Page 50 of Dead End

She turned, walking backward to answer. “No, I haven’t, but I’m sure she’s just visiting all ten thousand of her cousins in the Hangry Forest.” She shuddered and waved over her shoulder as she left.

Maybe that was where she’d scurried off to. She did say she missed her family, but I found it strange that she didn’t tell me she was leaving. Oh well, I hoped she came back soon because I freaking missed her already. Now, where, oh where, am I going to find a body that I didn’t have to dig up?

Roger

Mission accomplished.

Earlier in the day, the rain pelted my windows as I stared outside, perched on my desk chair, debating what to do about this pickle I seem to have found myself in. With my arms folded over my desktop, I gazed down at the picture of the orange-haired gal that had caught the attention of a monster.

Why was he so obsessed with this broad? Was it because of her gift, which allowed her to raise the dead? Or was it something else I wasn’t seeing?

“Marionette, I’m not paying you to sit on your ass.” He was here, leaning against my office door frame without an appointment, and his lips were tight in displeasure under the hood covering his face.

He wasn’t paying me at all. He pulled my strings like any master does, but I would be damned if he tried to get me off my keester. I’d been working off the clock night and day, reporting back to him when he called. What’s a fella got to do around here to find a new master that isn’t a complete boob?

“I want you to get this letter to Mari and be quick about it. Time is a wasting. I’ve got a surprise I think she’ll want to see.” He slid a letter across my desk with a sly grin pulling at his lips, and I pocketed the envelope without looking.

“Mari?” I asked in confusion. This fella had me following the wrong gal this whole time.

His grin dropped. “I mean October. Just get it done!” He swirled away, his cape swishing, and he left as fast as he came.

I waited for the right time—the perfect time—to give her the letter without her growing suspicious of me. I hid in plain sight and disappeared before she knew what hit her.

And that’s how you do it, folks. All in a day's work.

There's just something about a morgue that has you questioning how the hell you ended up there. Oh yeah, that’s right—to raise a freaking dead body and have a chat. Totally normal; no worries. There's no need to be scared. Just go inside the creepy room where they cut up bodies and store them in cold cubbies until they’re ready to be buried six feet under. No problem; I got this.

I don’t get this.

I stood outside the swinging double doors in the basement of the city morgue. The autopsy technician had taken his sweet time cleaning up, so I had to wait an hour before he left in a sudden hurry, his white lab coat billowing behind him as he ran towards the elevator.

With a deep breath, I pushed the steel doors open and stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. I took a moment to adjust to the low fluorescent lights and how cold it was. It felt like an ice box. Like a typical morgue, the floors were cement with blue specks embedded inside, and the walls were white cinder blocks that made the room seem bigger and colder.

Three embalming tables were lined up in a row, sitting in the middle of the space, with individual headlamps overhead, glaring off the shiny metal surfaces. Every few seconds, I could hear a drip of water splashing on the ground from the exposed pipes above. One must have been leaking. This was definitely the right place to store a body that wasn’t too juicy.

Ew, I can’t believe I just thought that. ‘Juicy’ is just as bad as the word ‘moist.’

I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill and scanned the room, spotting the selection of cubby drawers where the bodies lay to be preserved. It smelled of formaldehyde, bleach, and the weak stink of death, reminding me of damp soil after a storm. It wasn’t the worst smell, but then again, I was a necromancer, so maybe an iron stomach just came with the job?

I was about to find out. I crept closer on silent feet, almost scared to breathe, terrified of both getting caught and what I was about to do. It was generally frowned upon to wake the dead. I kept picturing a mob with pitchforks coming after me. But I had to figure this out before I hurt anyone living.

I slowly reached out and grasped the cool metal handle, pulling it wide open just as a cold fog rolled out of the square hole. I so badly wanted to squeeze my eyes shut as I grabbed the metal tray with the dead body lying on top, but my eyes were glued to him as I slid him all the way out of the cubby.

It wasn’t so bad. He was still preserved and hadn’t started decaying, thanks to the temperature and chemicals. He only looked like he was sleeping, his eyes resting peacefully against his pale, sickly skin. Deep purple circles were around his eyes, and his lips were the same color. Maybe if I kept pretending he was napping, it would be easier. Thanks to the great pumpkin, a white sheet covered his body from the neck down. I shivered in dread at the thought of discovering a death wound. I didn’t care what the stupid book said to do; I wasn’t probing any holes to find out how they died. If I could bring the dead back to life, then they could tell me themselves.

It was time to get to work. I grabbed my Necromancy 101 book and flipped it open to the page I’d been reading earlier. So, you place your hand over the body, hovering just over the heart or head, and say a few lines. Easy peasy. Doing just that, I cleared my throat and started to read.

“Spirits of the afterlife, come to me! Hear my voice call for you; come to me! Arise, spirit, arise!” I said it in the deepest, most commanding voice that I could muster and waited for something to happen.

My shoulders sagged when the body remained frozen in place, like I was expecting sparks or something magical to happen. Absolutely nothing.

“Okay, October, you got this. You're a strong, badass woman who can do this without breaking a sweat!” I chanted to myself, bouncing in place on the balls of my feet as I cracked my neck back and forth.

I ain’t scared of anything! I've got this! Necromancy powers, activate!

Channeling my inner Jessica made my confidence skyrocket, until the moment I felt someone breathing down the back of my neck. I spun around so fast that my fist accidentally collided with something hard, and the person let out a surprised, painful grunt. I was totally about to kick some booty when Michael’s ocean eyes clashed with mine as he held a hand to his crotch and wheezed in pain.

“OMG! Michael, you fucking scared me, you creeper! Oh shit, your balls! Are you okay?” I was practically shouting in his pain-filled face as I shoved his hand away from the front of his jeans and ran my fingers over him, massaging a bit, as if somehow I could make the pain go away.

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