Lost Soul

by E. A. Copen

  Lost Soul

  Book 11 of The Lazarus Codex

  E.A. Copen

  Lost Soul is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 E.A. Copen

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, October 2019

  ebook ISBN: 978-1-64202-506-4

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-507-1

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Author Notes

  Connect with the Author

  Get an Exclusive Story from The Lazarus Codes

  Books by E.A. Copen

  Other LMBPN Publishing Books

  Chapter One

  The worst part about being a disembodied spirit wasn’t the Reapers chasing me, or the hungry ghosts, but the damn physics. When you’re human, movement is limited to lateral directions. Sure, you can jump a few inches, but it’s basically just movement in four directions. The ground is down, the sky is up, and walking is just what happens when you push your feet against the floor and tell your brain, “Mush.”

  Not so for a spirit. As a spirit, there was a whole new set of rules I had to learn to follow.

  I darted from shadow to shadow, keeping under the balconies on Bourbon Street as best I could. The sun bleached the street, pushing the shadows farther back with every passing hour. Soon, there wouldn’t be many shadows left to cling to.

  I pushed myself to the next deep shadow but somehow managed to brush my ghostly arm against a ray of sunlight coming through a hole in the balcony above. A flash of light and a little fire broke out on my arm. With a yelp, I patted it out.

  I lifted my arm with a frown. A good-sized chunk of ghostly flesh was missing. The rest of me thinned out to compensate, and I shuddered. The more bits of me I lost to the sun, the thinner my form became. Eventually, there’d be nothing left. I had to get out of the sun and quick. Problem was, I didn’t know where to go. I could go into any of the buildings to wait out the daylight hours, but I’d be trapped. With a whole group of Reapers on my tail, that was the last thing I wanted to be.

  The balconies came to an end and with them my protective covering from the sun. What I wouldn’t give for an umbrella, I thought, looking across the sunny street. Not that I could use one if I had it. The only thing I’d figured out how to interact with so far were lights. I could make them flicker by flying through the bulbs. Go, me.

  Down the street, there was a small awning that stretched out into the street. There was still a strip of exposed ground, but it was less than I’d face crossing the street. Let’s see. This is St. Peter’s Street. I think I can take it straight to Basin Street, and then I’ll be home free so long as the shadows hold.

  I slid around the corner.

  A fiery meteor slammed into the ground in front of me, pushing me back a half-step. When the fire faded, it revealed a man armed with a scythe. His black eyes narrowed at me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! I told you assholes I’m not dead!”

  The Reaper clearly didn’t care. He stepped forward and swung his scythe at me.

  I turned and ran back the other way. No matter how many times I tried to explain to those guys that I wasn’t really dead, they kept coming after me. I didn’t know if there was some sort of automated system in the afterlife spitting them out, or if there was a supervisor I could talk to or what. Asking wouldn’t do me any good since all the Reapers they’d sent after me didn’t do any talking. They also attacked me on sight.

  Another fiery blast slammed into the sidewalk ahead, passing through the balcony above as if it weren’t there. This Reaper was a woman dressed in flowing white robes. Same pissed off expression, same scythe. I was starting to be a little upset that all I’d gotten when I became Death was a crummy stick.

  I slid to a stop and glanced around for an exit. With one behind me and one in front, my only choice was to push through the building on my right. I turned and rushed the wall, only to hit it and bounce off. Dammit, why couldn’t being a disembodied spirit be easy?

  The Reapers closed on either side.

  I forced my eyes closed. Okay, Lazarus. You’ve zipped through walls before. You can do this. All you’ve got to do is think ghostly thoughts. What did ghosts think about anyway? Unfinished business? Boy, did I have a ton of that!

  The Reapers were almost on top of me when I opened my eyes and sped forward toward the brick wall. I winced, expecting to hit it again, but instead, I popped through onto the other side. The building must’ve been a hotel because the trappings of an upscale hotel lobby were all around: plush chairs, mahogany desk, fancy rug… The only thing missing was the people. Of course, the Quarter was still a ghost town after the near apocalypse I’d died averting. It’d be a few weeks before things got back to normal.

  I sped through the lobby without stopping to admire the place and pushed through the wall on the other side. I came out in a mostly empty parking garage where another Reaper waited. He pushed off the pillar he was casually leaning against—don’t ask me how since they were as ethereal as me—and spun his scythe.

  I huffed out a breath. “Just how many of you assholes are there?”

  “As many as are required,” he said.

  I blinked. “You can talk?”

  “Of course. Now, if you’d be so kind as to stop running so I could reap your soul, I would certainly appreciate it.”

