede bite won’t kill you.”

  “Yeah, when it’s one-one thousandth of the size of this one, but they do have venom. Don’t get too close.”

  “Great plan,” Dane said, back to back with her. “How are we supposed to kill these things
without getting too close?”

  Ethan joined them in the center of the cobblestone street, Cheveyo struggling in his grip. Without warning, Dane’s blade slipped from his fingers and stabbed through the center of the first beast, effectively pinning its body to the wall. The centipede squirmed and curled around the sword, a high-pitched squeal piercing his ears.

  “By using me,” Ethan said. “Lillian, can I have your assistance with two and three?”

  “Why? Why did you do that to her?” Cheveyo shouted, almost frantic with his struggle to get to the giant bug.

  Lillian tossed two daggers into the air. With ease, Ethan shot them toward the second and third bugs, this time aiming for the heads. Both died on impact, spraying green blood across the room. “Bull’s-eye.”

  Hysterical now, Cheveyo thrashed wildly, freeing himself from Ethan’s arms. Dane took over, bear hugging the guy.

  “We’ve got to get him out of here,” Ethan said.

  “Look. This way.” Lillian pointed through the broken window. The fog had dissipated. On the other side of the small room was an open door. She drew a fresh blade from her back. “I’ll go first.”

  Jumping up on the platform, she kicked the chair aside and passed through. “All clear,” she called. “But don’t get your hopes up. Looks like this is far from over.”

  Dane was more than happy to leave the green dripping blood and writhing forms of the centipedes behind. He wrestled Cheveyo through the chamber, following Ethan’s lead. The Hopi boy relaxed as soon as they cleared the threshold. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Gradually, Cheveyo’s pupils shrank to their normal size. He shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs. “What the hell?” He tapped his temple with the heel of his palm.

  “Yeah, you were really out of it,” Dane said. “You tried to make out with a centipede, dude.”

  Pitching forward, Cheveyo caught himself on his knees and hurled. “Just give me a minute. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “This place is enchanted,” Lillian said. “We need to be more careful from now on.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Cheveyo said.

  Dane looked around their new surroundings. They were standing amid a ghost town of midway games. Wide-eyed Kewpie dolls on either side of the trodden path watched them from their dangling homes above each booth. “What’s this all about?”

  “Sign says Freak Show.” Lillian pointed to a large red arrow painted on a wooden fence.

  “Can’t wait,” Ethan said sarcastically.

  The team followed the path to a black-and-white striped tent. Conveniently, the entrance flap had been pinned open, revealing only darkness inside. Ethan held up a hand, motioning that he’d go in first. Silently, he stepped into the darkness. A second passed, and then another. His hand shot out, beckoning them inside.

  Dane walked into the tent on Cheveyo’s heels, side by side with Lillian. Beyond the entryway was a typical circus scene, a lighted ring surrounded by stadium seating. At the center of the ring was an ornately sculpted crystal bowl that reminded Dane of the one his mother often filled with fresh tulips in the spring. As large as a swimming pool, the bowl belonged in an art exhibit, artistically designed and lit from within. It glowed like a Christmas luminaria at the center of the ring.

  Dane squinted against the light to get a better look. Ethan and Lillian moved forward with him, similarly spellbound. A stream of bubbles passed, followed by something with long, lean muscles. He pressed his palms against the glass. Flash. Taut, alabaster flesh contorted in a way that wasn’t quite human. Flash. A man’s broad chest skimmed and twisted against the glass, then retracting into the bowl. Flash. A cloud of bubbles parted to reveal a woman’s shoulder, her naked back, her silhouette writhing against the light.

  Swirls of aqua and purple danced within the crystal. Dane pressed his nose against the glass, taking in the two serpentine figures deep inside the bowl. The two seemed to wrap around each other, combine, and separate in a graceful dance. Was that a tail? Yes, shimmering, gossamer scales from hips to fluke. Merfolk.

  Dane swallowed, entranced by their beauty. Spotting him, the merfolk swam to the edge. Their two heads broke the surface, spilling water over the side of the bowl. Dane stepped back to get a better look. The female’s long blonde hair dried and lifted immediately when it hit the air, and she scanned the room with iridescent purple eyes that locked on Cheveyo just outside the ring. The male emerged next to her, closer to Dane. He looked a bit like Ethan—dark hair, sharp features, but with vibrant turquoise eyes. Light cascaded from the bowl behind his head.

  Just when Dane thought he’d never experienced anything so beautiful, he was proved wrong when the merfolk started to sing. Voices like bells rang out across the tent, the melody sending an electric heat over Dane’s skin. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and his entire body tingled, yearning to be touched. More than anything, he wanted to swim in that bowl, to be closer to the magic pulsating through the tent.

