ã€ŠCity of Deathã€‹


 Mourning Flowers

    The abandoned house sat far back on the property, the last home on a dead-end street.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Flora called through the open door of the run-down building. Inside the foyer, a broken light fixture dangled from the ceiling by its wires, throwing dancing shadows around the entry with its flickering light. The foyer split in two directions, the first leading to stairs to the second floor, the other straight, but too dark to see where it went.

    ¡°Why so worried?¡± Albert, her field partner, asked from behind, still lingering on the porch stairs. ¡°The neighbors probably just heard some kids looking through the place.¡±

    ¡°What if it¡¯s not?¡± Flora persisted, clicking her flashlight on and shining it through the door, but found it still too dark to make out anything beyond cobwebs and shadows. ¡°What if it¡¯s serious?¡±

    ¡°Do you want it to be serious?¡± Albert asked in surprise. ¡°I¡¯m certainly praying everything stays calm as it has been. I¡¯d go back to a desk job for security, but the pension¡¯s better as a field agent, you know? Just gotta make it to retirement.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you miss field work?¡± Flora prompted curiously as she went back down the porch stairs. She felt the most alive while engaged with a mission, like it gave her a purpose, and it always surprised her when everyone else didn¡¯t feel the same way, even from Albert, who was several decades her senior.

    ¡°Maybe when I was your age, but not anymore. And never as much as you,¡± Albert replied with a quiet chuckle, following closely behind her as she circled the house, his flashlight now in hand. ¡°No one is as serious about this job as you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Flora protested. She came up on her tiptoes to peer into a side window. Inside was the kitchen, where a broken table and chairs lie splintered on the tiled floor. Nothing moved or stirred.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s why Father Donovan likes us working together,¡± Albert remarked quietly. ¡°It lights a fire under my complacent ass and calm yours down a bit.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not why and you know it,¡± Flora said, laughing. ¡°Father Donovan wants to keep an eye on both of us and figures we¡¯ll keep the other in check.¡±

    ¡°Are we that predictable?¡± Albert asked. ¡°Do you think¡ª"

    A loud crash from inside the house abruptly interrupted him. Flora and Albert exchanged a worried look. Flora nodded at Albert, and they started carefully back around the house, her first, him second.

    Entering through the front door, Flora shined her flashlight down the first hall, which led to a closed door. Another thud sounded behind it. Together, Flora and Albert approached the door.

    The smell came to Flora then, at first musty, with a lingering taste of fresh soil deep in her nostrils. Flora placed her ear to the door and listened. Muffled through the wood, she heard a groan followed by another thud.

    ¡°Poltergeist?¡± Albert suggested, as Flora looked back at him.

    ¡°Zombie,¡± Flora said, shaking her head, finally placing the scent. ¡°It smells like a grave in here.¡±

    ¡°Poltergeists can manifest smells, too,¡± Albert said, frowning; it made him look older in the poor lighting. ¡°And with all of the Church¡¯s wards, zombie-types can¡¯t spontaneously resurrect; they¡¯d need necromancy.¡±

    ¡°Maybe there¡¯s a necromancer, then,¡± Flora suggested, sounding almost hopeful.

    ¡°No, Flora,¡± Albert said, more sternly this time. ¡°We¡¯ll burn a little sage and say a few prayers, maybe an exorcism if the poltergeist is feeling stubborn, and be out before dawn. It¡¯s nothing exciting, despite how much you might want a chance to prove yourself.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Flora admitted with a sigh, shoulders sinking a bit; she was unexpectedly hurt by his accuracy. ¡°I just want to do more, you know?¡±

    A low moan came from behind the door, wet and gurgling, followed by heavy steps. Something crashed into the door, hard, shaking the door in its hinges. Flora and Albert jumped back, with Flora stumbling back into Albert. He caught her, and they both straightened into battle stances.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like a poltergeist,¡± Flora remarked, drawing her mace from its hook on her belt.

    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t,¡± Albert agreed, grimly. His weapon was a rod, topped with a metal cross with pointed tips, looking cruel and sharp in the dim lighting as he pointed it at the door. ¡°Glory be to the Father,¡± Albert murmured in prayer.

    The doorknob rattled as something grasped it.

    ¡°And to the Son,¡± Albert continued, lifting his voice louder, ¡°and to the Holy Spirit.¡±

    The knob twisted uncertainly back and forth. Albert looked anxiously aside at Flora, who raised her mace, ready to swing it down on whatever emerged from the other side.

    ¡°A-as it was in the b-beginning¡­¡± Albert stammered in his prayer, now sounding uncertain. ¡°.. is now and ever shall be.¡±

    The door popped open, yanked inward. On the other side stood two college-aged kids, one boy and a girl, wide-eyed and fearful, blinking in the direct light of Flora and Albert¡¯s flashlights. On seeing the raised weapons, the boy put his hands up defensively. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt us!¡±

    Flora lowered her mace. ¡°Isn¡¯t it a school night?¡± Her frustration made her words short. ¡°Don¡¯t you have something better to do than trespass in abandoned houses doing God knows what?¡±

    ¡°We¡­ we weren¡¯t doing anything,¡± the girls squeaked from behind the boy. ¡°The house is supposed to be haunted; we were just trying to¡­¡± the girl hesitated. ¡°We didn¡¯t expect the Church to be here.¡±

    ¡°And if there was a ghost?¡± Albert prompted, shaking his head. ¡°What would you have done then?¡±

    The boy laughed, puffing up with false bravado. ¡°I¡¯m not worried.¡± In the yellow light of Albert and Flora¡¯s flashlights, the boy¡¯s skin had a strange green cast to it; the smell of fresh dirt intensified.

    ¡°Go home before you find real trouble,¡± Flora said, exasperated, worried something else still lurked nearby.

    ¡°Not a ghost or zombie,¡± Albert remarked to Flora as he lowered his weapon, hooking it back onto his belt. ¡°Just some kids ¨C see? It was nothing.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t explain the smell, though,¡± Flora muttered. ¡°In fact, it¡¯s much stronger now. Can¡¯t you smell it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°The smell always gives me away,¡± the boy said, then smirked. ¡°The lady was right, not a poltergeist.¡± His smile widened, exposing his rotten teeth. Behind him, the girl blinked, but off-center, first one eyelid and then the other; Flora realized the girl¡¯s eyeballs were uneven, sitting in their sockets crookedly.

    ¡°Angel of God, my guardian dear,¡± Albert whispered, fumbling to free his weapon from his belt hook. ¡°To whom God¡¯s love commits me here,¡± he intoned, voice shaking. ¡°Ever this day, be at my¡ª¡±

    Albert did not get a chance to finish theGuardian Angel Prayeras the boy-turned-zombie launched himself at Albert. They fell together, landing hard on the ground, in a messy tangle of limbs, with the boy landing on top. He growled, making a low, inhuman sound and bared his teeth, then bit down on Albert¡¯s neck and shoulder.

    There was no hesitation in Flora, despite their young faces and bodies. She swung her heavy mace at the boy¡¯s head, his soft skull crumbling easily under the blow, splashing his soupy brains onto Albert¡¯s front as the boy collapsed forward. Behind them, the girl shrieked, a strangling cry of anguish and anger. Flora stepped over the squirming Albert and now-actually-dead boy, still tangled together, as the girl launched herself forward at Flora with open jaws.

    Flora was caught unprepared and lifted the mace up defensively to protect herself. She felt a bite deep in the flesh of her exposed forearm. Flora pushed against the zombie, trying to get distance between them; the zombie stumbled back, her sharp teeth dragging and ripping flesh in their wake.

    With blood smearing her mouth, the zombie smiled at Flora¡¯s wounded cry.

    Enraged by the pain, Flora swung her mace as the zombie charged again. The mace connected with the side of the zombie¡¯s head, crushing the skull and splintering inward, the brain inside turning to mush under the heavy impact. The girl sagged to the floor, twitching as she oozed her brain matter out on the floor.

    Breathing heavily, her clothing and face painted with rotten blood and viscera, Flora pushed the twice-dead body off Albert with her uninjured arm; the wounded arm now soaked her shirt sleeve with blood. Albert gasped wetly once freed from the weight. A chunk of flesh was missing from his neck, ragged teeth marks left on his skin. The bite wound bled openly, soaking Albert¡¯s shirt and coat.

    ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± Flora murmured as she shrugged off her coat, mindful of her wounded arm, then pressed the clean sleeve down hard on Albert¡¯s neck. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± she repeated, scrambling with her hand to get her cell phone out of her pocket, but her fingers were too slick with blood to make contact.

    Albert¡¯s eyes met hers, wild and full of fear; he managed to press his own hand to his neck, holding the makeshift bandage in place. Her hands free, Flora wiped her fingers on each pantleg, then dialed again.

    ¡°I need back up,¡± Flora managed to croak out, ¡°Cleric down.¡±

    <hr>

    The city of New Rome was, as its name suggested, a relatively new city. Located in the state of Michigan in the United States, surrounded by the protective waters of the Great Lakes, it had sprung up around the headquarters for the World United Church. Established in the aftermath of World War II, the Church had been created to combat the surprising new threat discovered during the war: necromancy.

    Previously, the undead were confined to small pockets throughout the world: small covens of vampires living in secret; zombies spontaneously resurrecting, usually motivated by some unfinished task left in life; or ghosts, lingering around where they lived or died, lost on the path toward true rest.

    During World War II, a secret group conducted research on necromancy and learned enough to incite mass undead resurrection. After deadly battles in Europe, zombies, Allied and Axis alike, rose and attacked everyone, not distinguishing between enemy and ally. Surviving soldiers of these battles often had to be euthanized due to the threat of the zombie virus spreading.

