by E. A. Copen
“They shouldn’t need convincing,” Khaleda said. “My brother Osric had a deal with the Shadow Queen.”
I bobbed my head. “Who I killed.”
Khaleda glared at me. “The oath was between the court and Osric, and it’s binding in every way. Shadow might have a new king, but he is still bound by the promises of his court.”
“Yes, but Shadow was decimated by Mask.” I floated toward the window. The shades were drawn so I couldn’t see outside. It couldn’t be that close to dawn, could it? I had until then to get all of this settled and find somewhere safe to lay low during the day. “I don’t know exactly how many Shadow fae are left, but I do know it’s not many. Finn and Remy came to get my help, and the Court of Miracles isn’t exactly huge. In fact, the only free court with a significant number of troops would be the High Court, and their soldiers are already pledged to Finn and Remy’s cause.” I turned away from the window. “So if you want a fae army, they’re the ones you have to convince, and you’ll probably have to help them liberate Faerie first.”
Khaleda let out a frustrated growl and threw up her hands. “Why can’t anything ever be simple?”
“Nothing’s ever simple when Lazarus is involved,” Nate muttered.
“Hey, you try being me for a day, pal, and do my job. See how complicated it is.”
Nate shrugged. “I’m sure it is. But life’s complicated for all of us, Lazarus. Adding the supernatural to the mix just makes it more so. It does sound like Khaleda needs a meeting with Finn and Remy to sort out this alliance, though.”
“Yes, thank you. Finally, someone with a brain.” She gestured to Nate. “When can I meet them?”
Nate crossed his arms. “After you help Lazarus find the pieces of his soul.”
If Khaleda could shoot flames with her eyes, that’s what she would’ve been doing after Nate made his suggestion. She’d been backed into a corner, and the only way forward was to do exactly what she didn’t want to. Go, Nate!
“Finding pieces of a fractured soul isn’t simple,” Khaleda said and started pacing. “You may not know this, but I did previously have to locate a lost portion of mine. It was being held by a man in Manhattan who had designs of becoming the next Devil. It was unfortunate, but Josiah and I had to kill him to reclaim it.” She stopped in front of the window and pulled the drapes aside, looking out over the darkened city.
“I don’t need you to kill anyone. I don’t think this is the same,” I said, floating toward her. “According to Samedi, my soul shattered into different pieces when I used it to fuel the spell. If I can pull the pieces back together, and push them back into my body…”
She let go of the curtain, letting it fall back into place before turning on me. “You think you’ll magically wake up and everything will be fine.”
I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because things are never that simple.”
“You let me worry about the complications,” I told her. “I just need you to help me find the pieces. Samedi said there are natural breakpoints, places the souls normally break apart during their time in the underworld.”
“Samedi was right.” Khaleda walked behind Nate, tracing a finger along his shoulders. “There’s the conscious bit, which seems to be what you’ve retained. It’s always the hardest stain to get out, especially when it comes to stubborn necromancers.”
Nate shuddered and moved away from her.
“Thanks,” I said.
She frowned. “It wasn’t a compliment. Anyway, it’s the part of you that’s fully aware and in control at the moment of death. Your waking mind, you might say. It contains everything you know, your basic instinct for survival, and the ability to plan, as well as some basic recall. You can make decisions and take action, but you’re unable to affect the world around you, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly what my biggest problem is,” I muttered. “At best, I can make some lights flicker.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other and grasping her knee. “Then there are the dreams and desires. Once you get the dead to accept they’re really dead and there’s no chance of rescue, that part of the soul is usually the first to die.”
I touched my chest. “I have dreams and desires.”
“Really? Let’s test that theory.” Something dark flared deep in her eyes.
Nate made a small, panicked squeak and immediately went to his knees, trembling as he gripped the sides of his head.
“Nate? What’s wrong with you?” I tried to put my hand on his shoulder, but it went through his body. Khaleda must be hitting him with her power. I glared at her. “Stop it.”
Nate suddenly gasped and fell forward, holding himself up on shaky arms.
Khaleda smiled. “Just proving a point. In your current state, you’re completely unable to experience pleasure, or even recall what it’s like enough to desire it. Your only desires are likely rooted in survival, your emotions muted. That part of your soul is missing.”
She was right. I hadn’t even felt it when she unleashed her power. Looking back, I hadn’t felt much of anything except a hint of sadness while I watched Emma cry. It was like I remembered how I was supposed to feel, what I was supposed to want, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.
“Okay, that’s one part. What else?” I asked.
She shrugged. “If your soul did break along pre-determined lines, then the other part you’re missing is what we call your will.”
“That’s like my magic, right?”
“Your magic is probably part of it, but so is the drive for justice, vengeance, victory, and honor. It’s hard to describe, but if you’ve ever looked at some injustice in the world and felt intense anger, that essence is rooted in the will portion of the soul. It’s what drives you, crafted by your desire, and tempered by your conscious mind. Apart, these three sections can’t function effectively. But together…” She intertwined her fingers as if that were an example. “You need your mind, your will, and your desire all intact for your body to work. And a little something extra that no supernatural creature has ever been able to duplicate called a Spark.”
