Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1)

by Kerry Blaisdell

  Then, fast as I could, I flung it toward the rock.

  There was an instant of shattering light, sparking and splitting into a million pieces, and then the rock’s own thread burst forth and joined with ours.

  My eyes flew open. Jacques stumbled, falling to his knees at the edge of the pit, and Claude looked startled, glancing in our direction. I pulled on the rock, and it moved toward us at the same moment that something happened in the chasm below. The rumbling grew louder, followed by a sound like thousands of teeth gnashing.

  Claude shouted something at the pets that I could barely hear, in a language I didn’t recognize, and they turned as one and moved toward us. The rock was halfway between me and the center of the pit, near its edge but not close enough to physically grab it. The more I pulled, the more I felt whatever was in the chasm pulling it back. I couldn’t think about what—who—was down there. Satan couldn’t leave Hell, could he? Or did his banishment only apply to Heaven, not Earth?

  In a few seconds, the pets would reach us, and he wouldn’t need to come out. I’d be thrown down to him, along with Eric and the rock. I pulled harder, Eric pulling with me.

  The dual forces, ours against the one from Hell, created a vacuum. The pit was growing, the chamber’s walls shook. A piece of stone fell from the ceiling, smashing into the truck driver’s skull. With a surprised look, he toppled to the ground. I just had time to realize he could still die, when suddenly, there were two of him, one lying down, the other standing.

  No—his corpse lay on the floor. It was his soul I saw next to it. He looked down at his body, then at me. With a roar of rage, he ran toward us and I jerked away, almost losing my hold on the rock, then snatching it back just in time.

  “I will take care of him!” Eric shouted. I felt him fling his thread at me, giving me total control of it, while he pushed out of the tunnel and rushed to meet the dead driver.

  The other, not-dead pet paused uncertainly, looking down at his friend’s corpse, and I remembered what Jason said about their inability to think under pressure. Apparently, death released the enchantment, because the enraged truck driver now seemed perfectly able to think on his own. Eric met him at the edge of the pit and they grappled. I tried not to watch—if I did, terror for Eric would make me lose what little advantage I’d gained with the rock.

  It was so close to the edge of the pit. If I could just reach it—

  Claude shouted at the chauffeur, who resumed his plodding toward me, hampered by the heaving floor and the crashing rocks. Jacques, who’d been kneeling, seemingly in a deep trance, jerked upright and raised his arms higher. The pit swirled, the stones shifting and melting, molten lava that crawled up and out, spilling onto the floor, over his feet and Claude’s, not seeming to affect them at all, nearing Eric and the truck driver—so hot, any other heat I’d felt before, demon or otherwise, was nothing in comparison. My skin sizzled with it.

  The truck driver had a grip on Eric’s neck, pulling him toward the lava. It crawled over the driver’s own foot and he screamed—the part of his form touched by it flared bright. Then with a tremendous crack! his whole leg from the knee down vanished. He shrieked, his rage and pain seeming only to increase his strength, and he twisted and hopped on his remaining leg, yanking Eric with him toward Hell.

  “NO!” I screamed. I couldn’t wait—I launched myself at the rock, just beyond the edge of the lava. My toes were inches from the searing heat—hands stretching out—grasping—

  I had it! The rock was in my hands—I yanked it to me, toppling back. Earth crumbled, stone shattered, my ears split, the whole chamber shook and erupted all at once. The chauffeur fell over, a jagged stone piercing his back, and, undeterred, crawled toward me.

  I realized I still held the threads in my mind and let Eric’s go, feeling it slide back into him. He twisted free from the truck driver’s grip and shoved him backward into the lava. The driver shrieked in agony, popping and cracking as he dissolved and was sucked down to Hell.

  Eric turned and sprinted toward me. “Run!”

  I still held the piece of the Rousseaux’s power in my mind. From across the pit, Claude’s gaze met mine. He knew. He saw my dilemma and smiled, and the power felt so good. Surely, I could keep it—just a tiny bit. Jason had demon blood in him. Why couldn’t I take this, a teeny drop of demon power, and use it for something good?