    During the darkest days of the war, the world became a bleak, hopeless place; the threat of the undead loomed large over the war-torn European countries and the world collectively prayed it would not spread.

    Finally, with the Allies¡¯ victory in Europe, the zombie resurrections suddenly ended. As Europe began to slowly recover, abandoned laboratories with evidence of occult magic were found near each resurrection site.

    It was never discovered who was behind the necromancy research or attacks, or their ultimate goal.

    After World War II, the Paris Peace treaties included the official establishment of the World United Church, known more widely as the Church, whose primary job was to combat the presence of dark magic in the world. Representatives of most of the world¡¯s faiths came together to pool resources and knowledge on how to fight the various evils of the world.

    The Church became responsible for managing the world¡¯s supernatural problems. Necromancy, especially, was hunted and eradicated with a religious fervor. While the practice of other magics, like witchcraft or parapsychology, were not outright illegal, only highly regulated, necromancy had been explicitly banned and hunted aggressively into extinction.

    Gradually, the threat of the undead became a distant worry, only a footnote in history. As a result, the Church¡¯s current mission was to monitor and continue protecting the world¡¯s living against all the supernatural forces that might harm them.

    With its international reach and authority, the city of New Rome quickly became a player in the game of world-wide politics, commerce, and technology. The city¡¯s development and population exploded over the following decades, quickly making it equivalent to the likes of New York City, Tokyo, London ¨C and even its namesake, Rome itself.

    <hr>

    The artificial light of the hospital within its windowless hallways and the endless beeping of countless machines and computers made Flora feel like time had slowed or nearly stopped, punctuated only nurses and doctors arriving to and then leaving from the hospital room.

    Flora was lucky, she knew. Her wound had been largely superficial ¨C she¡¯d had more of the zombies¡¯ and Albert¡¯s blood on her than her own ¨C and the undead virus had little chance of entering her blood stream. Still, Flora anxiously watched the saline bag (blessed by a priest, of course) as it slowly deflated, emptying through the IV and into her vein, burning just a little as it went under her skin.

    Albert had not been so lucky ¨C they¡¯d taken him straight to the I.C.U. and wouldn¡¯t tell Flora much else beyond that.

    The doctor stitched up the bite wound on Flora¡¯s arm with strict instructions to keep it clean and to report any signs of infection. She scribbled her signature on the discharge paperwork with a promise to follow up with the Church¡¯s H.R. for her workman¡¯s comp paperwork.

    Outside of the E.R., Flora made her way toward the I.C.U., intent on finding Albert.

    ¡°Not family,¡± the head nurse had the audacity to declare when Flora tried to enter. ¡°I can¡¯t let you in.¡± But there had been kindness in the nurse¡¯s eyes when she added, ¡°There¡¯s a chapel around the corner, if you want to pray.¡±

    Eventually, if only to give herself something to do while she waited, Flora went to the chapel. It was a simple altar, with only a draped white cloth over it and no other symbols. The faiths of the city were so widely varied that most non-denominational groups offered basic spaces generic enough to offer quiet and peace to all who sought solace from their gods. Even with the Church¡¯s Catholic leanings, its mission to protect the world from darkness went beyond any one specific religion or dogma; it was too important to be charged to only one belief.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Father Donovan found Flora there, sitting in the small pew, her head lowered in silent prayer. He was an older man, bent and weathered by his years, and moved with a distinct shuffling gait, so recognizable that Flora lifted her head expectantly as he approached.

    ¡°What happened in the house¡ª¡± Flora started to ask, desperately curious. ¡°Did you find any signs of occult magic? Of necromancy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m dismayed by your priorities,¡± Father Donovan said, as he sat in the pew across the aisle. ¡°Albert, first.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Flora said, chastened; she dearly loved Albert. ¡°Did the doctors speak to you? How is he?¡±

    ¡°Stable but critical,¡± Father Donovan told her. ¡°They¡¯ve stopped the bleeding and purged the undead virus from his blood stream before it could spread.¡±

    ¡°Oh, thank God,¡± Flora murmured, then crossed herself.

    ¡°Too early for that,¡± Father Donovan continued grimly. ¡°Albert still hasn¡¯t regained consciousness yet. It¡¯s still early, but we won¡¯t know the full damage until he wakes up, if he wakes up at all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to be impatient,¡± Flora said, feeling nothing but impatient. ¡°But those zombies, they looked alive! They looked like breathing people. They fooled Albert; they fooledme!¡±

    ¡°It was dark in the house,¡± Father Donovan remarked, voice neutral despite Flora¡¯s rising volume. ¡°They were perhaps more deteriorated than you realized.¡±

    ¡°No, Father Donovan,¡± Flora protested. ¡°They looked alive.¡±

    ¡°They look like nothing now,¡± Father Donovan grumbled. ¡°After you smashed their faces to bits.¡±

    ¡°Father, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Flora said quietly. She hesitated only a moment, before blurting out, ¡°But I think this merits further investigation. How did they spawn within the city limits? How were they so whole and healthy looking? Is there a possibility of a new necromancer in operation? If I could just go and look around¡ª"

    ¡°No, Sister Flora,¡± Father Donovan said, stressing the formality of her rank as a Cleric. ¡°This will be investigated, but not by you.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Flora started to say.

    ¡°You, Sister Flora,¡± Father Donovan spoke over her, ¡°will be on Help Desk duty for the time being.¡±

    Flora¡¯s jaw dropped in disbelief. ¡°You can¡¯t do that. I¡¯ve done my time on Help Desk! I need more field experience.¡±

    ¡°You need a new partner,¡± Father Donovan corrected her sternly, ¡°and recruitment¡¯s down. No one wants to be in the Undead Department when Parapsychology and Demonology are where careers are made.¡±

    Flora said nothing, her jaw tight with all the words she wanted to say but did not.

    ¡°So go take calls from high teenagers and talk them down from scary shadows,¡± Father Donovan said, as he stood up, mindful of his bad hip. ¡°You¡¯re good at being kind.¡±

    ¡°Will Albert ever return to the field?¡± Flora asked, her voice small. ¡°Will I?¡±

    ¡°If you can¡¯t find a partner in the Church, you can always hire a contractor if you need an expert on a case,¡± Father Donovan said, as he started down the aisle, ¡°or a bodyguard. As long as you¡¯re not on in the field on your own.¡±

    ¡°Just until Albert gets better,¡± Flora said, determined.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Father Donovan agreed. ¡°Just remember to submit the 1099 paperwork.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Thank you for calling the World United Church Help Desk. This is Sister Flora speaking, how can I help you?¡± Flora spoke cheerfully into the microphone of the headset she wore, trying to ignore her own weariness. She sat at a desk wedged into the corner of a tiny office, packed tightly with overflowing bookcases and cluttered shelves. The light from her open laptop screen was uncomfortably bright for her tired eyes.

    ¡°Hi,¡± squeaked a voice on the other side. The caller cleared his throat with an awkward cough then continued in a more even voice, ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m calling the right place, but, uh¡­¡± he hesitated, then said more timidly, ¡°but I think my house might be haunted.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think that?¡± Flora asked.

    ¡°My... my wife died, recently. Sometimes, I hear her voice from the other room. Or catch her perfume in the air. Or see her in the corner of my eye.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡± Flora asked, cautiously. ¡°Objects moving around? Sudden changes in temperature? Electrical devices malfunctioning? Or feeling like you¡¯re being watched?¡± She clicked through the prompts on screen as she read through each.

    ¡°No,¡± he answered, a world of disappointment packed into a single word. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind her haunting me, really.¡± His breath hitched, and the next words came out strangled, ¡°Why can¡¯t she come back?¡±

    ¡°How long has she been gone?¡± Flora asked. She leaned back in her chair, ignoring the next prompt. ¡°Can I ask how she passed?¡±

    ¡°Two weeks,¡± the caller answered quietly. ¡°Drunk driver hit her.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Flora breathed, feeling sudden tears at the corner of her eyes. ¡°Sir, I¡¯m so sorry. This is all still so new for you. It¡¯s going to take time to adjust¡ª¡±

    ¡°I just miss her so much,¡± the caller interrupted, sounding desperate. ¡°Isn¡¯t there a way to talk to the dead? Just once? Just to say¡­ to say I love her.¡±

    ¡°Sir, she knows,¡± Flora insisted.

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Being trapped on Earth, unable to move on,¡± Flora spoke over him, gentle but firm, ¡°That¡¯s a tragic fate for any soul. You don¡¯t want that for her.¡±

    ¡°I understand, I don¡¯t want that for her, I just wish¡­¡±

    ¡°You just wish for more time,¡± Flora suggested. ¡°One more conversation, one more hug, one more chance to say I love you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± the caller sighed in reluctant agreement.

    ¡°I¡¯m a bit of an expert on death,¡± Flora said, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes, wiping away the tears she refused to shed. ¡°And I¡¯ll tell you a secret: no matter how much time you had with your loved one, it would never be enough. You will never not miss her.¡±

    ¡°I was afraid of that,¡± the called admitted. ¡°Does it get any easier?¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Flora said, cautious with her words. ¡°It does become easier to bear, but it will never not hurt that they¡¯re gone. The world will never be right again and that won¡¯t ever be okay, but you will learn to endure.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± The caller said, the words watery and fraught. ¡°T¡­ Thank you for your time.¡±

    ¡°Can I refer you to our Grief Services?¡± Flora asked, quickly scribbling down a few notes.¡°Can I get your name and number? Someone will reach out to you and¡­¡±

    ¡°No¡­ no,¡± the called interrupted, although his voice sounded distant. ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±

    ¡°Sir, it¡¯s okay to ask for help with this, and¡ª¡± Flora started to say, but the call disconnected. She sighed, hoping he would reach back out again and accept help, but doubting he would.