“What’s a Spark?”
Khaleda rose from the bed. “No one is really sure, but it’s what’s missing from the undead, magically constructed creatures, and every life form that man has attempted to create through other means. Without a Spark, the body rejects the soul, but once the spark gone...” She snapped her fingers. “It’s gone. Sometimes the Spark is gone by the time souls get to the Underworld for processing, but most of the time, they hang on as long as they can.”
“By gone you mean…”
“Processed.”
And by processed she meant tortured apart in one of many underworld kingdoms.
Nate finally stood, though he was swaying on his feet. “How do you know if a soul still has their Spark or not?”
“That’s easy,” she said, turning her lips up in a smile. “If they don’t, they catch fire in the sunlight.”
I winced. That meant I’d lost my Spark too, and I had to find it to fuse all the pieces back together.
“This is all assuming your soul broke along those lines, of course, which you won’t know until you’ve tracked down the first piece. For that, you don’t need me, but I do know who can help you.”
“Who?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Khaleda went to the door and gestured for me to follow. “Don’t get so worked up. I promise you’ll get along just fine. You’ve worked together before.”
I tried to think of someone I’d worked with before who might be able to see souls. The only person still alive was Haru, and Samedi said no one had seen him in a while. He claimed to be on an extended vacation. I didn’t see him coming back just to help me either. Guess I was going to have to follow her to find out.
I lingered next to the door a moment, looking back at Nate.
“Go.” He waved me off.
“You know you don’t have to keep a vigil o
ver my body, especially knowing I’m not in it.”
Nate shrugged. “Keeping up appearances. Emma will be upset if she shows up and no one is here. For what it’s worth, Lazarus, I think you should bring her in on this. She could really use the good news.”
I almost repeated what I’d said earlier about not wanting to give her false hope, but stopped myself. I’d also promised Nate I’d listen to him more. “I’ll consider it,” I said.
He nodded and plopped down into the chair to keep watch over my body.
Chapter Six
Khaleda led me around the back of the hospital and to the nearby parking garage, up to the second level from the top. I hounded her the entire way, asking her for clues about who she expected me to work with.
She stopped just before going around the last corner and put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Lazarus. You’d think being a disembodied spirit would’ve made you more appreciative of my help.”
“I’m running on a tight time limit, Khaleda. I can’t afford to get jerked around.”
She crossed her arms. “What makes you think I’d jerk you around? We’ve been allies longer than we’ve been enemies.”
“Being your ally might be more dangerous than being your enemy, Khaleda. At least your enemies know what’s coming.”
She nodded and shrugged, acknowledging it was true. “Okay, fair enough. But I have a reason to help you. I need a meeting with your daughter.”
“She can’t even see me,” I pointed out. “What makes you think I can get you that meeting?”
Khaleda started walking again. “It’s not about that. Remy is a Faerie Queen, and they’re notoriously distrustful of outsiders, especially someone like me. By helping her father, I’m proving myself a trustworthy ally. Not that I haven’t already helped you more than you know.” She stopped. “There, you see? No tricks.”
I floated around the next pillar and halted. Chained to another large support pillar on the far end was Spot, Khaleda’s three-headed Hellhound. The head on the left was busy trailing a fly through the air while the middle one was fast asleep. The right head panted, big drops of doggie drool falling to the pavement, each one big enough to fill a kiddie pool.
“Spot!” I shouted and zoomed toward the Hellhound.
All six ears went rigid and the middle head snapped awake. Spot rose to all fours, pulled his lips back, and let out a bone-chilling snarl that stopped me in my tracks.
“Bad Spot!” Khaleda scolded and came to stand beside me. “You remember Lazarus from the arena?”
“I don’t think he does,” I said. “Is it me, or has he gotten bigger?”
Spot’s three heads loomed closer, giant nostrils flaring as he sniffed at me. He could’ve swallowed me in one bite if he wanted, but instead, Spot rolled over onto his back, big red tongues lolling out the side of his mouth.
I let out a relieved sigh. You know you’ve hit peak necromancer when a Hellhound asks for tummy rubs.
“See?” Khaleda said. “He just needed to recognize your scent.”
I gave Spot some scratches on the belly and behind the ears—all six of them—and he bathed me in the customary gallons of doggie drool, which was pretty amazing, considering he shouldn’t have been able to touch me. I shook strings of drool from my spectral body. “Yuck. Hellhound breath. Where’s he been anyway? I thought he got hurt during the tournament?”
“He was gravely injured.” Khaleda walked over to pat him on the head. “Father took him back to Hell and put him in a cage, waiting for him to die. If Spot had been free, Father never would’ve gotten away with what he did to me. Spot would’ve torn him limb from limb, half-dead or not.” She took a step back. “It’s taken this long for him to recover from his injuries. He’s still not fully recovered. You’ll notice he walks with a slight limp now. For tracking souls and pieces of souls, however, you’ll find there’s no nose better than a Hellhound nose.”
I stopped scratching Spot’s ears to frown at Khaleda. “I can’t just walk a giant Hellhound through the city.”
“You can if no one sees him. Spot, skiá!”
