Candy Bones Page 6

  In the news that day it talked about a bomb going off in the city, killing five people, hurting many others. Only it wasn’t a bomb, it was me.

  Eventually I came out of the fog, I hooked up with a werewolf support group. It took some time and one more explosion to convince them I was in fact a werewolf. It took even more time to weave together all the loose strings of anger I could pull if I thought about what Mina had done to me, losing my career, my friends, and my entire world view for too long and make it safe for me to be out in public again. Then I traveled, I wanted to see the world with my new eyes. Eventually I went into private security because I missed the militarized life, and that led to the nostrae nocte. I joined and haven’t looked back.”

  At some point Oz had stood up and begun pacing around the room. Neither of us had noticed. He turns to me and opens is palms as if to show me they’re not loaded.

  “So that’s me. Now you know.”

  I stand up, “Okay,” I tell him.

  “Okay? That’s it?” He stares at me baffled.

  I wrap my arms around his neck. “Okay,” I say slowly and pull him in for another kiss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sitting in Anya’s house, my stitches start to itch. I use my one good hand to pat over the bandages and the sling. I’m so sick of this stupid sling after a week, I’m ready to just rip it off and burn it. The actual nostrae nocte doctor who looked me over and stitched me up, Everly, says I have to keep the sling on for one more week. When I burn the sling, I might just kick her in the shins as I dance around the pyre. Then again, I huff, it might be all the time I’m spending here that’s keeping me on edge.

  A week ago, I came here finally looking for whatever information Grandma Anya may have left for me. It wasn’t hard to find. She kept the letter for me on her old book stand where her ledger Viola is forever perched. Viola lost her magic when Grandma died. Now she’s a white feathered book on Anya’s stand forever sleeping. The letter is in my grandmother’s handwriting and it’s dated for three months before she passed. Once I got the courage to read it, it told me everything Counsel Hawthorn and Eris said it would. She was nostrae nocte, she believed in their mission. She also explains why she kept me out. Apparently, my Grandmother wanted me to have plausible deniability if she ever got caught. There was a time in the seventies that they believed nostrae nocte would be discovered. Over the years they had done such a good job making up nefarious stories of their own group that a law was passed in the seventies that to be caught consorting with nostrae nocte it would be a death sentence. Once I came into her life, she realized it was imperative that I not be blamed for her choices or put in danger. She put me in a boarding school during any time things got tough for nostrae nocte or when she had to leave on assignment. Another thing I didn’t know, being a part of the club, you can be sent across the world on assignment at a moment’s notice. A lot of what they do seems to involve investigating misuses of magic when the counsel turns a blind eye, keeping tabs on growing animosities, and watching out for when nocturnus harm non-nuit or bring them in to the fold without permission.

  According to Grandma Anya, the nostrae nocte have stopped or helped end fifteen wars, they’ve ended four nocturnus sex-trafficking rings, one non-nuit sex-trafficking ring run by nocturnus, tons of drug pushers and nocturnus gangs, and one traveling circus that specialized in enslaving and putting nocturnus on display in a giant freak show. Among these were countless other town by town crimes and unsolved murders of lower society nocturnus wherever the sects of nostrae nocte happen to be residing. She doesn’t give exact numbers of it’s members or name any towns in which they have set up shop. I’m guessing that is just in case someone else happened upon this letter which could have been anyone since I have avoided this for months. Just think, I could have had this bomb dropped on me months ago.

  Of course, then she implored me to seek out the nearest sect and in a very roundabout way told me I could lean on Eris now and to trust her with anything. I’m sure that Eris was told that as soon as I approached her about it she could break her vow of silence. Grandma Anya seemed to hope that once she was gone, I would find community and purpose in the group instead of mourning and brooding and becoming even more of a loner- kind of like I have been doing. Just lovely, even in death she’s got her opinions and of course she’s not wrong. I stand up and pace around the room.

  My grandmother was everything to me, but even so to an extent I kept her at arm’s length. In some ways I was closer to Eris than her, or so I thought. In others no one and nothing could take the place of her. To know that the two closest people in my life had the same secret, even if I understand why, is frustrating.