    Flora opened her desk drawer and poked around its contents, wondering if she had enough change for the breakroom vending machine ¨C its card reader had stopped working but Maintenance decided it wasn¡¯t broken enough to actually fix it yet. She only managed to find a quarter and three pennies before her headset chimed with a new call.

    Flora took a deep breath in and turned back to her laptop. ¡°Thank you for calling the World United Church Help Desk. This is Sister Flora speaking, how can I help you?¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± the new caller said, ¡°I¡¯m calling to follow up on a ticket. Can I give you the reference number?¡± His voice was deep and unexpectedly rich.

    ¡°Of course, please go ahead,¡± Flora prompted, suddenly sitting up straighter. She typed in the number as he recited it. ¡°One moment please, while I review your case,¡± Flora said, leaning closer to peer at the small font of the report. ¡°Burned down house on Lake St?¡±

    The caller made a soft affirmative noise with his throat, which strangely caught Flora off guard. She cleared her own throat awkwardly, then continued, ¡°It¡¯s, uh, been categorized as a residual haunting. There¡¯s no active spiritual threat, so it¡¯s on a lower priority tier.¡±

    The caller was silent for a stunned second, then asked, ¡°Really? Did anyone actually come out and listen?¡±

    Flora scrolled down the report. ¡°Looks like this was a remote evaluation; no field visit occurred.¡± She paused. ¡°What is the nature of the anomaly?¡± She frowned at the screen. ¡°I apologize; it¡¯s not specified on your ticket.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had to explain this each time I¡¯ve called. But anyway¡ª¡± The caller took a deliberately deep breath, exhaled, then continued more slowly, ¡°It sounds like a kid crying. On and off during the day, but non-stop at night.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Flora¡¯s hands dropped from her keyboard to her sides. ¡°That¡¯s terrible.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± the caller agreed glumly. ¡°It is definitely terrible.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± Flora said, reluctantly, ¡°given the type of paranormal activity, it¡¯ll take the Church three to six months to follow up on the issue.¡±

    ¡°Three to six months?¡± the caller repeated incredulously. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. Maybe it¡¯s not physically hurting anyone, but it¡¯s still harmful.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Flora asked, clicking into the address¡¯s GPS location. The map loaded, showing an apartment building, sharing a tight alley with a large building on its east side.

    ¡°New Haven Home for Boys,¡± Flora read aloud, then asked, ¡°Is the haunted building next to an orphanage?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the caller answered somberly. ¡°It¡¯s scaring the kids; they can¡¯t sleep.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Flora murmured, more to herself than to him. ¡°Unfortunately, there are no available agents, and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Someone has to come down and listen to this,¡± the caller insisted firmly. ¡°If you heard this, you wouldn¡¯t let it continue.¡±

    She remembered Albert, lying still under the harsh hospital lights and frowned to herself. The mouse hovered under the tab,Assign to Agent.She scrolled down, then selectedSedrickson, Flora.A new field populated next, titledPartner.She hesitated, chewing her lip in thought.

    ¡°Is there anything you can do?¡± the caller asked; the sudden neediness in his voice made Flora¡¯s stomach flip curiously. ¡°Can¡¯t you come and check it out?¡± He paused then added, ¡°Please.¡±

    I¡¯m not a field agent,Flora almost said, but hesitated. She might be temporarily benched, but she was still a field agent; she was determined to return as soon as possible.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Flora said instead, selectingExternal Partner. ¡°Do you know the street? Do you live in the neighborhood?¡± She was surprised at her new impulsiveness; she was usually careful and methodical.

    ¡°I know it,¡± the caller said, answering only one of the two. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Could you meet me there?¡± Flora asked as she grabbed her bag from under her desk. ¡°Is the number you called from your cell phone?¡± She fished out her cell phone and keys.

    ¡°Yes?¡± the caller answered, sounding intrigued. ¡°You need my help?¡±

    ¡°My partner¡¯s out on medical,¡± Flora said, inputting the displayed phone number into her cell phone contacts. ¡°The Church requires us to investigate in pairs. Otherwise, you¡¯ll have to wait the three to six months.¡± She paused, then asked, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re straightforward, aren¡¯t you?¡± the caller asked, chuckling to himself; a low and pleasant sound.

    ¡°I like to get things done,¡± Flora corrected him, ignoring her burning cheeks ¨C what was wrong with her? ¡°You want to help those kids or not?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll help you, Sister Flora,¡± the caller said; it sounded like he was smiling. ¡°My name¡¯s Clovis.¡±

    ¡°Clovis,¡± Flora repeated, trying out the unusual name as she typed it into her phone. ¡°Just call me Flora.¡± She didn¡¯t wait for a reply, instead continuing, ¡°Can you meet me there?¡± It was an excuse to get off Help Desk, she told herself, and not. ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°Right now?¡± Clovis asked, sounding surprised.

    ¡°An hour from now,¡± Flora said corrected herself; she glanced at the clock ¨C nearly four. With the winter days getting shorter, it would be dark soon. ¡°Ghost communication is more open at dusk.¡±

    ¡°Then in an hour,¡± Clovis agreed easily, this time amused. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you there, Flora.¡±

    <hr>

    Flora¡¯s apartment, with its three bedrooms and two baths, was solidly middle-class. Sometimes, she considered herself lucky to live in her childhood home with a paid off mortgage, especially in the times of escalating interest rates and rental prices. But then she rememberedhowshe inherited the apartment and felt only bitter loneliness.

    Flora still stayed in her old bedroom, updated with a queen bed but still having her childhood furniture. It had never felt right to take over her parents¡¯ room and so, instead, had converted it into an office.

    In the office, a large desk sat against one wall, facing the open window with the cityscape on display. As the sun came down over New Rome, the sky was painted in a wild riot of reds, purples, and pinks, startlingly vivid against the gray skyline of the city.

    One another wall was a large corkboard with a detailed map of New Rome, with various red pins and notes stuck into it. Below the corkboard was a small fish tank on a cabinet, with a weapons rack with several sized maces beside it. Bookshelves were packed tightly along the remaining open walls, some stuffed with books, others with small tools and equipment, an AM/FM radio on one, a Ouija board on another.

    Albert called it her Lair of Death when he first saw it and they had both laughed. ¡°You should put something up in there to remind you what you¡¯re doing this for,¡± Albert had told her, more seriously. ¡°So you don¡¯t lose sight of your humanity.¡±

    And so, on her desk was a framed photo of a much younger Flora, sixteen years old and smiling wide over a birthday cake. Her mother and father stood on one side of her, while Cecilia, perpetually fourteen years old for Flora, stood on the other, her head leaning on Flora¡¯s shoulder, not looking at the camera but smiling up at Flora.

    Cecilia¡¯s room, however, remained untouched. Flora knew that the cleaning service regularly went in to vacuum and dust but left the room otherwise untouched. The walls were still plastered with posters of bands and celebrities, Cecilia¡¯s trendy clothing still in the dresser drawers, her diary still hidden tucked up between the slats underneath her mattress. It was a time capsule of a teenage age girl¡¯s daily life; it hurt too much to look at it, much less take it down, so Flora left it alone.

    It had been seven years since Flora had lost her whole family. It had been the Church who saved her then. Brother Albert Hawthrone introduced himself as a long-ago coworker of Flora¡¯s mother and helped Flora pick up the pieces of her broken life. With Albert¡¯s guidance, she¡¯d found a new purpose. Even if she was often frustrated by the Church¡¯s red tape, she believed deeply in their mission.

    After her call with Clovis, Flora rushed home. From her office, she grabbed her field bag. She looked briefly through the shelves and grabbed a few items ¨C a jar of salt, a bundle of sage, a bottle of holy water, an electric lighter, a wooden cross, zippered pencil pouch of candles, charcoal sticks and chalk, an EMF reader, and then of course, her mace.

    Flora paused by the fish tank, leaning down to peak in. A small medieval castle was surrounded by brightly colored plastic leaves and flowers. At the water¡¯s surface, a red betta fish floated, belly up.

    ¡°Wake up, Laz.¡± Flora tapped lightly on the glass and the fish startled awake and began swimming in lazy circles near the surface. Flora tapped a few flakes of food from its jar in, and the fish began nibbling lightly at the floating bits. ¡°There you go,¡± Flora smiled, putting the jar of food away.

    Lazarus the fish hadn¡¯t always been named so and he hadn¡¯t always been Flora¡¯s. Originally named Finsy, he had been the office fish when Flora first started as a Cleric and was declared dead when found floating in a bowl one day. Flora had been given the task of disposing of him, and, as she was about to dump the small bowl into the toilet, Finsy suddenly spasmed and jumped up and nearly out of his bowl. Flora just managed to catch him before he fell into the toilet.

    Flora, now feeling a fondness for the fish¡¯s tenacity, brought him home and he¡¯d been reborn as Lazarus. He still had a fondness for deep naps, but always came awake eventually.

    As Flora left the workshop, she¡¯d been determined to hurry. But as she passed her bedroom, she hesitated, then went in. She flipped on the light and stood in front of the mirror, peering curiously at herself.

    Flora was not an unattractive woman. She knew this, not as a matter of bragging or even pride, but as a fact. When she first started at the Church, she¡¯d been approached by the Demonology Department, who tried to recruit her as an undercover agent.

    Demonology often poached winsome agents of both sexes, earning themselves a reputation for aggressive recruitment. Demons, more than any other supernatural creature, are ruled by their desires, and more easily manipulated and countered by attractive agents.

