Waking up dead, p.1
Waking Up Dead, page 1
Chapter 1: Saving the Assassin (Suri)
The first time I animated a corpse, I was four years old.
Mama freaked out while Nana laughed so hard she wiped tears from her dancing eyes and had to put her fake teeth back into her mouth. Aislynn had died of mushroom poisoning the night before because she chased a mouse into the nearby field and ate mushroom appetizers instead. Except Aislynn purred happily against my leg.
Mama explained that death was a sacred part of living, even for pet cats. When I reanimated the dead, tendrils of life would slip from my soul into the corpse. The more I gave of my soul, the more in danger I was in breaking the delicate balance of nature.
Nana’s explanation was more amusing. She said I was the most powerful Animator since her great-great-great-great grandmother Suriya Rovana, a well-known Romanian gypsy who’d raised armies for the Turks.
“My name is Suriya Rovana!” I exclaimed with excitement, clapping my plump little hands while Mama groaned.
“I knew I shouldn’t have given her that name at birth,” she’d mumbled, and Nana laughed with pride and foreknowledge. I had no idea what the fuss was about, but Nana was happy instead of fighting with Mama, and Aislynn would be sleeping in my bed again.
The last time I animated a corpse was two hours ago.
A man had been killed rescuing me from two Gargoyles that tried to attack me. Except, too late did I realize my savior isn’t exactly a man, and now I’m stuck with a sexy-as-sin Vampire unconscious on my living room area rug.
Aislynn purrs against the new Risen’s pant leg, surprising me because the tuxedo cat hates everyone, a side-effect of bringing back a little bit of death from the other side.
I’ve been staring at the Vampire for about two hours, pushing my sleep well into the early morning hours. In the meantime, since it’s of no consequence to either of us, I admire his physique because he’s seriously sexy! His hair is dark, but not black. Maybe dark brown and short, except in the front, which slightly covers his face. A five o’clock shadow matches his hair color and his eyebrows are thick but not gross. Who would’ve thought Vampires could regenerate facial hair?
His face is all angles and sharp edges around full lips that pout in sleep. His body frame, though, is exactly the Vampire type. Lithe, tall, and muscular, like a swimmer or a quarterback. Vampires, however, are much faster and stronger than both.
I yawn into my fist and stare with glazed eyes. He hasn’t woken up and I’m falling asleep.
It usually takes a corpse two to six hours before rigor mortis sets in, so Rising has to happen in between that time. If it doesn’t, the corpse still reanimates, but more dead than alive. A zombie.
Of course, that fact applies to human corpses. I’m not even sure if an already undead Vampire could become an undead Risen.
But I couldn’t let a stake through the heart kill him when he’d taken it for me. It would’ve killed him had I not touched his hand in time with my bare one before the disintegration of his body from ashes. A thin tendril of red smoke escaped from my palm into his hand, and then we transported to my apartment.
Saving him, though, had been an impulse and a hiccup of judgment. I always wear gloves, especially in public! But somewhere in the vast corridors of the university library’s archives department, I’d misplaced them when I was reviewing an ancient text on the cult of the dead in Assyria and Babylonia. In touching the manuscript, I gain better insight into the writer and background of the culture. The wrist-length gloves cover my palm, the only access to transferring my essence and reading the past by touch.
If truth be told, by the time the Gargoyles and Vampire showed up, I was already freaking out because I sensed I was being followed, only aggravating my growing apprehension from having lost the gloves. I thought I was going to get robbed by a masked mugger. Not Gargoyles!
Having animated a Vampire corpse could’ve been avoided if the Gargoyles hadn’t been following me.
Unfortunately, skin-to-skin contact doesn’t just reanimate the dead. I’m also stuck with their thoughts and feelings, which is exactly why I wear gloves, even in the summer. A simple touch opens my mind to people’s memories, experiences, and emotions.
