Unchosen

by Vail, Michele

  “Anubis!” I screamed. “Anubis!”

  Nothing.

  Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering me? Did he just not care anymore? Was he too busy kissing Maat’s ass to make time for me? Was he teaching me some kind of sadistic lesson about relying on myself?

  I didn’t know.

  And right now, I didn’t care.

  “Henry,” I whispered.

  My ghoul arrived in a nanosecond. He took one look at my face, and then sat down with me on the bed. He held my hand, staying quiet and still, offering the calm I drank like a girl dying of thirst.

  We stayed that way until a knock sounded at the door. Henry rose and allowed the visitors inside: Miss Chiles and my grandparents.

  “Something bad happened,” I said.

  “Yes.” Sandra marched forward, sat down beside me and squeezed my shoulders. “Your father is in the hospital. There was a fire, and he got hurt.”

  I nodded and more tears slipped down my face. “Can I see him?”

  “Yes, darling. Our private plane will be ready to go the moment we arrive at the airport.

  “Thank you guys so much.” I heaved a breath, swallowing my grief.

  Derek sat down on the other side of me. “We’re your family, Molly. We’ll help you however we can.”

  “I love you,” I said. “I really do.”

  “We love you, too, Molly.” Derek leaned over and kissed my brow.

  “Let’s go,” said Sandra gently.

  “H-Henry comes with me.”

  “Of course,” said Sandra. “Henry?”

  “I will take care of her, miss.” Henry scooped me into his arms. Once again I found myself clinging to him, the buoy in the storm that was my life. He took me to the waiting car, and my grandfather pried me away from him.

  “I’ll shall await your return, miss,” said Henry.

  I wanted Henry to come to Las Vegas with me, but I understood that he thought he should stay. If I knew Henry at all, it was because he served our family—and didn’t feel part of our family. I was gonna change that.

  But for now, I waved good-bye, and he shut the limo’s door.

  HOSPITALS CANNOT HIDE their purpose. They attempt to provide comfort through soft colors, nice pictures, and smiling nurses. But there is a hushed kind of awful quiet, and an unerring knowledge that the sick and the dying are housed here.

  It is worse than the Shallows.

  In my father’s hospital room, I listened to this terrible quiet, which was only displaced by the beeping of machines. My father lay tucked under a sheet. An IV dangled from one of his arms like a prisoner’s manacle. His eyes were closed, but I took comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest. I gripped the edge of the bed railing and leaned down to give my father a kiss on the forehead. I whispered, “I love you, Daddy.”

  I left the room, and joined my family in the hallway. Ally and Nona gave me hugs. Then Nona patted my hand, and returned to keeping vigil over her son. She refused to leave my father’s room, so a bed was being brought in for her. The plan was for our grandparents to take us home, where we would sleep for the night, and return in the morning. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to stay, either. The hospital was a terrible reminder of life’s fragility.

  Two doctors came down the hallway, their gazes serious. My grandmother pushed some money into my hand. “Why don’t you girls go to the cafeteria and get a snack?”

  For the barest moment, I wanted to defy her, to say that if I was old enough to fight an ancient god, then I could damned sure hear bad news about my dad.

  But the truth was that I would rather be treated like a child, like a girl who is still a girl and needs protection. Because I did. And so did my sister.

  “Thanks,” I said. I took the money. “C’mon, Ally.”

  Ally looked exhausted and scared. She and Nona had come to the hospital in the ambulance with my dad, so they hadn’t changed clothes. Ally smelled like smoke, but other than that, it didn’t really appear like she’d been in a fire.

  We took the elevator down to the main floor and followed the signs to the cafeteria. We both got Cokes and some M&Ms, and then we found a place to sit by a potted plant.

  The cafeteria was empty except for a lone worker sweeping up trash left under tables.

  Ally ripped open her candy then stared at it as if she didn’t know what to do next. She shoved the little brown package away. “I’m not hungry.”