    Flora had been surprised when they contacted her. Despite their grand promises for her career, she¡¯d turn them down, steadfast in her wish to protect the world from the undead.

    Now, looking into the mirror, Flora assessed herself. She was petite but not delicate, well-muscled from training with her heavy mace. Unstyled, her blonde hair fell straight to her shoulders, but with the right products and tools, she would coax some wave into it. She was light-skinned but not pale, having a healthy color to her cheeks, large blue eyes framed below a fair brow.

    Flora had never given much thought to her appearance, not because she was especially humble or modest, but because it hadn¡¯t mattered much to her before. Her parents had both been academics ¨C her father a professor of archeology, her mother first a Cleric in her early career, then leaving the Church to teach religious studies at a local college. They always praised her for her kindness and hard work, and her sister Cecilia for her creativity and ingenuity. At least, they had when they were alive.

    After her parents¡¯ and sister¡¯s deaths, Flora was determined to become a Cleric. She joined only weeks after her eighteenth birthday and had never been swayed or tempted from the path. After she¡¯d turned down Demonology, she¡¯d been approached by another group: the Vestals.

    The Vestals were a group of agents who had taken vows of chastity during their service to the Church. It was thought that remaining free of earthly pleasures made one closer to their god or goddess and increased their power. Not all Vestals were actual virgins ¨C it was possible to take on the vow after having sexual experience, but it was generally theorized that because that vows offer complete chastity produced more power. It was hard to quantify the enhancement, however, leaving many dubious to the actual effect virginity might have, if any.

    Still, the Vestals were a powerful group, having members in all departments, and many in higher management. Joining would jump start her career dramatically and make her appearance even less important. What mattered was the content of her soul and her desire for goodness.

    Flora made a face at her mirror self, then frowned. Why, then, Flora wondered, did she suddenly care about how she looked?

    Flora crossed the room to her dresser, opening the sock drawer. In it, she pulled out a small jewelry box. In it, was a small gold pin, delicate wire twisted into two nested V¡¯s, with a slight twist of wire above, meant to represent the flame in the hearth. She ran her fingers over it, deep in thought. She hadn¡¯t told anyone about the Vestals¡¯ offer yet, not even Albert.

    Flora¡¯s phone buzzed with a text message. She opened her phone to a message from Clovis, simply reading,Here.

    Be there soon,Flora sent her reply, then smiled. She closed the jewelry box and put it back in the drawer. She had a mission to do, she told herself, and nothing more.

 Disturbed Spirits

    At first glance, the apartment at 326 Lake Street building looked fine, if a little run down. But as Flora parked, she saw the front facing side, its exterior walls partially gone, and while the porch and first floor looked largely intact, its upper floors had been hollowed out by the greedy flames, leaving behind only black charred remains.

    Flora had found a news clip about the house fire on her phone and listened to the audio on her drive over ¨C a sad description of a space heater left on overnight, catching fire to the too close curtains and spreading to the whole building.

    There were several deaths noted: a senior citizen who liked to teach kids how to play chess at the local library; a local grocery store butcher who was friendly with the whole neighborhood; and then, a young married couple and their ten-year-old son, active in their local church and community.

    At a stoplight, Flora risked a glance at her phone screen to catch a picture of the family at Christmas, smiling wide and eagerly into the camera, unaware of their impeding fiery fate. She blinked quickly and looked back to the road ahead, trying to erase the unwanted image of their skin melting off their faces, exposing white bone beneath, mouths open in a perpetual scream.

    Exiting her car, she opened the trunk and grabbed her field bag. She pulled the mace from the bag and fixed it to the holder at her belt. Shrugging the bag¡¯s strap onto one shoulder, she turned to the house, her mouth set in a grim line of determination.

    ¡°Remind me never to cross you in a dark alley,¡± said a now-familiar voice. A man stood at the porch, tall, dark-eyed and dark-haired. He wore a long trench coat, opened to a gray t-shirt and jeans.

    ¡°Why would you be following me into an alley?¡± Flora asked, trying not to sound intrigued but failing.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to find out?¡± he returned with a grin, and it was so disarmingly charming with his white teeth and smile crinkles around the eyes and nose, that Flora found herself unexpectedly flustered, red-cheeked and speechless, and that only seemed to make him smile more.

    ¡°Pardon my manners,¡± he said, reaching forward with an offered hand, ¡°Clovis Jones.¡±

    ¡°Flora Sedrickson,¡± Flora countered, taking his hand with hers, intent on a brief shake, but finding herself lingering in the contact; neither did he withdraw. ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± she said, quietly.

    ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± Clovis repeated, as Flora finally let his hand go. He gestured to the house with a nod. ¡°I called the landlord and got permission look around.¡±

    Flora shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s nice, but not needed. If there¡¯s a suspected supernatural activity, I have papal authority to be on the property, regardless of the owner¡¯s wishes.¡±

    Clovis raised a brow. ¡°Is that so? What about private security?¡±

    ¡°Church enforcement supersedes all local and federal laws,¡± Flora told him as she walked past, up the porch stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. ¡°In theory, I could go wherever the job takes me.¡±

    ¡°Interesting,¡± Clovis said as he stepped up onto the porch next to her. Flora looked aside at him as he continued, ¡°So, you go wherever you please, laws be damned.¡±

    ¡°Wherever the Church pleases,¡± Flora corrected, trying to blink away the shape of the word please on his full lips from her mind. She looked back at the house, determined to focus.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Clovis said, sounding amused.

    Flora chose to ignore it, instead, pulling out her EMF reader. It was a small, hand-held device, with a row of lights across the top of a band of colors, going from blue, to green, yellow, orange, then red.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Clovis asked, peering closer.

    ¡°An Electromagnetic Field Reader,¡± Flora explained as she switched it on, it blinked blue, then jumped to yellow. From inside the house, Flora heard a child¡¯s distant wail of fear. ¡°Although I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll need it,¡± she said, putting the device back in her bag. ¡°Poor kid.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Clovis agreed, then asked, ¡°Is there anything you can do?¡±

    ¡°I think so,¡± Flora said, then cleared her throat. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside.¡± The door wasn¡¯t latched, swinging idly in its hinges, and Flora pushed it open easily and stepped in. ¡°Do you know which apartment the crying is coming from? Where the young family lived?¡± she asked Clovis, who followed behind her.

    ¡°You know who it might be already?¡± Clovis asked, surprised. ¡°They lived on the first floor.¡±

    ¡°I did some quick research and he¡¯s the only child who died,¡± Flora explained solemnly; child hauntings were especially hard. The first floor¡¯s door and most of its walls were burned away, charred wood and ashes left behind. Flora stepped through the threshold and looked around. It was a modest apartment, its kitchen was the central room, a family room connected on one side and hallway to bedrooms on the other.

    Faintly, like it was coming from another room, Flora could hear a child crying. She exchanged a look with Clovis, who frowned.

    ¡°What¡¯ll you do?¡± Clovis asked, following closely behind her. He watched curiously as she knelt to the burnt floor and began unpacking several items from her bag.

    ¡°Encourage him to move on,¡± Flora answered. She picked up the sage bundle, hesitated, then put it back; smoke suddenly seemed like a bad idea. ¡°Help him find the way if he¡¯s scared.¡± She picked up the cross instead.

    ¡°Can I help?¡± Clovis asked, watching as Flora cleared debris from the floor, enough for her to sit. Dust and ash, disturbed by the action, floated aimlessly around them, making the air feel thick.

    ¡°Come help me perform a s¨¦ance,¡± Flora said as she sat cross-legged, a hand on each knee, palm up, the cross in her right.

    ¡°What do I do?¡± Clovis asked as he sat opposite her, mimicking her posture.

    ¡°I¡¯ll act as the medium,¡± Flora said, resettling herself, unexpectedly too aware of his nearness. He smelled like the outdoors, of fresh rain and clean air. ¡°You¡¯ll be the sitter. It involves just that, sitting. The presence of sitters amplifies the medium¡¯s power. But it also helps if you can relate to the deceased, if you have anything in common, or a way to connect to them.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Clovis sounded uncertain.

    ¡°Did you know him at all?¡± Flora asked. ¡°Do you know anything about his neighborhood?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Clovis answered. ¡°I didn¡¯t know him. But¡­¡± he paused, frowning thoughtfully. ¡°I might know something about him.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Flora prompted, curiously.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Clovis said. ¡°Go ahead with your s¨¦ance, and we¡¯ll see if I¡¯m right.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± Flora said, setting the cross between them. She reached for his hands, hesitated, then looked up to realize Clovis was watching her. He smiled suddenly and somehow that made it worse. Internally, she floundered. Externally, she took a deep breath in, then exhaled. Then she linked her hands with his, creating a circle. She focused intensely on the cross.

    ¡°If you were a child lost from your parents, what would make you feel better?¡± Flora asked quietly.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Clovis hesitated, apparently caught off guard by the question. ¡°I suppose nothing would make me feel better, except finding my parents.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Flora said, closing her eyes. She took another deep breath and released it. ¡°Martin?¡± she asked, gently. ¡°I know you¡¯re here.¡±

    The crying became louder and more forceful, devolving into gulping sobs.

    Clovis sat abruptly straighter, eyes wide in alarm, but did not let go of her hands.

    ¡°Martin?¡± Flora asked again. ¡°It¡¯s okay to come out. We want to help you.¡±

    There was no reply, but the sobbing continued.

    ¡°Marty?¡± Clovis tried next, sounding unsure.