By touching the Vampire, I was exposed to his vampiric lifestyle in the seconds it had taken me to release his hand when we landed on my living room floor. I’d burst into heart-wrenching sobs and scurried away from him. There was so much blood, violence, and rage pouring into my mind from him, a sledgehammer wracking my body in sobs.
Kilian Willingham.
Four hundred and fifty six-years old.
The oldest Vampire I’ve heard of.
No. The second oldest.
His Sire is the oldest.
I wish I could just leave him here and disappear, but Nana would have my hide if I abandoned what I created! I’d rather take my chances with the Risen. So I’ll just wait around for Kilian to wake up as a Risen, explain what happened, and slip out of his life as quickly as he’d come into mine.
Animating, Blinking, and Psychometry are the rarest gifts among paranormals. Very few have the ability to raise the dead and give them life again, albeit one of subservience. There are more paranormals who can teleport, or Blink, which requires honing one’s skill with concentration until it becomes natural. But there are a very select few who can experience others’ entire life history with a single touch. Psychometry is so rare, many supernatural Courts either steer clear of Seers or covet them for their own gain. Having all three skills is extremely rare.
I’m in that category. If the warlords of the supernatural underworld find out about me, I’ll be exploited without choice. Some legitimate Courts would prize me as their most valuable member, or even of their race, while others will use me to gain power over other Courts.
So I rarely Blink, wear gloves to avoid Psychometry and only use it when I’m alone in the archives, and never ever Animate.
Except the Vampire Kilian.
My breath shudders, and I sigh heavily. The consequences of Raising a Vampire out in the open is swift and dangerous. There’s no way those Gargoyles aren’t going to tell their Court about the Animating and most definitely about the Blinking!
After crying my eyes out and wishing I could unsee and unfeel Kilian’s mucked-up life, I packed everything I could fit into a duffel bag along with any important personal items and crammed my Audi with enough food and water to survive a week on the road, including a tent, pillow, and blankets. I’ll be on the run for a short while, driving my way down to the Bayou to find Nana in hopes her juju magic can hide my essence until this all settles down and the Courts have forgotten me. Probably in a couple centuries.
Ugh!
I wish I could just Blink to Nana’s and not have to snail-travel like regular humans. But every supernatural action leaves an imprint and the Blink would lead straight to Nana’s house. I can’t risk putting her in any unnecessary danger. Which is also why I have to leave my apartment before the Gargoyles come looking for me! Then again, only the strongest supernaturals can see the imprint.
Still, I will not take the chance with Nana and I can’t dwell on regrets or what-ifs, only prepare for the inevitable.
Kilian twitches, and I jump with a little squeak. Again. I keep forgetting Nana’s early lessons about the supernatural world, including each of my gifts. But I learned the neuroscience of Risen from Kyle Hill when I was twelve. Of course, the YouTuber was referring to zombies. Same difference. Hill was interesting and funny-nerdy.
When I was in high school, I cross-checked the info and concluded that Risen are similar to but not exactly like zombies. Apparently, the essence, or soul as Nana still calls it, shared with corpses, jumpstarts their suffocating cells, which, in turn, jumpstart the brain. The brain’s electrical currents then try to fire up the corpse to animate it, and the body takes the shock through its highway of nerves.
The whole process, from essence to cells to the brain to the body, takes two to six hours. But still, the Risen doesn't wake.
“Ugh,” I mutter under my breath for the umpteenth time, jamming the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. I yawn-groan into my fist and renew my self-pitying regretful thoughts.
I should just leave. Let him wake alone and figure it out on his own. He isn’t a stranger to the supernatural, so I don’t have to transition him into that world. He’ll just spend the rest of his life obsessing over finding me.
But I don't think I can live knowing he’ll search his eternity searching for me while I avoid him at every turn. Nana would be horrified at my lack of respect for the Risen and my duty-bound honor as his Mistress.
I frown at the male-dominated and historically-oppressive word mistress. But breaking traditions is practically impossible in the supernatural world.
I glance at the digital clock on the mantle, telling me it’s almost the witching hour. I should stay awake because it’s a sign he’ll awake soon. At least, that’s what I hope for. Nana is more attuned to the spirit world than I am.