  I didn’t really think I could eat anything, either. I left my M&Ms alone, and took a big sip of Coke. The sickly sweetness of the drink didn’t exactly settle my stomach.

  “How bad was the fire?” I asked.

  “The Zomporium’s gone. It burned to the ground,” said Ally.

  I felt a little catch in my throat. Maybe I didn’t love working there all the time, but it had been our family’s business. I mourned its loss.

  “I watched the firefighters try save it—and no matter how much water they used, it would not go out.” She hesitated. “I think … maybe … there was magic in it. It shouldn’t be possible, right? Necromancy doesn’t cause fires.”

  Dem and I had noticed the same thing, but I didn’t want to confirm my sister’s fears. Despite displaying the maturity of a 40-year-old woman most days, she was still a kid. And I still wanted to protect her.

  “Were you inside?” I asked.

  Ally shook her head. She glanced up, her eyes wide behind her the lenses of her glasses. “I talked Nona into taking me home. So I could—” She paused and looked around. Then she hunkered down, and whispered,“ —stash the thing.”

  “The thing?”

  “What I found, Molly. It was one of Mom’s old jewelry boxes, or so I thought. The contents are weird. Some old pages from a book, this black marble cube … and there’s a letter. Anyway. I got a really bad feeling after I called you. Then I made some excuse about having to go home, and Nona took me.” Her lips trembled. “I hid the box in my room, and when we got back to the Zomporium … it was on fire.”

  I took another sip of my Coke, and Ally poked around inside the M&M bag until she found some blue ones. She had this weird thing about eating all of one color at a time. You just had to love my OCD sis.

  “Daddy was manic about keeping the building to code,” said Ally. “You know that. It couldn’t have been electrical. And Dem’s too good of a ka heka to cause any magical blowback.”

  “What are you trying to say, Ally?” I asked. “That someone did it on purpose?”

  “Arson is a viable theory, especially when you consider some of the customers we’ve pissed off. Some vengeful idiot could’ve thrown a Molotov cocktail into the lobby.”

  I imagined our biggest pain-in-the-ass customer, Mrs. Woodbine, rolling by in her Caddy to lob a firebomb at our front doors. I shook my head. “We don’t know what happened. I’m sure they’re investigating how the fire started. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nothing will change the fact that the Zomporium is gone.”

  Ally’s face fell. “I actually think I’m gonna miss that place.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”

  MY GRANDPARENTS HAD hired a limousine service to be at our disposal. As we exited the hospital, the long black car was waiting for us. Sandra and Derek sat on one side, and Ally and I took the other. Ally grasped my hand and squeezed, and I squeezed back. I’d never known my little sis to be so insecure. It just reminded me that Ally needed protecting (and not just Ally, but my whole family).

  I didn’t want to freak my sister out by agreeing with her magical fire theory, even though I thought the same thing. I wondered if Ally finding that box had somehow triggered a spell meant to destroy the box. Better minds than mine would have to figure it out. Demitrius had seen the magic, too, and he had said someone did it. I had a gut feeling Dem wouldn’t rest until he figured out what had happened. I took some comfort in that.

  What I wanted was the answer to the big question: Why had my mother hidden that box at the Zomporium?


  Molly’s Reaper Diary

  Your Past is Sometimes Your Future

  IF YOU’RE A reaper, you may have done things in your past that can affect your future. For example, take Parental Lecture #58: Bad Grades Affect Your Ability to Get Into a Good College.

  When you start high school, the phrase “on your permanent record” is said a lot, especially if you get an F on your Algebra test or a C- on your English essay (that was assigned a month ago, but you totally did it the night before).

  Now, if you take this concept and apply it to reaperhood, you have a lot more to worry about than whether or not you’re going to a community college or to a four-year school. IOW, you can do something as a human that will come back to bite you on your reaper bootie.

  Worse, as if you think you’ve dealt with something—a.k.a. mommy issues—well, guess what? You haven’t. I don’t think anyone’s past is ever truly gone. You carry every experience, good and bad, within you.

  And sometimes … you don’t get a choice which one will visit your future.