  “Are you keeping secrets too?” I ask Bran who is perched on the top of Viola’s stand nudging her cover with his beak. He nibbles at it, but of course Viola will not wake up ever again. “She’s gone buddy,” I tell him.

  Bran hops around on the stand, he circles until his tail is over the top of Viola. He puffs up his tail in the same way he does right before he-

  “BRAN!” I yell at him and wave him off of Viola.

  “CAW!” He crows a laugh and flies out of the room.

  “You’re horrible!” I yell after him. Thankfully I stopped him before he pooped on her. Bran and the other ledgers don’t always like each other. In fact, I know one harpy eagle named Terminator that would eat Bran in a second if ever given the chance. I was always under the impression Bran liked Viola. I rub my hand over her cover, smoothing out her feathers. With my hand on the cover I swear I feel it tighten, as if she was reacting to my touch the way Bran does.

  “Viola?” I say. She doesn’t respond or move. My fingers grip her cover and I lift the pages. All of her magic should be gone. But somehow, something remains. Her inner pages start flipping themselves. They end up on an empty page.

  Take the stairs.

  The words glow on the page only for a moment then disappear. Behind me a noise captures my attention. The back wall of my Grandmother’s library is opening and what I can see is the top of an iron spiral staircase leading down.

  “Bran!” I call my ledger. “There are creepy stairs in here and no matter how annoyed I am with you; I’m not going alone!”

  “Caw, caw!” Bran calls, swooping back into the library.

  “Okay let’s hope she wasn’t keeping any clowns chained up down there,” I tell him, walking cautiously towards the staircase. “I lived in this house for years and I never knew about this. Of course, leave it to my grandmother to have a secret room in our home and be a part of a secret group. Next thing I know she won't actually be dead, she’ll be an assassin for the U.S. government,” I say even though it causes my chest to clench with grief.

  “Caw,” Bran croons at me.

  “I know, I’m sorry. Just being in this house around all these smells and memories is hard enough. Finding out I didn’t really know her at all makes this harder.” I sigh, grabbing the top of the stairs. “Going down,” I tell Bran who perches on my good shoulder.

  The spiral staircase is steep. I can’t imagine how she got down or up these towards the end of her life. About halfway down I realize it’s quite dark. I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and turn the flashlight on. We are descending into a brick room. It looks less like a basement and more like white brick catacombs. I expect to see nooks in the walls filled with skeletons, but there are none. Instead there are trunks all over. To be fair, they could have bodies in them. There’s a couple empty tables with sheets over them. I can only imagine Grandma sent Euphrates down here to clean and pack this all up. I sigh. Breathing that deep feels like I just filled my lungs with sand. My body becomes wracked with coughs.

  “Caw!” Bran complains while taking to the air, causing more dust to stir up.

  “Where’s a window when you need one?” I ponder in between coughs. I wait a moment for the dust to settle. On the wall I see a light switch, that’s good. I flick it and the room is cast in a warm glow. The walls shimme
r opalescent in the light. That’s got to be some sort of protective magic for whatever’s down here. There’s got to be a reason she had her book send me here.

  I decide to start with the trunk closest to me. It’s heavy. I flick down the brass latches on it. Using my one good arm, I push on the top. Nothing happens. I grip one the rings in the front and tug, it moves a bit but it looks like you need to have a hold on each hook in order to lift the lid. That’s great, just great.

  “You know what?” I say to myself. I yank on the strap to the stupid sling, lifting the Velcro loose so I can pull it over my head. Ripping it from my bandaged arm, I toss it on the floor. Then I stomp on it for good measure. My arm is still quite secure in the bandages and brace the good doctor put on me. I’m guessing she figured I would forgo the sling at some point.

  “Caw, caw, caw, CAW!” Bran complains at me.

  “Oh, stuff it. How would you like it if you only had one wing?”

  “Caw!” he adds.

  I open and close my hand a few times just to be sure all is in order. Aside from a dull tightening pain and the itching, it seems alright. I place a hand in each ring and pull.

  “Caw, caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!” Bran flaps all around me trying to stop me.