I yawn again, not bothering with the fist since it’s not like the Risen could see me rudely yawning into the air. I lean my head against the sofa cushions and close my eyes, trying not to relive my own stupidity at having revealed all my gifts in one night for the life of a damn Vampire!
“That’s not nice, Suri,” I whisper at my stereotyping of an entire race based on this very violent Vampire. They’re really not the most vile creatures in the supernatural world, even though they lack a soul, which is the center of all moral decision-making. Or lack thereof. Vampires are capable of emotions and feelings, like love and hate. But they’ll always choose instinct over compassion and empathy because they’re ruthless and possessive, self-serving and arrogant.
Damn it, they are among the most vile!
I can’t believe I brought one home with me! Nana is going to be so mad, which is even scarier than a Risen Vampire!
My body sinks into the couch, nice and cozy, my eyes growing heavy with sleep. I grab the last pair of black wrist-length satin gloves I left behind, and carefully put them on. After working an eight-hour shift until midnight at the university library, categorizing the Mesopotamian section of the archives and artifacts, and leaving my other pair behind, the last thing I need is touching anyone else, supernatural or not!
Working at the library pays the rent and pays me in knowledge. Nana always said the key to survival is knowledge, and knowledge leads to the rest. She’s definitely not a runner-up for the Dooms-Day Prepper award!
I snuggle deeper into the couch, certain I won’t fall asleep because Kilian is going to wake up soon and, when he does, he’s going to be really, really upset and disoriented. I’m just resting my eyes, settling the sandy grains gathered from a long day’s work, and waiting for the Vampire to Animate. Then I’ll share my heartfelt gratitude, profuse apologies, and quick farewell.
Not falling asleep, I tell myself as a blanket of darkness wraps around me, holding me in its warmth and comfort.
Not falling asleep…
Chapter 2: The Risen Vampire (Suri)
I’m startled awake when long fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze. Completely black orbs of anger and death glare at me with unbridled hate. The violence in Kilian’s memories flash in his eyes, pumping adrenaline into his veins, scaring the hell out of me.
He yanks me off the couch with one hand and lifts me into the air from my throat. My feet dangle over the floor, and I choke, my breath cut off by his fingers.
“Damn you, Necromancer,” Kilian hisses with a fury that burns along my skin. “How dare you turn me into a zombie?”
I try to shake my head, to explain that he’s not a zombie because he’s not going to start craving living flesh to compensate for his dying one. But I can’t breathe and my periphery is turning shadowy and dark along the sharp edges of unconsciousness. What he doesn’t know is that if he kills me, he’ll die, too!
I have to speak so he doesn’t kill me. He just needs to hear the voice of his Mistress so he doesn’t kill her!
“Not… zomb…” I manage to choke out before I lose sight of his angry eyes behind a blackness that threatens to drag me under.
Kilian releases me, and I fall to my knees, wildly heaving for air. Lightheadedness trips me up, disorients me, but Kilian doesn’t give me much time to enjoy the coveted air he’d deprived me of seconds earlier. He grabs me by my hair and yanks me to my feet. I scream at the yank, but panic when his hand wraps around my throat again. I try not to freak out because the Risen instinct will override his Vampire one, my essence binding him to the Risen code of servitude.
At least, that’s what I hope.
Before he squeezes again, I blurt, “You’re not a zombie. You won’t crave human flesh.”
“I crave human blood,” he threatens, his eyes turning bloody-red, the pupil striated and sick-looking instead of a small pinprick the way Vampire eyes turn when they’re hungry.
I inhale sharply, panic turning to fear. Not just any fear, though, because I’m already afraid. This is a dark fear, one I’ve only felt when Nana is angry and she’d order me to take a long walk around the bayou and not worry about the alligators because she’d already warned them. I’ve never seen a Vampire’s eyes turn red. Kilian’s eyes are not just red!