    Who¡¯s there? a tiny child¡¯s voice whispered back, coming from both nowhere and everywhere; the crying stopped.

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Clovis looked at Flora, alarm in his dark eyes.

    Flora nodded in encouragement then mouthed the words, Go on.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Marty,¡± Clovis continued, ¡°but I heard from the boys next door. Bill and Georgie said your folks were looking for you all over, and that you¡¯d better go find them right away.¡±

    I¡¯m trying, the child¡¯s voice came through, frustrated and watery. I can¡¯t find them. Where are they?

    ¡°The cemetery right next to the library over on Second Street,¡± Clovis prompted quickly. ¡°Bill said they¡¯d meet you there.¡±

    Is it Sunday?  Marty asked, unsure, We visit Grandma¡¯s grave on Sundays after church.

    ¡°Must be,¡± Clovis agreed easily. ¡°I bet they¡¯re still there, waiting for you.¡±

    Maybe I should go¡­ Marty pondered, his voice now sounding distant, Before I get in trouble¡­

    ¡°They¡¯ll be glad to see you,¡± Clovis said, his voice oddly strained. ¡°Go on, before you miss them again.¡±

    Okay¡­ Marty agreed; the tension suddenly went out, like everyone had been holding a collective breath and just released it, all surprised to find oxygen still in the room.

    After several seconds of relieved silence, Clovis quietly asked, ¡°Did it work?¡±

    ¡°I think so,¡± Flora said cautiously; she realized then she still held Clovis¡¯ hands and abruptly dropped them, drawing her hands protectively back into her own lap. ¡°You did well ¨C there¡¯s an old fey magic in a name. You said you didn¡¯t know him? How did you know his nickname or his friends?¡±

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I was talking to the New Haven boys,¡± Clovis answered. ¡°They knew him. All the local kids go to the same school, walk home together, and play in the neighborhood. You know, kid stuff.¡±

    ¡°How did you get involved here?¡± Flora asked; she began digging through her field bag, looking for something. ¡°You seem to be avoiding the question. And if you¡¯re not a neighbor, why do you care what happens here?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Clovis admitted carefully, watching her with a wary eye. ¡°I was checking out a lead on a case.¡±

    ¡°Law enforcement?¡± Flora asked, surprised; he did not strike her as the type. She finally found the salt jar and opened it, taking a pinch full out.

    Clovis seemed to agree, shaking his head with a laugh. ¡°No, private investigator.¡± He watched her curiously as she began sprinkling salt on the baseboards of the walls.

    ¡°What are you investigating?¡± Flora asked as she rounded to the main door. She took an extra big pinch for the entry. Portals of any kind, even simple doors, were tricky things with magic and especially needed safeguarding.

    ¡°Trying to track something down,¡± Clovis replied with a shrug. ¡°I can¡¯t say much else about it.¡±

    ¡°How mysterious,¡± Flora remarked dryly.

    ¡°Something like that.¡± Before Flora could comment on anything else, Clovis continued, ¡°Do you want to get dinner?¡±

    Flora blinked in surprise. ¡°Dinner?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Clovis ran his hand through his hair, leaving behind dark disheveled curls in the wake of his fingers; he looked oddly nervous. ¡°My treat? As a thank you, for helping the boys.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sure.¡± Flora found herself agreeing before she could even think about it. She began repacking her bag, trying to ignore the thundering beat of her own heart roaring in her ears. ¡°Where to?¡±

    ¡°I know a place. I¡¯ll grab something from my car, and we can take yours?¡± Clovis suggested casually. ¡°It¡¯s not far from here.¡±

    <hr>

    It was a hole-in-the-wall typical diner, with mediocre coffee and greasy fries, but Flora didn¡¯t mind. Clovis was surprisingly easy to talk to and seemed genuinely curious about her job as a Cleric.

    ¡°So, you have jurisdiction all over the city?¡± Clovis asked, as he handed her the small bowl of packet creamers. ¡°No territorial disputes with other agencies? Or other departments?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± Flora said, as she tore open the creamer and poured it into her cup. She tried to focus on the swirling cream disappearing into the coffee but was uncomfortably too aware of his intense eyes watching her. ¡°All supernatural activity falls under Church authority, but paranormal specifically falls under the Undead Department.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± Clovis asked.

    ¡°Supernatural is the umbrella term for all things outside of nature,¡± Flora explained, still surprised by his interest. ¡°Witchcraft and sorcery, demonology, parapsychology, miracles, anything that might be termed a ¡®monster¡¯ all fall under the header of supernatural.¡±

    ¡°And paranormal?¡± Clovis prompted, leaning in closer as he asked.

    ¡°Another subcategory of supernatural. The undead and necromantic magics. Things like ghosts, zombies and vampires. Haunted places or objects.¡± She paused to sip her coffee, unusually worried that she was rambling.

    ¡°So basically, anything that is supposed to be dead but isn¡¯t,¡± Clovis suggested.

    ¡°Basically,¡± Flora murmured in agreement.

    ¡°What if I knew of another haunted spot?¡± Clovis asked, his tone light.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Flora raised her eyebrow. ¡°What sort?¡±

    ¡°Strange noises at a nearby storage facility,¡± Clovis said as he took out his phone and tipped the screen toward her. He pulled up a map and zoomed in on a location. Fred¡¯s Storage Services.

    ¡°And you think it¡¯s haunted?¡± Flora asked, dubiously. She touched the phone¡¯s screen and panned around the map, looking around at the location. A small cemetery was located one block north. She frowned. ¡°And how do you know about this place?¡±

    ¡°Rumor has it that it¡¯s an old museum¡¯s storage unit. Might have some haunted artifacts or something like that,¡± Clovis said with a shrug as he withdrew his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. ¡°You up for another investigation? It could be fun.¡±

    ¡°Fun?¡± Flora repeated uncertainly. She looked at her watch; it was seven-thirty and well-past dark outside. She frowned. ¡°I¡¯ll need to research the case, first; I can¡¯t just go in blind.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re never impulsive?¡± Clovis asked with a grin; it was knowing and smug. ¡°You¡¯ve never thrown caution to the wind and just went for it?¡± He leaned in closer with a conspiratorial whisper, ¡°Never found yourself having dinner with a stranger?¡±

    Flora¡¯s mouth was suddenly dry, her lips and tongue tacky. ¡°Not usually,¡± she admitted.

    ¡°I say indulge whatever whim you initially had when we first spoke,¡± Clovis said as he leaned back in his seat. ¡°Let¡¯s go do something spontaneous and possibly stupid.¡±

    His smile was infectious, and Flora found herself returning it. ¡°Why not?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Turn right in here,¡± Clovis directed, the light from his cell phone casting a harsh glow across his face.

    Flora turned the car, pulling into a narrow driveway. It was a crowded lot, with a small administrative building at the front of the property. Behind the building, the storage units sat in neat rows, surrounded by a tall chain link fence, with a security guard station at the gate¡¯s entrance.

    ¡°Let me do the talking,¡± Clovis said as Flora pulled the car into a parking space.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Flora asked incredulously. But she didn¡¯t get a chance to question further as Clovis got out of the car. Flora reached into the backseat and grabbed her field bag before exiting herself. Clovis was already across the parking lot, approaching the guard station; Flora hurried to catch up to him.

    ¡°Back again, I see.¡± The security guard did not look up from his post, seated inside. Flora could see multiple camera views on staticky screens surrounding him; nothing moved in the darkness. ¡°The answer¡¯s the same: no warrant, no access.¡±

    ¡°I have better than a warrant,¡± Clovis said, gesturing to Flora beside him with a tip of his head. ¡°Right, Sister Flora?¡±

    Flora hesitated for a second, then pulled her badge from her jacket¡¯s inner breast pocket and flipped it open to reveal the papal crest: two crossed keys, one gold and one silver, a crown between them. ¡°I¡¯m with the Church,¡± she said simply. ¡°I need to investigate a suspected haunting.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± the guard asked, squinting to peer closer at Flora¡¯s badge. Behind him, one screen flickered, then went dark. The security guard gripped the radio on his shoulder and leaned away to mutter something into it. The radio gave an indistinct, staticky response. The security guard nodded to himself, then leaned back. ¡°You can go in.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Clovis asked, sounding surprised. He mastered himself quickly, however, his expression became neutral again. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Flora repeated absently, a suspicious shiver prickling up the hairs on the back of her neck. Something wasn¡¯t quite right ¨C not just Clovis and his transparent excuse to break into this place, but something else felt wrong. Flora could not explain why, though, and could only follow Clovis cautiously, hoping she was wrong.

    Clovis led her around one row of units, then down another. He seemed to know where he was going, following a set path around, until coming to a stop in front of a specific unit: 166.

    ¡°Here?¡± Flora asked, peering up uncertainly. ¡°It¡¯s locked, though, so we can¡¯t get in, even if some mysterious unknown object inside is haunted.¡±

    Clovis looked aside at her, not missing her obvious doubt. Somewhere from his trench coat¡¯s deep pocket, he produced a bolt cutter. He looked insufferably pleased with himself, like a cat who had caught a canary and wasn¡¯t the least bit sheepish about it. ¡°What?¡± he asked at her disapproving look. ¡°I came prepared.¡±

    ¡°That you did,¡± Flora agreed reluctantly, watching as Clovis easily snapped off the padlock that kept the door closed. The door¡¯s hinges screeched in protest as Clovis lifted the door from the ground.

    Inside were neat rows of stacked boxes, each meticulously labeled. ¡®Sales Records, 1990-2000¡¯ sat at the bottom of one row, and ¡®Authentication Records, A-C¡¯ on the top of another. Clovis turned on the flashlight of his phone, reading each one in turn; he was obviously looking for something.