  “You want good advice? If something big, bad, and ugly is chasing you, don’t trip. Dumb ass.”

  ~Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown

  Chapter 9

  MY MOM LEFT us when I was 10 years old. My sister Ally was only eight. I don’t remember anything that led up to my mother abandoning us. I mean, like a super bad fight with my dad. Or stomping out of the house and yelling, “I’m never coming back!” Or sneaking into my bedroom one night and saying, “I have to leave, but I’ll see you again soon.”

  I do remember coming downstairs for breakfast one morning and seeing my dad sitting at the kitchen table. After Ally joined us, Dad gave us the bad news. Your mother is gone. She’s not coming back. I’m sorry.

  It was one of the only times I remember seeing my dad in an unbuttoned shirt and wrinkled pants. Daddy was something of a clothes horse (Where do you think I got my sense of style from?) and a big believer in a professional appearance. “If you look good, you feel good,” he often said.

  Of course, Ally and I did not react well to the news that our mother was gone. He couldn’t really offer us any kind of explanation. He just held us while we cried. Not long after that, Nona arrived from New York and moved in with us.

  Mom didn’t take much with her. Maybe she had hidden that mysterious box in the Zomporium on purpose. Maybe she meant to get it back, but couldn’t. Or maybe my dad put it there and just forgot about it.

  I have vague memories of my dad packing up Mom’s things into bags and boxes. I didn’t know where he had taken them, but I always assumed he’d given them away to charity or dumped them in the trash.

  It seemed that Cynthia Briarstock left everything — and everyone — behind.

  And she never looked back.

  THE LIMO PULLED up into the driveway of our home on Grimsby Avenue. I stared at the two-story brown stucco house. I had spent all sixteen years of my life here, but now the place seemed unfamiliar. I felt like I was visiting my sister’s house instead of returning to mine.

  “Let’s go, girls,” said Sandra. “I’m sure you’re both tired.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” said Ally. She negated that statement by yawning widely.

  We all piled out of the limousine. The driver gave us a little wave, and backed out, driving away.

  “He’ll be back in the morning to pick us up,” said Sandra. “We’ll visit your father right after breakfast.”

  “Thanks,” I said. It seemed I had been thanking a lot of people lately. It just reminded me how much I needed others in my life. I thought of Rath. I hadn’t seen him at the hospital, but I figured he was in reaper mode. I knew that he’d make a point to visit me, and I was glad for that, for him. I really needed his promised back-up.

  Our grandparents ushered us toward the front door, and Ally and I went first. Ally produced a key and fit it into the lock. I heard her mutter, “Weird.” Then she pulled out the key and twisted the knob. The door opened easily.

  “You guys left it unlocked?” I asked.

  “No.” She hesitated. “Maybe Nona forgot.”

  We both looked at each other, and shook our heads. Nona had the memory of an elephant. She remembered the first time she made bread with her mother—at the age of six—and every ingredient they had used. She wouldn’t forget to lock the door. Foreboding settled in my stomach like an iron weight. We stepped inside, and Ally flipped on the foyer light.

  Our living room was just a single step down.

  Everything was trashed. Not like I-had-a-party trashed, but like someone-tore-it-apart trashed. The couch cushions had been tossed off and ripped open. Books had been thrown off the bookshelves. Even the fireplace had been searched—ash from the interior pit spilled out onto the bricks and carpet.

  “Uncle Vinnie!” Ally pounded up the stairs before anyone could stop her.

  I made a move to follow my sister. My grandpa Derek grabbed my shoulder. “You and your grandmother wait outside. I’ll get Ally.” He looked at Sandra. “Call the police, sweetheart.”

  Sandra looked slightly shaken, but as iron-willed as ever. She took me by the arm and hustled me out to the front yard. She withdrew her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Yes, I need to report a break-in,” she said in a strong, clear voice. She gave the dispatcher our address and then held the phone to her ear while she put her arm around me. I didn’t know if she was trying to comfort me, or trying to keep me from running back into the house.