  “Quit mothering me or I’ll stuff you and turn you into a… tchotchke… on my… mantle!” I grunt as the lid of the trunk finally gives way. I swear I hear a small rip. A sharp little pain spreads through my arm. “Oops.” I wave it around hoping to shake off the sting.

  “Caw!” Bran scolds.

  “No one likes a braggart,” I remind him. “Alright please say this was worth it,” I say more to the trunk than Bran.

  Inside I see a glass orb, and a few velvet satchels on top. There are notebooks in here too. Tons of them. With spells and potions and recipes that would be of no use to reapers. These notebooks are powerful. I flip through some of them, in a few the pages are turning to dust and the words are in languages I don’t recognize.

  I slowly make my way through the other trunks to Bran’s vexation. There are more and more journals. Potion ingredients and other long dormant reaper ledgers. One long trunk has retired scythes of differing sizes and elements. I have so many questions, I can’t even imagine what all of this is for.

  “Caw,” Bran calls me, he’s on a built-in, now empty bookshelf tapping on one of the bricks in the wall.

  “Whatcha got there, buddy?” I ask him. I reach into the nook and tap on the brick. It shifts when I touch it. Using fingernails that looked cute before I started, I pull on the edges of the brick. Bran moves out of my way. Inside is a long tube with a very official-looking envelope encased in it. On the front is my name. I break the seal. Inside are legal papers, the papers for the house, and another personalized letter from my grandmother. It’s dated the day before her death.

  Wraith,

  I’ve been in this business long enough to know when the end is on its way. Before I go, I need to explain this room. This is the artifacts room. It’s full of magical items collected over my time in the nostrae nocte. Some of these items were given to me, some were confiscated after we stopped one cell or another. Some are journals I kept about the adventures I had and the things we faced. One thing you must know about the nostrae nocte, it will change your life. You will face things, dangerous things you never thought possible, things the society claims are all rumors and smoke. I could liken it to when a human finds out about nocturnus. All the stories I told you as a child, they had bits of truth in them. If you flip them around, you’ll understand better what really happened. These journals, these weapons, any one of them or the knowledge and power contained in them thought to be long lost, could save your life one day. If you choose to walk away from the life, don’t lose the artifacts, trouble has a way of finding us and you never know when Eris or another nocturnus you love will need your expertise.

  The only thing left to say my sweet girl, is don’t ever forget who you are. You are Reaper. You are Death. You are Destroyer of Worlds. In the end of life the only thing we can be certain of is death, and in my existence the only thing that has made the little dash between the day I entered this world and the day I left it, is you. Make sure you find whatever it is that makes your dash worth it, and don’t ever take it for granted.

  Knowing you, we will have a lot to catch each other up on when we meet on the other side.

  Until then, my heart is with you,

  Love,

  Grandma Anya

  It isn’t until dark spots appear on the letter that I realize I’m crying. I spend the rest of the day reading into as many of the old journals as I can to see what I’ve been missing. Pieces of an Anya Thanason I never knew tumble out of the pages. With it come pieces that might help me realize just what’s going on in Apres LaMort recently.

  “I’m not putting that back on,” I tell Bran. Reaching the top of the stairs, he has my sling in his grasp.

  A snarl stops me in my tracks. In the middle of the library holding Viola, is a demon. It’s bigger than many of the others and looks like a very ugly monkey. If monkeys had strange tattoos on their arms of a bird sitting on a circle.

  My phone is still in my hand and without moving another muscle I nonchalantly as possible message Oz this address. I have my scythe, but I also only have one hand and right now me and the tattooed demon monkey seem to be in a staring contest.

  It bares its teeth at me. I barely survived the bite of a salamander from the underworld, if this guy gets his pearly whites on me, I am definitely losing a limb or my life. I swallow. I can feel sweat forming on the back of my neck.

  “Okay I’m going to ask you put Viola down now,” I tell the thing.

  It opens its mouth but just stands there with it’s jaws wide, holding the book. I’m guessing it’s letting me get a really good look at its fangs. Fangs that could rip out my throat with ease.