    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Flora asked, intending to be stern but instead sounding small and hurt.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Clovis asked. ¡°Ah, there it is,¡± he announced, as he dragged a box down from one pile. He pulled off the lid and began digging through the contents.

    ¡°Who are you, really?¡± Flora asked, blinking back angry tears. ¡°You¡¯re not worried about hauntings! You wanted something from here and used me to get it.¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Clovis said. ¡°Not like that ¨C oh, don''t look so wounded.¡±

    Flora glanced away, hiding her face from the exposing beam of his phone¡¯s flashlight. ¡°You¡¯re a conman and I fell for it,¡± she said in quiet accusation.

    ¡°I¡¯m an investigator. I was investigating,¡± Clovis corrected her. He hastily stuffed a few sheets of paper inside his trench coat. ¡°You saved me a lot of trouble getting in here. And for that, thank you. I promise I¡¯ll find a way to thoroughly show you my appreciation later.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re an asshole,¡± Flora said bitterly. ¡°And I¡¯m leaving, you can find your own way out of here and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± Clovis called after her, a new alert tension thrumming through him. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± he asked, then inhaled deeply, nostrils flared. ¡°Like... dirt.¡±

    ¡°Dirt?¡± Flora asked, whirling back around to look behind her. In the distance, she could faintly hear several sets of shuffling footsteps dragging along the pavement. She fumbled with her bag briefly, and withdrew her mace, holding it at the ready. ¡°We need to get out of here, fast.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Flora?¡± Clovis asked as she wielded her weapon. He reached into his trench and pulled out a hefty revolver. He looked around wide-eyed at the darkness around them. ¡°What¡¯s coming?¡±

    ¡°I could be wrong ¨C¡± Flora started, but was interrupted by a nearby gurgling moan, too familiar to deny further.

    ¡°Is someone following us?¡± Clovis asked gruffly. He cursed under his breath.

    ¡°They¡¯re following me,¡± Flora declared in awe; it was the only explanation for encountering undead so closely together. She looked down both aisles and saw nothing beyond the feeble glow of the security lights. ¡°I¡¯ll distract them,¡± she said, a decision made. ¡°Make your way to the exit and get out of here.¡±

    ¡°Chivalry¡¯s not that dead, Flora,¡± Clovis said with a sardonic laugh. His gun audibly clicked as he cocked it. ¡°I dragged you into this mess, and I¡¯ll get you out of it.¡±

    It was Flora¡¯s turn to laugh, but this time at the sheer absurdity of a civilian offering to protect her against the undead ¨C what she had trained literally her entire life to fight. She would have explained to him ¨C at length ¨C just how wrong he was, but¡ª

    A figure emerged from the shadows, dripping inky darkness behind it. Their staggering steps were wrong, like their ankles didn¡¯t fit properly to the feet. They came closer and Flora saw it was a woman, wearing what had once probably been her Sunday best, a pretty floral dress that was now ragged and dirty, turned brown and muddy at the hem.

    ¡°You,¡± the woman hissed, raising an accusatory finger at Flora. ¡°Death knows you well,¡± The woman came closer, and Flora could now see rotten flesh sagging at her cheeks, one eyeball dangling loose from its socket. The smell, too, was overwhelmingly foul and too close. ¡°She is coming for you,¡± the zombie-woman announced with a terrifying laugh that lapsed into gagging cough. Blood and bile sputtered from her lips, dribbling down her chin and neck, smearing the white lace of the dress¡¯s collar. The zombie smiled, showing decayed teeth. ¡°You can¡¯t deny the truth for much longer,¡± she rasped.

    ¡°What the hell is that!?¡± Clovis demanded.

    Flora didn¡¯t have the time or opportunity to explain; the zombie-woman charged forward, teeth bared, and hands curled into claws. Before Flora could meet the zombie with her raised mace, a gunshot cracked loudly. The zombie-woman staggered back, then trudged forward again, unaffected by the bullet.

    Somewhere behind her, Flora heard Clovis curse indistinctly. She had no time to look back, however, as the zombie woman started her charge again.

    In Flora¡¯s Cleric training, zombies and other risen dead were generally described as slow and easy to counter. Their bodies, depending on the state of decay, were typically not sound enough to mount an attack of much threat. Fire or dismemberment of the revived corpse was the only way to fully neutralize a zombie.

    It was a surprise, then, how complete this zombie woman was and how fast she moved. Flora tried to lift her mace to block, but moved too slowly, the zombie crashing hard into her. They stumbled back together, and Flora could feel the zombie¡¯s teeth graze her neck in an attempt at a bite, only narrowly missing. The zombie threw her arms around Flora and pulled her in, her long nails digging into Flora¡¯s shoulders where the zombie gripped her; the embrace was almost intimate. The putrid smell of rotten meat, foul and almost sweet, crawled down Flora¡¯s nose and throat, making her gag.

    Somewhere in the chaos, Flora dropped her mace. She heard Clovis shouting something in the background but couldn¡¯t hear him over the panicked roar of her blood in her ears.

    ¡°You will rejoice in the coming darkness,¡± the zombie-woman said, papery lips brushing dryly against the shell of Flora¡¯s ear. If the zombie had been alive, Flora would have felt the zombie¡¯s hot breath on her skin, and somehow its absence made the zombie¡¯s proximity more overwhelming.

    Weaponless and with her arms pinned down in the zombie¡¯s embrace, Flora felt a rare moment of helplessness. As the zombie reared back, mouth open, ready to bite again, Flora wondered if this was how she was going to die. She wondered, too, if Clovis would have the presence of mind to put a bullet in her head before she fully turned; she truly hoped so.

    Light suddenly flashed in front of Flora¡¯s eyes, bright and blinding. No, it wasn¡¯t in front of her, she realized ¨C it was her, skin afire, glowing in bright white flames but surprisingly without pain or burning. It surrounded Flora, then greedy flames leapt across to the zombie-woman. The white fire spread, but unlike Flora, this liquified the zombie¡¯s skin and burned off her clothing and hair. Screaming shrilly, the zombie let go of Flora and stumbled away, then abruptly collapsed to ground, still burning but now unmoving and silent.

    The light gradually died, and Flora took half a step forward, then swayed uncertainly. ¡°Clovis¡­¡± she called out to him. Briefly, she saw him running, his hands reaching for her. Her vision dimmed, then started to shrink. ¡°The holy war begins¡­¡± she managed somehow through numb lips.

    As her knees buckled beneath her and she began sinking into darkness, Flora¡¯s last coherent (yet strange) thought was to wonder if Clovis would catch her as she fell.

 Half-Truths

    ¡°Flora?¡± asked a voice, insistent through the darkness, weighty and serious. ¡°You can¡¯t ignore me the whole time.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Flora muttered, stubbornly keeping her eyes screwed shut.

    ¡°Because,¡± Cecilia stressed the word with impatience, now whining, ¡°I¡¯m bored, and my battery is dead. Please?¡±

    Flora, sixteen years old, groaned as she reluctantly opened her eyes. She sat far back in the third row of her parents¡¯ Toyota Highlander; Cecilia sat in the middle row, twisting around in her seat to look back at Flora, the dead cellphone in her hands.

    In the front seats, Flora¡¯s father drove, while her mother fiddled around on her phone, the faint glow from the screen making her face look pale and withdrawn, her blonde hair haloed in shadows. Around them, it was still nighttime, with no hint of the sun yet rising.

    ¡°Have they said anything about this sudden trip?¡± Flora asked, whispering to Cecilia.

    Cecilia shook her head slightly. ¡°No, but Mom¡¯s tracking what time the sun rises, and we seem to be heading east.¡± She paused, biting her lip nervously. ¡°Listen, I think I know what this is about, but it might seem crazy¡­¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Flora asked, sitting up straighter.

    ¡°In bio class today ¨C yesterday?¡ª we were supposed to do frog dissections.¡± Cecilia leaned in, whispering softly. ¡°But the strangest thing happened. Just as I was about to make the first cut, the frog started twitching, and when I looked around, everyone else¡¯s frogs were jumping around and ribbiting, making these God-awful noises. Some of the kids screamed and ran out and then the teacher sent the rest of us to study hall.¡± Cecilia looked out the window in the darkness, her eyes distant.  ¡°But that¡¯s not even the weirdest part ¨C I got home and told Mom about it, she got really serious and went to talk to Dad.¡±

    ¡°And you think the frog thing is the reason for the sudden road trip?¡± Flora asked.

    Cecilia shrugged. ¡°You really think Mom randomly wants to visit a sister she barely talks to? And drive all night without stopping?¡± Cecilia sighed. ¡°You know Mom, she loves those cheesy tourist spots and taking tons of photos. Besides¡ª¡±

    ¡°Damn it!¡± Flora¡¯s mother, Moira, threw the phone down in her lap. ¡°No signal at all.¡± She yanked open the glovebox and pushed around the contents ¨C a box of tissues, a plastic zippered bag with the car registration and insurance, a bottle of ibuprofen wedged in the corner ¨C then closed it abruptly again.

    ¡°We need to stop and get a map,¡± Flora¡¯s father, Bran, said; the turn signal clicked on, and he changed lanes. ¡°There¡¯s a rest stop ahead.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Moira said, shaking her head. ¡°We can¡¯t stop yet.¡±

    ¡°I have to pee,¡± Cecilia announced.

    ¡°Do we have any snacks?¡± Flora asked. ¡°I¡¯m hungry. And thirsty.¡±

    ¡°Moira¡­¡± Bran said gently.