  Fervently, Dane tugged his shirt off and then worked at the sheath of weapons around his waist. As he unbuttoned his pants, he was vaguely aware of someone yelling his name. There was something else he was supposed to be doing, only Dane didn’t want to do it. Kicking shoes and socks off as he went, he stumbled toward the tank, mind buzzing with the promise of pleasure the fishbowl offered. The merman reached for his hand to help him in, and he obliged, longing for the touch.

  Whoosh. The bowl shattered, glass and water sweeping him back across the sandy circus ring. Bereft of water, the merfolk twisted and writhed, bodies stretching and straining. Mouths gaping. Until both transformed into carnivorous eels, twisting and gasping on the sand.

  Dane shook his head, stumbling to his feet and looking back toward the bowl in horror. Cheveyo stood in the center of the ring, one hand over his eyes and a silver hatchet from Eden in his hand.

  “Are they dead?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Dane shot back. Across the ring, Lillian, in nothing but her underwear, brought around her sword, slicing through the eel’s heads like butter.

  “It’s done,” she said.

  Cheveyo dropped his hand. “I’m making a new rule. Stay away from the glass. Also, I think it’s important to note that we are damn lucky we have different tastes in, uh, partners.”

  Ethan glanced at Dane, who suddenly realized he was also only in his underwear. Eyebrows shooting through the roof, he scrambled for his clothes, trying his best to cover himself with his arms.

  “I did enjoy the show,” Cheveyo said, brushing his eyebrow piercing and giggling. “If we ever get out of here, I am so telling everyone about this.”

  Dane shot him a nasty look before pulling his shirt over his head. “Paybacks are hell, centipede boy.”

  “Enough,” Lillian said. She strapped on the remainder of her weapons and pulled on her boots. “We’ve got to find a way out of here. Shit. Into here. We are trying to get in. Damn, I don’t know what’s up or down anymore.” She wiped a hand over her face.

  Fully dressed again, although still dripping a little, Ethan slicked back his dark hair from his face and pointed at the other side of the tent. “Only one way out.”

  Dane stepped to his side, bumping his fist with his own. “Who goes first?”

  Ethan glanced in his direction. “I will.”

  Chapter 25

  The Living Dead

  Malini gripped her blade, back to back with Grace in the center of the ring of treasure that had swallowed Jacob. Resin-stained bandages, reeking of death, hobbled toward her. A mummy. The other two sarcophagi had joined in the shake-and-bang routine, and two more walking dead burst forth on stiff legs.

  “Revenge of the mummy,” Grace murmured.

  “What?” Malini gasped.

  “I saw a movie like this once. If they are mummies, they are all hollowed out inside. Nothing but bandages holding them together. Aim for their limbs.”

  Malini rotated the hilt of her sword
in her hand. As the Healer, she rarely had to fight in this way. The weapon felt heavy and unfamiliar in her palm. While she was working up her confidence, Grace attacked mummy number one, slicing off one bandaged arm. The limb dropped to the gold brick floor with an ominous thud.

  “The fingers are still moving,” Malini yelled.

  “Oh hell, that’s not the worst of it.” Grace pointed with her blade toward the shoulder of their attacker. A scarab beetle scurried from the wound and dropped to the floor. Another creature, a scorpion, wiggled a claw out of the hole and tumbled from the shoulder.

  “No,” Malini whispered, staring at a long, hairy leg that protruded from the hole. A spider scampered down the stiff body. “I fricking hate spiders.” She jumped as her backside hit the stretch of wall behind her and stared in horror as the three bugs doubled and then tripled in size.

  “Don’t, I repeat, don’t cut off the limbs of the mummies,” Grace said, poking at the giant pincers of the scarab beetle. “How do you kill something that’s already dead?”

  “Mummies are dead people.” Malini stiffened.

  Grace stabbed. The beetle reared. “Blatant statement of the obvious, young lady.”

  Malini sheathed her sword and tore the flesh glove from her right hand. The skeletal arm Death had given her so long ago gleamed pearlescent in the gold room. She rotated the wrist, finding the metaphysical string that connected the hand to the living dead.

  “Ugh,” she moaned. “They’re old and hardly human. But they still have … human hearts. I think I remember something from school about the Egyptians leaving them in during the mummification process.” She bent the bone fingers, the crick-crack of bone on bone almost as unsettling as the snapping pincers that Grace held at bay with her blade.

  “While I find Egyptian history fascinating, Malini, I will remind you that I’m over sixty. Get on with it.”

  She focused, upper arm beginning to smoke as her power took hold. The mummies stopped, turning bandaged, faceless heads in her direction. “Kill the beetle,” she commanded. A groan like a hollow wind passed through the cavern. They obeyed, tackling the bug to the floor and ripping its legs and pincers from its body.