  Eric grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Let it go—you must let it go!”

  Claude sent a pulse into my mind. Subconsciously, I tried to step toward him, but Eric blocked my way. Something about that confused me, as did the rock in my hands. How had it gotten there? Why on earth would I want a boring old rock, when there was a perfectly good pit in front of me, into which I could toss it?

  The chauffeur reached us and grabbed one of my ankles, pulling on it. Eric kicked him in the head and turned me toward the tunnel. Either the floor was sinking, or the lava was rising, or both. Jacques was more than half-covered by it. Claude, farther from the pit, had it up to his knees.

  I half-turned, looking longingly at Claude across the chasm.

  And then Eric pulled me away again. Leaned close to my ear. Gripped my shoulders tight. Said, “Geordi.”

  I shot forward, away from the Rousseaux and the pit of Hell. Claude made a noise like a million souls wailing and yanked on their thread, dragging me back. I released it and it whipped back into him, knocking him over with its force. It coiled, slithered, arced, then merged with the fire in the pit, pulling him down until he vanished below the lava.

  Jacques’ eyes snapped open. His gaze flew to my face and he regarded me steadily. But without rancor. I was a curiosity to him—like he wondered how I’d stolen his power and taken the rock, then vanquished his brother, but he felt he had plenty of time to work it all out. He shook his head once, then walked forward. Not to me. Into the pit, moving slowly downward, holding my gaze until the lava covered him with a soft, satisfied, sucking pop!

  The walls began to crash in around us, and Eric shoved me into the tunnel. I was vaguely aware of the chauffeur crawling along behind us. I’d half hoped Eric’s kick had finished him off and he’d gone to join his buddy in Hell, but apparently not.

  And then, like the barriers at the Rousseaux’s villa, the chamber imploded into billions of particles of sharp, hot dust, and I scrambled for dear life back up the tunnel, choking on the stench of burning death. An instant later I burst out of the tumulus onto the side of the mound, Eric and the chauffeur right on my heels. Behind us, the tunnel entrance collapsed, filling with dirt until no sign of it remained.

  The sun was just vanishing below the horizon.

  And the rock was safe in my arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “For death begins with life’s first breath,

  And life begins at touch of death.”

  ~John Oxenham (1852-1941)

  Eric sat up and crawled to me, and I said, “Go! Get out of here—I have to call Michael down, and if he sees you, I don’t know what will happen.” He opened his mouth to protest and I cut him off. “Listen to me—I have to give Michael the rock, so we can go find Geordi.”

  I thought he’d try to argue, but at last he blew out a ghost-breath. “This is not poaching.” He pulled me into his arms, solid and real, and with a sob of gratitude, I clutched him back.

  “Mon ange,” he murmured against my neck, and then he pulled away and scrambled around the hill toward the car.

  The chauffeur still lay on the ground a few feet away, stunned but apparently unaffected by the smoke and debris that clogged my lungs. I ignored him. Without the Rousseaux to command him, he wasn’t a threat. I took a second to clear my head, and then I thought, Michael.

  Nothing happened. Both times before, he’d come without asking. Maybe I wasn’t doing it right. Michael, I thought again, harder this time. I’ve got it—come down, damn you.

  “You really should be careful who you damn,” said a deep voice a few feet away, and I turned to him, re
lief washing through me in wave after wave.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, shoving the rock into his hands. “Here it is—I satisfied our bargain.”

  He stared at it, astonishment writ large on his face. “Hyacinth Finch—you amaze me. I did not truly expect you to succeed.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He grinned, then paused as though searching for something in his mind. “Ah, it is so. The Rousseaux—I felt them leave. Whatever you did to them, they have gone back to Hell, to recuperate.” He shook his head in wonder. “Extraordinary.”

  He saw the chauffeur then, and his expression became the calm, reassuring one he’d used with Lily. He moved to stand in front of the man, and said, “You may get up now, my son.”

  To my amazement, the chauffeur slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking around in confusion. His gaze landed on me. “Tu peux m’aider? Which way should I go?”