He pulls me against him, large, white fangs dropping from his gums, way too close to my neck. His fangs are thick, only slightly smaller than a werewolf’s, and pointy enough to pierce flesh, muscle, and bone on contact.
My heart hammers in my chest, but I order, “You will not feed from my blood without my consent!” The power of Necromancy hits Kilian with such force he quickly drops me and growls like a caged animal, confusion furrowing his brow. His fangs draw back into his mandible, the sickly eyes fading into a stunning silvery gray, clouded with uncertainty.
He blinks rapidly until they narrow, angry and hungry again.
“What did you do to me, Necromancer?” Kilian demands in a low, dark voice that grates down my spine. I swallow hard and take a slow, tentative step away.
“I saved your life,” I clamor nervously.
“Why?” he demands angrily. I blink, confused that he would be so angry to be alive. Well, undead alive, I guess.
“Because you saved mine.”
His frown deepens, crinkling his forehead, his gaze momentarily off. But when they refocus on me, his eyes turn black with fury. I swallow hard and take several steps away, fear pounding against my ears. Not like his sickly eyes, but certainly like he’s going to kill me.
Wait a minute. I know why he’s angry. He’s recently Animated, confused and possibly scared. Although that last part is a more far-fetched possibility.
Sympathetically, I explain, “Sometimes, returning as a Risen suppresses the final memories of life that—”
“My memories aren’t suppressed,” he sneers, and I nod rapidly.
“Okay, okay. Then you understand why I’d want to save your life when you saved me from the Gargoyles.” Even though I’m the Mistress, I don’t understand why I’m as confused as he is. If his memories aren’t suppressed, then why is he so mad?
Kilian stares at me with cold incredulity, then snarls; his lips curled, baring his fangs. My body trembles then jumps away when he spats a word in a language I’ve never heard but recognize. It’s Esperanto, the ancient Vampire language that connects all Vampires to one another. Well, that’s according to the theories of Bram Stoker's unpublished letters. A part of me, that part of my brain that thinks like a linguist, catalogs the information for later research.
“You humans are so stupid!”
He bellows, snapping me back into a more dangerous present. I flinch, but am silently grateful he called me human. Though my gifts categorize me as a supernatural and I know about them, I’ve never had any experiences with supernaturals.
My gratitude, though, is extremely short-lived when Kilian leans closer, his fangs dripping with paralyzing venom.
“I wasn’t saving your life!” he yells in disgust. “I was sent to eliminate the Necromancer Suriya Rovana. The Gargoyles were probably sent to stop me!”
My body goes cold in shock, my breath caught between a gasp and a scream. Eliminate me?
“But why?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Kilian grumbles with disgust, then mutters the foreign word, which doesn’t require me to be a scholar linguist to interpret that it’s most likely a curse.
“Tell me, anyway,” I order and he scowls, the silent version of a snarl. The strong angles on his face I’d appreciated earlier while he was unconscious take on a horrific countenance that doesn’t make him look any less sexy, just more dangerous.
“No!” he growls.
Taken aback by his refusal, I quickly analyze Nana’s lessons about Risen being incapable of disobeying the power of Necromancer masters. Yet, Kilian just disobeyed his Mistress’s order. Could Nana have been wrong?
My mind whirls in rapid succession, assessing possible reasons he refused my order, categorizing the possibilities that supernatural Risen might be able to resist control because they’re not as susceptible as humans. Maybe Vampire Risen are capable of such strong will because they themselves have the power to mesmerize and, perhaps, their brains have built-in barriers that…
“Where are we?” Kilian interrupts with a startling bark, taking in my small, bare apartment with his judgmental eyes the color of silver again. I frown at his rudeness. My apartment may be small and shabby, but it’s clean and orderly. Before I get all snippy with him, awareness of the purpose of his question slams into me, jumpstarting the thumping in my heart. The question wasn’t one of arrogance, but of placement.
I take a slow, steadying breath and answer, “My apartment?” I cringe that the response sounds like a question, and his frown darkens with suspicion, his steely eyes fixed on mine.