  “Sorry, pal. Not gonna happen.” I prepped to push myself upward and into the upper level of the parking garage. I figured the worst thing that could happen was I went too far and wound up in the sun again. Then I could just dive into the next building and book it out of there. The Reapers would never stop hunting me, though. Not until I either found the missing pieces of my soul and got back into my body or somehow convinced them that I really wasn’t dead.

  Just as I was about to jump, a loud, screaming cry echoed through the parking garage. “LEEEEROY JEEEENKIIIINS!”

  Another spirit came smashing through the wall like a blue bullet. I had a fraction of a second to recognize the cockeyed hat, the mustached lip, and the face of Jean Lafitte before he grabbed me and pulled me through the other wall and out into the sun. I curled up to protect myself as best I could, but fire sparked on all the exposed…flesh? Ectoplasm? Who the hell knew what I was made of?

  We sailed over Dauphine and Burgundy Streets at a speed well in excess of a hundred miles an hour, the wind fanning the sprouting flames.

  “Jean!” I shouted. “I’m on fire!”

  “Fear not, my friend! We have
but a short trip until you’re safely within the confines of sacred ground.”

  True to his word, Jean flew toward the gates of St. Louis Number One and dropped me just on the other side. The moment my feet touched the ground, the flames sizzled and went out. My ethereal form became more solid, almost flesh-like for the first time since I’d shattered my soul.

  I ran my hands over my chest, just to make sure all of me was still there, then collapsed with a huff of air, giving Jean a doubtful look. “Leroy Jenkins?

  He hovered above me, hands folded behind his back. “I heard it on a television program. It seems to have some sort of cultural meaning. I assumed it was a cry of bravery for those charging into battle on behalf of their friends.”

  “Eh, not exactly. More like the war cry of a bonehead running headlong toward inevitable defeat.”

  “Oh.” He lowered himself so that he was standing on the ground.

  The same phenomenon that’d happened to me had also happened to him. His blue spiritual form changed into one of color and solid build. It was as close as I’d ever get to meet a live and breathing version of Jean Lafitte. Of course, he hadn’t really ever died either. He lost his body when an Archon forced him out of it. The downside was that he was now a disembodied spirit, barely able to interact with the physical world. Upside? Eternal life.

  Jean wore a blue jacket with a bright red sash at his waist and a feathered cavalier’s hat. His gruff facial features and large mustache made him look intimidating, but the truth was Jean was a bit of a coward sometimes. The thing he feared most was Reapers, which he’d always claimed were hunting him, though I’d never seen any evidence of that. After how the last few hours had gone for me, I’d never doubt him again.

  “How’d you know where to find me?” I asked.

  He crossed his arms. “The Reapers left me alone. I figured they’d either finally given up—unlikely—or they’d found more impressive game to hunt. Then I asked myself what soul could be more worthwhile than mine? After all, they have been hunting me for two hundred years. I went to see what the fuss was all about and found you.”

  “So, you weren’t looking for me?”

  “Not in the slightest.” He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged in mid-air. “I’m a little surprised to see you, especially in your current state. What happened? Did an Archon push your soul out, or did you just finally drink yourself to death?”

  “You’ve got how many bars named after you, Jean? That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” I rubbed the back of my head. “I’m not dead. Not completely anyway. I may have pulled my own soul out to fuel a spell. Apparently, that causes it to shatter. I’ve got six days to put my soul back together and shove it into my body, or Samedi digs my grave.”

  Jean stroked his mustache. “And what happens if Samedi digs your grave?”

  “I die. For real this time.”

  “I see. Any progress?”

  I shook my head. “Haven’t been able to get anywhere with these Reapers chasing me. Besides, just getting the hang of existing without a body has been a pain in the ass. That’s it!” I snapped my fingers. “You can teach me.”

  He looked horrified and backed away. “Me?”

  “Why not?” I asked, shrugging. “You’ve been a disembodied spirit avoiding Reapers for two hundred years. You must know something that can help. Please, Jean. You’re my only chance.”

  “Well…” He paused to clear his throat. “I suppose I can help you, although I have absolutely no idea how to locate lost pieces of a soul. They could be anywhere, Lazarus. Without any leads...” He shrugged.

  “Well, it all started in Jackson Square, so I thought that was where I’d start looking.” I pushed up to my feet and took a step. My foot sank about two inches into the ground and got stuck there. I tried to pull it free, but whatever ability allowed me to pass through solid objects seemed to have turned itself off, and Jean was no help. He was perfectly content to stand back and chuckle at me as I struggled. “A little help here?”

  “First of all, if you want to move like a spirit, you’ve got to stop thinking like a human.” Jean put a hand under my arm and pulled me out of the ground with ease. “When you look at the ground, what do you see?”