  I don’t know who was more surprised, Michael or me. But the man looked at me so searchingly, so hopefully, that without thinking, I said, “You’re dead?”

  “I…suppose I am. Can you help me?”

  Of course he was dead. I’d seen the broken stone stab him but assumed it hadn’t killed him. Now I realized—Eric had kicked him, which was only possible if he were a ghost. His corpse must have been obscured by all the falling rocks when his spirit left it.

  Michael watched me curiously. No point in trying to keep my secret from him any longer. I turned to the chauffeur. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see him going to Hell. As with Monsieur Lebeau, everything in me suggested he should go up, not down.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Jean. It was Jean, before…” He looked at me helplessly, as though unwanted memories flooded back. “Claude Rousseau—he came to the bank where I worked. To recruit me, he said, as a financial advisor for him and his brother. He took me to dinner—that’s the last I remember.”

  Was it possible he was actually a good man, who’d been captured by the Rousseaux and turned into a pet against his will? I looked uncertainly at Michael.

  “Well, child. He has asked for your help. What do you say? Shall he go up? Or down?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want this—it was too much responsibility. Surely Michael wouldn’t just do whatever I said. He expected me to say something, though. I opened my mouth to state the obvious, that a demon pet belonged in Hell. But I couldn’t do it.

  “He should go up. This better not affect our deal, because I know how crazy it sounds. But…I really think he should go up.”

  Michael stared at me for a long, long moment. “Incredible. Have you always been able to speak with the Dead?”

  “Only since you sent me back down.”

  “And…do you always sense whether they should go to Heaven or Hell?”

  I thought of Eric. “Sometimes. It hasn’t come up that often.”

  He stroked his chin, while Jean waited silently, watching us. At last he said, “Hyacinth, I believe we had a deal. You have fulfilled your end of it, and then some.” He paused to look lovingly at the rock, which fairly glowed with happiness in his hands. Then he raised his gaze to mine again. “Therefore, I grant you your wish. You may stay on Earth long enough to find a home for your nephew.”

  Hope soared, rushing through me, glorious and strong. Geordi would be safe—I’d find him and take him far away from the Dioguardis, and make sure he was safe, safe, safe.

  Michael raised a hand. “There is one condition, however.”

  His words sank like a stone in my gut. “Condition? You can’t do that—we had a bargain!”

  “True. But this is an unusual situation, and you have an exceptional talent. Two talents, both of which I find necessary to help me.”

  I drew in a breath, trying to calm my temper. We might have had a deal, but he was an archangel. It didn’t necessarily follow that he would keep his word, if something he deemed important enough changed things. “What condition?”

  “While you are on Earth, and until you find a home for your nephew, you will work as my assistant.”

  “Assistant?” I couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d demanded I grow a second head. “What in the world can I do as your assistant?”

  “Two things. First, continue to help me search out more pieces of the rock.”

  “How do you expect me to do that? It was a fluke that I found this one!”

  “And the one at the Plutonium. Once is a fluke. Twice is a pattern. Either you are very good at sensing them, or they seek you out. Either way is useful to me. And due to your, shall we say, unique skills, you have connections to those who covet this very type of artifact. You can keep your eyes and ears—all your senses—open, and if you find anything, return it to me. Perhaps if we find enough pieces of our own, Satan will give up his plans to find them himself.”

  I could see his point, and stopping Satan sounded like an excellent plan. Just not if I was the one doing it. “And the second thing?”

  “As I’ve said, there are many-many newly dead, and guiding them takes much of my time. There may be some that I miss, here or there.”

  The breath caught in my throat—did he know about Eric? His tone held no suspicion, though, so I kept my mouth shut and waited.

  “If, in your travels, you come across a soul in need, you will act as my gatekeeper, helping them along their way.”

  I stared, open-mouthed. Me? Guide souls? For him? He was the Angel of Death. “But…the Dead hate me!”

  His laugh roared out, and Jean watched us curiously. Michael turned to him. “My son—do you hate this woman?”