    Flora saw her mother¡¯s eyes in the rearview mirror; she looked tired and sad. Moira briefly closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, then opened her eyes again, this time looking resigned. ¡°Five minutes,¡± she said, reluctantly.

    The car pulled into a small rest stop, offering little more than bathroom facilities and a few vending machines, but most importantly, a giant map of the state of Michigan, each winding road outlined in red, the lakes and rivers in blue, all surrounded by green.

    Moira hurried them all inside, then pressed a few dollars into Flora¡¯s hand. ¡°Use the bathroom, get some snacks and drinks from the vending machines, and then meet us back here.¡± She looked back at Bran, who was already studying the giant map on the wall. ¡°Hurry.¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± Flora said, stuffing the money into the back pocket of her jeans. ¡°C¡¯mon, Lia.¡± Flora took Cecilia¡¯s hand in hers, a leftover protective habit as the older sister; Cecilia let herself be led away.

    Inside the restroom, Flora stood by the sink, splashing cold water on her neck and face, as she waited for Cecilia to finish. She looked up into the mirror to see Cecilia standing behind her, but something seemed off about her ¨C her eyes looked older, her mouth set in a grim, serious line that was so unlike her. Overhead, the bathroom light flickered, casting blinking shadows between the stalls.

    Something was very wrong, Flora realized. She stood frozen, her hands dripping water back into the bowl of the sink. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this again,¡± she stated, though unsure of where the words came from.

    ¡°But you have to,¡± Cecilia insisted, sounding more mature than her fourteen years. ¡°You don¡¯t remember that you remember it wrong.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± Flora insisted, feeling suddenly mired by the confusing dream logic of realizing it was a dream; her vision swam with vertigo, and she stumbled back away from the mirror, its images multiplying around her.

    ¡°It will,¡± Cecilia said with a shrug, indifferent to Flora¡¯s distress. ¡°Eventually.¡±

    Overhead, a beeping sound distantly echoed through the bathroom.

    ¡°Is that¡­¡± Flora gripped the edge of the sink for stability, trying to orient herself. ¡°A fire alarm? Or tornado siren?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Cecilia sighed. ¡°It¡¯s you, not willing to face the truth yet.¡± She smiled, slow and eerie. ¡°This is coming for you, whether you face it or not.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Flora asked, too dizzy to keep her eyes open any longer; her vision swam even in the darkness.

    The beeping became louder, more insistent, until Flora could hear nothing else. It mimicked her heartbeat, filling her chest and hollowing her out. Then, it carried her off, back into waking.

    <hr>

    Flora woke; the persistent beep continued, and Flora slowly realized she was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by noisy machines. The blinds were drawn and the light overhead dimmed low. She felt something poking into the crease of her elbow and looked down to see an IV taped to her forearm.

    Beside the bed, Clovis sat close by in a chair. He was angled away from her, slightly hunched over his phone, and she could see his phone¡¯s screen. Curious, she said nothing but watched as he scrolled, then paused on a sales listing for arrows. He tabbed to a different screen, a browser window of a Wikipedia article; he scrolled again, skimming through paragraphs of text. He paused and Flora saw a header: Zombie Weaknesses. He tabbed back to the first screen, scrolled a bit further. Fire Arrows, the next listing stated. Clovis tapped the screen to add it to the site¡¯s shopping cart.

    Flora shifted in the hospital bed, and it was enough movement for Clovis to look up. Relief softened the worried lines around his mouth and eyes. ¡°Hey, you,¡± he said, tucking his phone into his pocket. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling?¡± He shifted closer to her, then leaned in; his sudden closeness both intrigued and perplexed Flora, making her stomach flip uncertainly, until she saw him reach across her and press the on-call nurse button on the other side of the hospital bed. He leaned back in his seat and some of the tension eased from her lower belly, but not all.

    Flora shifted again in the bed, trying to take inventory of herself ¨C did she feel any hurt or pains? No ¨C she realized, she was only very tired. She sighed. ¡°I think I¡¯m okay,¡± Flora said quietly.

    ¡°Good,¡± Clovis said, with a relieved exhale. ¡°Listen, I¡¯m sorry¡ª"

    A nurse entered the room with a cheery hello, effectively silencing Clovis. The nurse fussed over Flora briefly, checking her vitals and making notes in a small notebook. Clovis watched with worried eyes throughout but said nothing.

    ¡°I know I¡¯m not legally allowed to ask you what happened in the line of duty,¡± the nurse said as she disengaged the IV from Flora¡¯s arm, then placed a bandage over it. ¡°So, I¡¯m not going to. We ran our usual diagnostics, and you had significantly increased cortisol levels. It¡¯s since returned to normal, but whatever happened put an immense physical stress on your body.¡± She glanced briefly at Clovis, and then back to Flora. ¡°So, I¡¯d advise you avoid it in the future.¡±

    Clovis looked aside, chastised, but said nothing.

    ¡°Otherwise,¡± the nurse continued, sounding upbeat again, ¡°you¡¯re cleared to return to duty.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Flora said. She looked down at her arms in disbelief, wondering how she¡¯d managed to not get bitten.

    ¡°Stay safe, Sister Flora,¡± the nurse said, crossed herself, then left.

    ¡°What were you after at the storage unit?¡± Flora asked, as soon as the nurse was out of earshot.

    Clovis deflated back in his chair, his shoulders sagging. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I lied to you and brought you into danger. I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª"

    ¡°Don¡¯t avoid the question with empty apologies,¡± Flora interrupted. ¡°You used me to get something, and I think I deserve to know what was so important.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Father Donovan spoke from the room¡¯s entrance, the door still left open by the exiting nurse. ¡°I think Sister Flora has earned an explanation; I wouldn¡¯t mind one either.¡± He hobbled in, balancing carefully on his cane. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you are unharmed, Flora.¡±

    Flora sat up straighter. ¡°Father Donovan.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t believe you,¡± Father Donovan said as he crossed the room, standing at the foot of the bed. ¡°We have Clerics combing the storage unit lot and the surrounding area for any evidence of where that zombie may have come from.¡±

    A previously unrealized knot of anxiety loosened in Flora. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Now, what about you?¡± Father Donovan prompted, looking pointedly at Clovis. ¡°What I can¡¯t figure out is if the zombies were after you or her. So, the big question is: who are you, what were you doing in that storage unit?¡±

    Clovis took a deep breath to steady himself. ¡°I¡¯m Clovis Jones and I¡¯m a private investigator. I was looking for the sales record for an old artifact to see where it might have ended up. The storage unit is what remains of an old museum that shut down last year.¡±

    ¡°What artifact, then?¡± Father Donovan asked, exasperated.  ¡°Is it possible someone else is looking for it too?¡±

    Clovis looked between the two of them then frowned. ¡°It¡¯ll sound ridiculous.¡±

    Neither Flora nor Father Donovan responded.

    Clovis sighed. ¡°It¡¯s probably not even real anyway. I¡¯m only hunting a rumor.¡±

    Again, Flora and Father Donovan said nothing, waiting for Clovis to continue.

    Clovis shifted in his chair uncomfortably, their tense silence more effective than any argument. ¡°Fine.¡± He ran his hand through his hair; a nervous habit, Flora suspected. ¡°It¡¯s a mummified branch allegedly from Tree of Life and it¡¯s supposed to have healing properties.¡±

    ¡°Tree of Life?¡± Flora echoed, uncertainly.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°Who¡¯s your client?¡± Father Donovan asked at the same time.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you that,¡± Clovis said, addressing Father Donovan. ¡°Confidentiality and whatnot.¡±

    ¡°Church investigation overrides any NDA or confidentiality agreements,¡± Father Donovan countered sharply. ¡°It matters whose money is behind this. Could it be related to the sudden increase of undead activity?¡±

    Clovis shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he said firmly. ¡°I can tell you that my client¡¯s interest in the artifact has nothing to do with any undead or necromancy.¡±

    ¡°Then why do they want it?¡± Flora asked.

    ¡°Because.¡± Clovis hesitated; Flora saw the calculation in his eyes as he looked between her and Father Donovan. ¡°It¡¯s for a sick kid from a rich, desperate family,¡± he finally said carefully, measuring out each word. ¡°They¡¯re hoping it¡¯ll cure him of his¡­ affliction.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Flora said tersely. ¡°You¡¯re trying to play on sympathies.¡±

    ¡°I am not,¡± Clovis retorted, defensively. ¡°It¡¯s why I was at the orphanage in the first place ¨C the kid was adopted from there. I was doing some field research when I found out about the apartment haunting next door and that¡¯s when I called the Church to help.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the affliction?¡± Father Donovan asked, his tone inquisitive.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Clovis replied shortly, his jaw set at a stubborn angle. ¡°It¡¯s unrelated and I¡¯d like to respect their privacy.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Flora reluctantly agreed, still curious but not wanting to push it further. ¡°Could there be a necromancer after this artifact too? If it turns out to be genuine and can heal, what could a necromancer do with that power?¡±

    ¡°Flora, you said the zombies you encountered looked like healthy, living people, correct?¡± Father Donovan asked. ¡°With no obvious decay or marks upon them?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Flora nodded. ¡°What does that mean, Father?¡±

    ¡°It means we may be dealing with a necromancer who can already heal the undead,¡± Father Donovan muttered quietly. ¡°If they could amplify their power with an artifact like this one¡­.¡± he didn¡¯t finish, trailing off.

    ¡°They could truly resurrect the dead,¡± Flora finished for him. ¡°Good God,¡± she whispered as she crossed herself.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Father Donovan similarly crossed himself. ¡°I need to bring this up the chain. Flora, go home and rest while I meet with the bishop to see where we go from here.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± Flora responded obediently.