  The minutes ticked by, and still Derek and Ally did not come out the door. The only anxiety my grandma showed was the tightening of her fingers around my shoulder.

  “Yes. We’re still on the line,” said Sandra.

  We heard the blare of sirens, and relief flooded through me. Now, if only my sister and grandfather would come out of the house, I’d be okay.

  As if my thoughts had brought them into the doorway, Derek strode out with an inconsolable Ally in his arms He joined us at the edge of the yard. Ally clutched one of her favorite totes, a hideous flowered bag that she’d gotten at a garage sale last year. She had her other hand clasped around Derek’s neck. She was wailing.

  Ally didn’t cry. Of the two of us, I was the weeper. I knew that whatever they had found in the house had been very, very bad.

  A knot clogged my throat. “Uncle Vinnie … is he …?”

  Ally sobbed harder. Derek made soothing noises, and he glanced at me, giving a slight shake of his head. My uncle Vinnie had been zombified years ago after his death in a car accident. Still, he’d been part of our family. I knew that his zombie didn’t have a soul, but it was difficult to think that he was well and truly gone. He had been really great zombie.

  Two police cars pulled into our driveway.

  “Thank you. The police have arrived,” said Sandra, and then she ended the call with the dispatcher.

  The next thing I knew, four police officers exited their vehicles. Three drew their guns and went toward the house, and the fourth came to us.

  “Is everyone okay?” he asked. He looked at Ally, and frowned. “Does she need an ambulance?”

  “No,” said Derek. “She’s just upset.”

  “Given the circumstances, officer,” said Sandra. “I’m sure you’ll understand that we would like to get our granddaughters to safety.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” said the officer. “Let’s go down to the station, where we can take your statements in a more comfortable location.”

  My grandmother bristled. It was almost as if the police officer had offered to trade her Chanel suit for a Wal-mart ensemble. “I will not have my granddaughters subjected to … to … the vagaries of the police station. Nor will I expose them to common criminal elements.”

  The police officer blinked at the vehemence in her tone. His gaze flicked to me, and I think he was trying to decide whether or not she was serious. Apparently, he had never met Sandra Briarstock. Well, he would never forget her now.


  Ally’s sobs quieted, replaced by sniffles and hiccups.

  “I assure you, ma’am,” said the officer, “your granddaughters aren’t at any risk. The safest place for them is at the police station.”

  “Hardly.” My grandmother lifted her cell phone and dialed another number. “Bernard, it’s Sandra. We’re in Las Vegas, and the home of my granddaughters has been burgled. Please come at once.” She ended the call, and put the phone into her purse.

  The walkie-talkie clipped the officer’s shoulder beeped. “Excuse me.” He pulled the speaker off and away—far enough that we couldn’t hear his conversation.

  “Who’s Bernard?” I asked.

  “He’s a man of many talents,” said my grandmother. “He’ll take care of everything.”

  “So, he’s another lawyer?”

  “No,” said my grandmother.

  And that was the end of the conversation.

  Eventually, the cops who had been searching the house came out and reported that no one else had been found on the property. They said nothing about my Uncle Vinnie. Zombies weren’t considered “alive” or “citizens.” When one perished, it was the equivalent of losing a pet. We were told that they could not release the house until CSI and ZEU (Zombie Enforcement Unit) had arrived.

  My home was a crime scene.

  “You can’t take my uncle,” said Ally.

  “The zombie?” The reporting officer shook his head. “Sorry, miss. CSI gets him first. Then the ZEU needs to dispose of him properly.”

  De-animated zombies were cremated, which destroyed the body and any residual magic within it. Since a funeral had already been held and a memorial placed for the soul of my uncle, his body was considered as important as a piece of broken furniture.

  Ally started to cry again, and my grandfather kissed her forehead and held her tighter.

  I leaned into my grandmother’s embrace. “I don’t think I can take much more,” I said. I could hear the break in my own voice, and gulped, trying to forestall tears. I wanted to be brave and not feel like a weeping wimp.