  Jean shook his head vehemently. “She released me from the Rousseaux. I am eternally grateful.”

  Michael turned back to me. “There, you see—the Dead, like the Living, are complex. But I’ve no doubt you’ve angered quite a few throughout your career. Perhaps this will give you a chance to atone. The final decision will be mine, of course. Your job will be simply to guide some of the newly Dead, should I not find them first. The choice is yours. If you wish to stay, you will do so as my assistant. Otherwise, you may come with me now as I take Jean away.”

  What could I say? It seemed I’d find myself in Hell after all, if he literally meant I would go the same direction as Jean. But either way, I couldn’t leave Geordi, and Michael knew it.

  “Okay,” I said at last. “It’s a deal. But I won’t do anything until I get Geordi back.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I get as long as I need, to find him a good home. Not just any home.”

  His eyes narrowed. I don’t know if he suspected I wanted to stay on Earth forever, but he merely nodded and said again, “Agreed.”

  They were small victories, and might have been granted anyway, but I felt like I’d won something. Michael was fair. He had his own agenda, and he’d use me for whatever he could, but I’d get something out of it, too. Something so precious and wonderful, I’d do anything for Michael in return. Which he knew.

  “Go,” he said now. “Find your nephew. I will be in touch.”

  “Wait. One more thing. Before you sent me back to Earth, you told me you couldn’t do anything about the Dioguardis because they’re only human.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I recall.”

  “But…” I wasn’t sure what to say. His expression was guileless. Did he really not know of their demon blood? He’d said often that he wasn’t omniscient. Hell, he hadn’t even known either rock was found until I told him. But it was his job to deal with Satan. Wasn’t keeping track of demons, full or otherwise, a huge part of that?

  Should I tell him?

  If Michael knew about the Dioguardis, what would he do? Could he do anything? Or as “half-bloods,” were they too human—too alive—for him to intervene? Was the blood really so weak that, as Jason claimed, they weren’t even truly demons?

  Moreover, what did I want Michael to do? Annihilate them? Even supposing he could, it occurred to me that might no
t be in my best interest. The Dioguardis were my only excuse for sticking around to keep Geordi safe. If they went away, there went my reason to stay.

  Okay, that was the most cowardly reason ever to allow demons and Mafiosi to wander the Earth. I wasn’t proud of it, but not so ashamed that I told him. In the end, I just didn’t have enough information. Nick was a bastard, but not a demon. Jason was a demon, but had done nothing but try to help me, ever since I’d known him. Other than kidnapping Geordi, which he’d only done to protect him.

  Michael waited expectantly, and when I didn’t speak, asked, “Was there anything else?”

  I thought, Yes. Millions of questions. Like why is Eric still here, and how can demons walk the Earth, and how do I get my nephew back?

  All I said was, “No.”

  “Very well.” He turned to Jean and took his hand. “Come, my son. It is time.”

  Jean’s face lit with the same trust and hope that Lily’s had when Michael led her away. He turned and met my gaze, his own overflowing with heartfelt gratitude. “Merci beaucoup.”

  Michael also looked at me. “You are correct, of course. He should go up.”

  Then they were gone, leaving me alone on a hill in Turkey, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  “Tata Hyhy?” said a small voice behind me, and I whirled, and incredibly—impossibly—wonderfully—Geordi stood near the bottom of the mound.

  I raced to him, falling to my knees, pulling him close, crying so hard I could barely speak. “Where—? How—?” I pulled back, checking him over, hardly believing he was real and in my arms again.

  He looked exactly the same as when I’d seen him last—was it only a day ago? He appeared to be unharmed, dressed neatly, backpack on his shoulders. In one hand, he clutched the scarab Nadezhda had given him. In the other, a paper lunch bag.

  “Are you okay, sweetie? Did—did anyone hurt you?” I almost asked if Jason had, but I knew he never would. Dioguardi Demon he might be, but beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would never, ever hurt Geordi.

  “I’m okay,” Geordi said. He held out the bag. “This is for you.”