  I sigh. “I’m so going to regret this,” I say. As fast as I can I throw my phone straight at the demon’s mouth. My phone hits it’s target lodging in its throat. The monkey hisses, throwing it’s arms up and dropping Viola on the ground. I summon my scythe, causing my cloak to enshroud me at the same time. While the demon spits my now uselessly charred and smoking phone out, I use my reaper swiftness to charge at it. It howls at me, rolling out of the way just as my scythe hits the ground where it was. Oof. That gouge would really tick off my grandma. I spin, swiping my scythe out towards the demon. I leaps from the ground latching onto the chandelier on the ceiling.

  I start swiping at the thing but it's swinging on the chandelier as if this is a game. “Stop!” I swipe at it. “Moving… so I can… kill you!” I cry out, swiping as hard as I can and missing every time.

  “What is going on?” Oz’s voice calls as he runs into the room.

  “Demon monkey!” I cry, trying to catch my breath. “Bad, bad, demon monkey!”

  The monkey sets its sights on Oz, its face scrunches up in rage and it screams, jumping from the chandelier towards his face.

  “No!” I yell and use my reaper speed to run over and yank Oz out of the way just in time for the monkey to sail through the doorway.

  The monkey runs back into the doorway before Oz or I can get up again. It hisses at us.

  “That’s not good.”

  The monkey starts to charge us.

  “CAW! CAW! CAW!” Bran screams, flapping over the monkey’s head and pecking it. The monkey swipes at Bran.

  “I left my sword,” Oz confesses, standing up and pulling me up with him.

  “Some hero you are” I tell him. “Stay behind me.”

  The monkey swipes at Bran. The back of its hand comes in contact causing Bran to be thrown across the room.

  “Bran!” I cry. I don’t even think I just charge the beast with my scythe raised. It jumps to the left of me, bounces off the bookcase and is behind me before my brain can register what’s happening. I turn around in time to see the beast grab Viola. It throws an awful hiss at Oz and leaps head first
through the broken window it must have come in from.

  “What in the underworld just happened?” Oz asks me.

  I blink at him, “I think a hissing hell monkey just stole my grandmother’s death ledger.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are we ever going to talk about what I told you?” Oz asks me. He’s sweeping up the shattered glass from the monkey. We boarded up the window as soon as we sent word that we need to meet with some of the other nostrae nocte, but unless we board up the entire house, they could just bust back in. In fact, I’m starting to feel like no one in Apres LaMort is safe at all. This demon was bigger, whatever rift is letting them out is getting larger. I put a pin in that train of thought for now. Thankfully Bran wasn’t hurt aside from his pride, he’s in the other room pouting.

  “You mean about the fact you got the text come now with this address and you didn’t think to bring a weapon? That seems kind of counter-productive to surviving this town at the moment,” I tell him.

  “Technically the attacks around town have simmered down. I guess we’ve all gotten a little complacent. No that’s not what I meant anyways. I’m cool with your whole air of mystery you’ve got going on when it comes to your feelings. You are straight forward, but you seem to keep unpleasant feelings to yourself. Or maybe not telling me what you think about the whole Mina situation is just a way to wait it out until you’ve decided what to do. Most women aren’t keen to hear about it and it has ended one other budding relationship when it came out. It doesn’t seem to have stopped us from enjoying each other’s company, I’m just curious if it’s going to.” He stops sweeping and rests his chin on the top of the broom.

  “You guys and your feelings,” I sigh sarcastically. “What I think? Let’s see… I think it is the single most tragic story of someone being used, abused, and tortured with magic that I’ve ever personally met. I think it explains a little about your quirky personality and desire to help others, though not completely. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to share; you don’t seem like the emotional or vulnerable type. I don’t know where you’re at with what happened to you. If you’ve accepted the fact that you’re a werewolf now, or if you resent all nocturnus for what she did. If you even understand at all that what happened was done to you, and you’re not responsible for the people who died because someone else misused magic. I don’t know if you’re still in love with her for that matter and I don’t need to. I forced you to tell me something you never planned on sharing, when you did everything you could to deflect from that. I figured I owed you an apology and the best way to show you it doesn’t bother me; that is, without talking about it more when I assumed you wouldn’t want to, was to show you that I accept you and your past for what it is, the past. Was that wrong?”