It feels like forever as I crouch behind the door and stare expectantly into the inky room. I can’t imagine that a scream is something commonly heard in a morgue, but no one has come to check on the possible source. Maybe I’m not in some standalone The Dead R Us kind of morgue, but attached to a hospital or somewhere else where my leak of terror isn’t so out of place.
An image of the Order’s headquarters pops up in my mind along with the reminder that there were lower levels I was forbidden from knowing anything about. Could I be there? I try not to let that thought rock me. Regardless of where I am, I can’t stand here forever. I need to find a way out and then find somewhere safe.
I know the watered-down version of what Rogan and Elon went through when their mother, the High Priestess of Witches, discovered they had come back from the dead. I’m acutely aware it’s only a matter of time before they come for me, and I’d prefer to be wearing more than a panic attack when they do.
With a deep breath, I shove past my overwhelming dismay and push the door open I’m peering through. I pause for a beat, waiting for something to happen, but other than the whisper of displaced air as the door swings out, everything is quiet.
Warily, I step into the dark. Out of nowhere, a light flickers on, and I slam my hands over my mouth to trap the scream that crawls up my throat. I spin, magic crackling threateningly across my skin, ready for attack or discovery...but the room is empty.
Once again, a thump sounds behind me, and I jump as I turn to see the corpses from the other room have pushed the doors open to follow me. They drag like death mops across the cold floor, and I feel horrible, because there’s no way that feels good against their unprotected skin. Then again, they’re dead, so trulynothingfeels good or bad anymore. It’s a fucked up doggy pile of death, and I swear my heart can’t take much more of all the sudden noises and the fear slamming around inside of my body right now.
Crap.
I harden my resolve and look around as I think through my next move. Standing as still as I can, I take in the new room surrounding me. There are cupboards, counters, scales and other things. Things that, thanks to my years of watching crime shows, now look familiar and conveniently placed for things like autopsies and for the required cleaning up when said autopsies are done.
I spot a phone attached to a wall, and I’m stumbling toward it. I cradle the receiver against my head, and I almost cry when a dial tone chirps in my ear. Tears prick my eyes, and emotion makes my chest heavy as I shakily dial a number and the line starts to ring.
“Hello?” a forlorn voice answers on the third ring, and my heart leaps into my throat, a tear spilling down my cheek.
I never thought I’d hear his voice again.
“Tad,” I whimper, but my cousin’s name comes out in a froggy whisper, my voice brittle and dry from disuse.
How long have I been dead?
“Yes?” he asks warily, demanding, “who is this?” as though he barely has the energy to bother.
I try to clear my throat so I sound more like myself, but it only seems to make me sound worse. I swear if I could look into my throat right now, a tumbleweed would go blowing by with a cloud of dust following closely behind.
“Tad, it’s Leni,” I wheeze, sounding more like Harvey Fierstein than I ever thought possible.
The line is quiet, and I scramble to find something in the room that might help me alleviate the parched desert that’s taken over my throat. I spot a sink and scramble toward it.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but if I ever find out, I will fuck you up,” Tad snarls, the pain and venom in his voice stopping me mid-stride.
“Tad,” I try again.
“If this is your idea of a joke, Gwen, I won’t stop until your entire lineage is cursed beyond recovery. You want to play, bitch? Game on!” he roars, and then the line goes dead.
“Tad...” I cough into the phone, but he’s gone.
Fuck!
I rush to turn the faucet on, water steadily flowing into the silver basin as I bend under the tall spout and drink. The cool liquid spills down my throat and starts to work its magic. I chug down more, suddenly so thirsty that it’s all I can think about. My stomach gurgles happily and then makes me keenly aware that it would like more than just water in its depths. A bear-like growl courses through my body, the hunger all at once demanding and impatient. Clearly, my body just remembered that it should be running on more than just crippling fear and anxiety.
I fill my stomach with as much water as it can contain, hoping it will hold off the demand for food a bit longer, and turn the faucet off. I immediately hang the phone up and then try to call Tad again. It goes straight to his voicemail without even ringing. Growling frustratedly, I hang up the call and then try again. And again. But all I get is Tad’s annoying voicemail.
Pretty sure the fucker blocked me.
A clang fills the room as I slam the receiver down a little too hard. I search my mind for anyone else I can call, but I come up blank. I thread my fingers through my curls, which are matted and dry. I’m pretty sure someone washed my hair and didn’t condition it properly, and that realization creeps me out more than I can say. I look around the room again, viewing it with a rush of unwelcome questions. Is this where I was magically autopsied? Did they cut me open and then clean me up? I search my body for more scars but don’t find anything other than the new one on my chest.
Blowing out a deep sigh of relief, my stricken stare once again lands on the jumble of corpses. Shit. I was going to put the bodies back before I got distracted by the phone. I eye theshadows of death, and an idea trickles into my seriously messed up mind... Maybe they can help me. It’s wrong. So messed up. I immediately start to judge myself as a plan starts to form. But ifIdisappear from the morgue alone, I might as well have a neon sign above my head, flashing to the High Council,guess who came back from the dead. But ifallthe bodies were to disappear at the same time, it might take them a little longer to piece it all together. Okay, maybe notallthe bodies. I can’t be greedy. I also don’t want to use too much magic and either drain myself or ping onto anyone’s radar. But certainly, taking these three would still help. As fucked up as it is to body snatch people, it could buy me some time while the Order or High Council work to solve the mysterious disappearances of the contents of my part of the morgue.
I cringe at my thoughts, a tinge of guilt percolating my gut. As shitty as it is to do this to whoever these people are, I seriously need all the help I can get.
Slap my ass and call me selfish, I guess.
A shiver moves through me, unease pooling in my stomach, and I feel the overwhelming urge to get the fuck out of here. I move to the exit, my steps steadier and stronger from the gallon of water I just gulped down. I gingerly step out into a hall, and more fluorescent lights click on as I make my way through the emptiness in search of an escape point.