Spot went still, scrunching his eyes closed as if in deep concentration. The color slowly faded from his body, and the hard lines of his form became fuzzy, less clear. After a few minutes, he was as ethereal as I was.
“Cool! I get my own monstrous ghost dog sidekick!”
“Only between dusk and dawn,” Khaleda said. “During the day, he’s to come back to me. And only as long as it’s understood I’m helping you to further my own goals. The minute Queen Remy or King Finnegan decide they don’t want to support my claim and lend me their armies, I pull the plug on helping you, so it’s in your best interests to make sure they don’t. And if anything happens to my dog—” She clenched her fists and drew herself up in front of me. “—I will dedicate every free moment in Hell to making your afterlife miserable. Understand me, Lazarus?”
I gulped and stammered out, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She backed off and pretended to dust something off her shoulder.
Spot’s ears perked. His nose shot into the air, nostrils flexing and body rigid. After a long moment, he leaped from side to side, barking excitedly. Even as an ethereal being, his barks made my ears hurt.
“What’s up with him?” I gestured to Spot with a thumb.
“Looks like he’s picked up the scent already.” Khaleda touched the chain where it wrapped around the pillar.
The link snapped and Spot surged forward, bounding through the parking garage, excitedly stomping all over the few cars parked there. Good thing he didn’t have a physical form at the moment, or there’d be a lot of squished cars. He rounded the corner barking and charging for the exit.
“Hey, wait!” I called, but it was too late. Spot had never been very good at being patient. I had no choice but to rush after him.
“Might want to hurry.” Khaleda’s smile was evident in her voice as she called after me, “I look forward to my meeting with your daughter! Don’t forget!”
I sped around the pillar and down the ramp before I remembered that I could just phase through things, but stopped short of going through the concrete. Any large concrete structure like the parking garage took its form from a rebar skeleton. Rebar was all steel and probably had enough iron content to be a problem. If I just went zipping through it, I might get zapped out of existence. Or I might be totally fine. There was no way to know. Unless I was absolutely certain, however, it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
“Why’s being a ghost more complicated than being human?” I grumbled and hurried after Spot.
He was halfway down the street by the time I got out of the garage. I watched him barrel through an oncoming car before he tried to turn at the next intersection. His front legs made the turn just fine, but the back ones just kept on going straight, creating this awkward, cartoonish gait. Spot ran several more steps down South Galvez Street towards Tulane Avenue before he put down his front paw and let out a pained cry. Spot’s front leg folded underneath him, and he laid there whining until I got caught up with him.
“Easy there.” I patted his head gently and floated down toward his front leg. “Let’s have a look. Nothing looks broken or twisted.”
He whined at me.
Khaleda did say he wasn’t completely healed. I scratched the middle head under the chin. “Maybe we should just walk, okay? I might be in a hurry, but I’m never going to be in such a hurry that I throw my help under the bus to get what I need.”
The other two panted and nudged my sides. I guess scratching one head meant I had to get the other two. He asked for more belly rubs as well, but that was where I drew the line. I explained firmly that we were on the job, and that there would be no belly rubs until after we’d tracked down at least one part of my soul.
Spot didn’t like that and made his displeasure evident by urinating on a tree. I didn’t know ghost Hellhounds could urinate, but apparently, it’s not very good for the tree since the poo
r palm tree immediately shriveled up and died.
Once I got him moving again, Spot led me down Tulane Avenue toward where the expressway crossed over. At the overpass, he put his giant paws up on the road above and pulled himself over it rather than walk through. I took that to mean he was bound by the same rules. Probably plenty of iron in an overpass, and he was being rather careful about where he stepped.
“You could float, you know,” I said and propelled myself into the air several feet above him.
His response was a whine and a pant. Either he didn’t understand what I was trying to tell him, or he didn’t know how. Both were just as likely. It’d taken me a while to learn how to function as a disembodied spirit, and I was a human. He was just a mutt – a good boy, but still just a dog.
To my surprise, he didn’t just climb over the overpass, but turned and started walking down the elevated highway. It was eerie to look out over the giant buildings of a major city like New Orleans and see it almost completely dark. Some windows had lights on, but those were few and far between. The normally clogged expressway hosted only one or two cars, with enough space between them to drop a whole house. No one would ever call the view from the expressway scenic. It was mostly squat concrete buildings with reflective glass, smog, and parking lots.
And then there was the Superdome.
Aside from Mardi Gras, and voodoo, the thing New Orleans was probably known best for was the Superdome. From the outside, it was just a round, steel-framed hunk of concrete, but on the inside it was one of the largest stadiums in the world, seating just over seventy thousand people. For a lot of people in New Orleans, the Superdome was also an ever-present reminder of how poorly things had gone during Katrina. Ask anyone who was there for shelter when the hurricane hit about the place, and most will tell you they’ll never set foot in it again. They’ve had enough of the place to last them a lifetime.
To me, it was just an ugly building that looked like someone had cut the top off a giant nuclear power plant and dropped it in the middle of the city. In the dark, it looked a little more ominous, though, especially when Spot climbed down from the expressway to go toward it.