  I looked down and shrugged. “Dirt?”

  Jean let me go and knelt to scoop up a handful of loose dirt and grass complete with a few worms. “It’s more than just dirt. There’s a lot of blank space in between the tiny bits that make up the world.”

  “Like the spaces between atoms?”

  “Sure.” He dumped the dirt. “The point is, human beings have big, solid bodies. Even though there’s all that empty space, they can stand on anything. We just sink into it. The more empty space there is, the easier it is to sink into. So, instead of walking, floating is easier.” To show me, he shoved off the ground, hovering several feet up.

  “But what if I want to interact with something physical? Like if I wanted to open a door?”

  Jean shrugged. “Easier to just float through a wall, really.”

  “No, bad example.” I waved my hands. “Say I wanted to push something off a shelf to get someone’s attention or flip a book to a certain page. Can I do that?”

  “Sure,” Jean said, “in about fifty or sixty years.”

  I groaned and put my face in my hands. I didn’t have fifty years to figure out how to be a proper disembodied spirit. I had six days. During those six days, I was inevitably going to need someone’s help. Not only that, but I wanted to let Emma know I was still around if I could. That was going to be all but impossible if all I could do was make a few lights flicker.

  But Jean could do it. I’d seen him move solid objects before. Maybe I wouldn’t need to do any of that if I stayed with him, provided he didn’t run off at the first sign of trouble like usual.

  “Okay,” I said, heaving a deep breath and floating toward the cemetery exit. “Let’s do this.”

  “Oh, one more thing. Lazarus?”

  I grabbed the iron gate. As soon as I touched it, a shock ran through me, and everything went black.

  I don’t know how long I was out for, but I came to resting on a grave with my head against the stone. Jean sat in the boughs of a tree, feet swinging in the breeze as he hummed a tune.

  “Ugh, what happened?” I sat up, rubbing my neck.

  Jean floated down from the tree. “Oh, good. You came back. I was worried you were done for.”

  “Done for?”

  “The iron.” He gestured to the gate. “It’s one of the three things we can’t touch. If you do, you’ll pop out of existence like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Ultimately, you come back, of course, but sometimes it takes a while. Days…weeks. Depends. Unless it’s a Reaper scythe. You touch that, and it’s all over.”

  “No iron, no Reaper scythes…” I counted on two fingers and tried to remember all the usual rules associated with ghosts. I dealt with them on a regular basis as a necromancer, so the iron thing should’ve been at the forefront of my mind, but everything in my memory had been a little hazy since I turned up as a spirit. The final item finally came to me. “And salt, right?”

  Jean nodded. “Saltwater doesn’t count, unless it has a very high concentration of salt, of course. But if you avoid all three of those things, you should be fine. Unfortunately, there’s a lot more iron in the world than I think most living people realize. Be careful moving through building walls, for example. Some of them have iron supports. And cars? Well, the newer ones should be okay, but it’s safer to attach yourself to an object. Then the rules are a little more flexible and…”

  He trailed off and lowered his hands. “You know what? This’ll be a lot easier if you learn it on the job. You don’t need to know all this. I mean, it took me decades to get all the rules down.”

  “And I’m on borrowed time.” I looked at the sky. The sun was still out, but I hadn’t been burned since setting foot in the cemetery, which proved one of my theories right, anyway. I was safe on sacre
d ground, at least from the sun. “From dawn until dusk, I’ll have to remain in a cemetery?”

  Jean shrugged. “I’m not bound by that rule, but it might be different for you. You’re a much dimmer spirit. Maybe once we find some of your pieces and start putting you back together, you can venture out in the daytime, but I wouldn’t go out as you are until the sun sets.”

  “I need to find out how many pieces there are,” I said, pacing. If you could call floating back and forth pacing. It really wasn’t quite as satisfying as stomping around. “I know Odin has my shadow. Maybe he’d know?”

  “Well, do you have any idea how to get in contact with him?”

  I didn’t, not exactly. Odin had always come to me whenever he wanted something, not the other way around. I stopped pacing. Maybe I didn’t know how to get hold of Odin directly, but I knew he was in town, and I knew exactly what he wanted. “Jean,” I said with a big smile, “where is the closest grocery store?”

  Chapter Two

  As soon as the sun set, we left St. Louis Number One and found our way to a convenience store over a few streets away. It was still open, which wasn’t ideal, but I didn’t want to waste any time waiting for patrons to clear out. Jean pointed out lots of steel around and told me to be careful not to bump into the shelves. Apparently, they had just enough iron to be a problem. He had no problems moving through them, however. I chalked it up to my only being part of a soul.