    ¡°And you.¡± Father Donovan pointed a finger at Clovis. ¡°I suggest you think hard about whether you want to be involved further. If there¡¯s a necromancer after this artifact of yours, I¡¯d consider telling your client to look elsewhere for their miracle cure.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t give up that easily,¡± Clovis said, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m already too involved in this to walk away now.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Father Donovan said. ¡°I thought you might say that. I¡¯ll only advise this: if we find this artifact, I can¡¯t guarantee you¡¯ll get to keep it. The Church may decide to assume custody for everyone¡¯s safety.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± Clovis said. ¡°My client might have an opinion, though.¡±

    ¡°I look forward to hearing it.¡± Father Donovan shifted his weight, adjusting his cane around him; he spoke to Flora as he ambled away.  ¡°Albert was discharged home earlier. He¡¯ll be on desk duty for a while, but I¡¯ll catch him up on what¡¯s going on. He has much more field experience and may have more insight. I¡¯ll have him reach out to you tomorrow about the next steps.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Father,¡± Flora called out as Father Donovan left the hospital room.

    ¡°I¡¯ll step out so you can get dressed,¡± Clovis said, standing up from the chair. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll take you home.¡±

    ¡°I can just take a cab,¡± Flora said. ¡°You should go home and get some rest.¡± She looked at the clock on the wall: 4:01 AM. It had been a very long night for him, Flora thought.

    ¡°I just want to make sure,¡± Clovis said.

    ¡°Make sure what?¡± Flora asked, now curious.

    ¡°To make sure you¡¯re safe,¡± Clovis said, looking uncharacteristically nervous. ¡°You scared the shit out of me back there, and I¡­¡± he hesitated a moment, then continued more quietly, ¡°I just need to know that you¡¯re okay before I leave you alone.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± Flora agreed, surprised by the comment. ¡°You can take me home.¡±

    Immediately, some tension went out of Clovis as he sighed ¨C he looked relieved again. ¡°Good,¡± he said, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll let you get ready, then.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°So, what happened?¡± Flora asked as they made their way through the hospital parking lot, looking for Clovis¡¯s car. ¡°After I¡­ uh, fainted.¡±

    ¡°I called 911,¡± Clovis explained as they hurried along, huddling into their coats against the chilly wind. ¡°The police showed up at the same time as the ambulance. The paramedics took you while the police took me. I was cuffed in the back of a cop car when a call came in. Said we were all with the Church and told them not to interfere with an active investigation. The police let me go ¨C in fact, one drove me home so I could get my bike and meet the ambulance here.¡±

    ¡°Bike?¡± Flora repeated, uncertainly.

    They stopped in front of an old motorcycle; Flora could not tell the brand as it seemed an amalgamation of different parts. ¡°Yeah. Real nice of them, huh?¡± Clovis remarked as he handed her a helmet. ¡°Another thing: I saw Father Donovan there ¨C I didn¡¯t know who he was at the time ¨C arguing with the security guard about getting the footage from the cameras.¡±

    Flora looked down at the helmet and frowned. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°So, he was there awfully fast.¡± Clovis sighed. ¡°Does your car have a tracker? Or your phone?¡±

    ¡°My phone,¡± Flora confirmed, pulling the phone out to look it over. ¡°Clerics¡¯ locations are monitored back at the office, as are all emergency calls. If a call comes in that¡¯s at the same location as a Cleric, the Church gets involved to make sure in case it¡¯s supernatural in nature.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Clovis said. He threw one leg over the bike and settled on the seat. ¡°You coming?¡±

    Helmet still in her hands, Flora hesitated.

    ¡°Still up for spontaneous and stupid?¡± Clovis asked; it was the same question he¡¯d asked her last night at the diner; it seemed so long ago.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Flora said with a smile as she put the helmet on. A bit awkward, she climbed on the back, shifting until she settled comfortably.

    ¡°Hold on to me,¡± Clovis warned as the engine roared to life.

    Flora slipped her arms around Clovis¡¯ waist and leaned in, her cheek pressed against his back as she held on. When the bike took off suddenly, she tightened her grip.

    <hr>

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, really,¡± Flora insisted, not for the first time, as she slid her key into the apartment door¡¯s lock, clicking it neatly into place. ¡°You don¡¯t have to walk me in.¡±

    ¡°Humor me? I just have a feeling that something is off, and I just want to confirm everything is safe,¡± Clovis said, standing behind her. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, down the hall, then back to her, radiating nervous energy as he shifted between his feet.

    ¡°If you want,¡± Flora said as she pushed the door open, then stepped inside. ¡°You¡¯re free to check the corners for any stray zombies, but somehow I don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Clovis interrupted her, then inhaled deeply. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± he asked as he began to look around the floor, in search of something.

    Flora sniffed the air, then frowned. ¡°No, just the air freshener.¡± She watched as Clovis opened the kitchen garbage can lid, and peered in. ¡°C¡¯mon, now. It¡¯s not that bad,¡± she protested.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Clovis said, closing the lid. ¡°Something smells like¡­ rotten meat.¡±

    Flora felt a cold shiver run down her spine, remembering the smell of the zombie woman¡¯s body and how much it clogged her mouth and nose. She tried to shrug it off. ¡°Let¡¯s check all the rooms then,¡± she agreed quietly. ¡°Just in case.¡±

    Clovis was already on the move, looking around corners and under the table and chairs. Flora went to her bedroom and flipped the light on. Nothing seemed out of place, including the laundry she¡¯d left unfolded in a pile on the bed. She knelt beside the bed and looked underneath but saw nothing but a box of off-season clothing and dust.

    ¡°Flora!¡± Clovis shouted from another room, his voice higher than normal, sounding alarmed.

    Flora scrambled up off the floor and out of her bedroom, to find Clovis at the entrance of her office. He stood tall in its doorway, blocking her sight, although his face was drawn and pale. ¡°Do you have a bucket you can fill with soapy water? And gloves?¡± he asked, hands braced on the doorframe. Flora tried to look around him, but Clovis moved to block her view. ¡°No, you don¡¯t want to see it.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Flora asked, rising on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder.

    ¡°A dead bird,¡± Clovis answered flatly. ¡°Broke your window and, um.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Made a bit of a mess.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that delicate,¡± Flora said, arms crossed over her chest, chin set a stubborn angle. ¡°I¡¯ve fought zombies, I think I can handle a dead animal.¡±

    Clovis stood firm for another second longer, then moved inside to allow Flora to enter; she followed him into the room.

    Flora saw, first, the broken window, then the shattered glass strewn and black feathers across the carpet. Roughly in the middle of the room was a disheveled pile. Flora looked closer and saw it was a large crow with splintered shards of glass glittering through its bloody wings and body. The beige carpet beneath was stained dark, nearly black, the blood starting to dry in small flakes. Its guts spilled from its belly, trailing behind the bird as a distended purple rope.

    ¡°Good Lord,¡± Flora muttered as she crossed herself. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand. ¡°I smell it now.¡± She swallowed hard, trying to chase away the taste of it; cloying and rotten.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got this,¡± Clovis said, as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside. ¡°Can you grab a garbage bag?¡± he asked as he started rolling up his sleeves. ¡°And a lot of paper towels.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that,¡± Flora said, moving closer to the bird. She knelt beside it and frowned thoughtfully. ¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Clovis asked as he crouched beside her, his arms braced on his thighs.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been gone long.¡± She glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:26 AM. ¡°But this looks like it¡¯s been dead for a while.¡±

    ¡°Smells decayed, too,¡± Clovis grimly confirmed. ¡°Why would someone throw an already dead bird through your window?¡± He stood, then, and stepped carefully around the broken glass as he moved crossed the room to the window. Mindful of the bloody jagged edges of the window¡¯s remaining glass, Clovis carefully peered out. ¡°You¡¯re too high up for that anyway, unless you pissed off a flying demon or something.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Feeling suddenly weary, Flora blinked, and the shadows in the room seemed to swim around her. The stink of the dead bird intensified, now with the underlying note of freshly turned soil. ¡°I must be tired,¡± Flora murmured, more to herself than to Clovis. She stood up, resigned to the grim chore ahead of her. She looked down at it, frowning again ¨C what did this mean?

    The shadows, inky and flowing, appeared to collect around the bird. Flora rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, convinced she was seeing things, her eyes perhaps too strained from the night¡¯s events. She blinked to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the bird, now wreathed in shadows, twitching with small, jerky movements.

    ¡°Flora!¡± Clovis called out just as the bird twisted its head to look at Flora. The crow¡¯s beak opened wide as it sharply cawed, loud and echoing in the small room.

    Flora stumbled back as the crow flapped its wings, rising off the floor in a chaotic whirl of feathers and shrieking caws, more viscera spilling from its opened belly, dangling midair. Flora raised her arms protectively around her head in time to block its sharp claws and beak as it launched itself at her. Luckily, she still wore her coat, the material proving thick enough to protect her.

    With its wing beating rapidly, the crow hovered in place over Flora, taking swipes at her arms and shoulders. Something from above smacked into the crow, sending it flying against the wall; it hit hard, then fell to the floor, still twitching.

    Flora looked up to see Clovis, with one of her maces in his hand, standing over the bird. Without hesitation, he swung the mace up and brought it down on the crow¡¯s head, its brain squishing out on either side of the weapon¡¯s head.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Clovis asked, mace and bird abandoned; he touched her carefully by the elbow, guiding her away from the gruesome scene.

    Flora, wide-eyed and pale, didn¡¯t answer.

    Out of the office and in the hallway now, Clovis turned Flora to face him. ¡°Flora,¡± Clovis said her name carefully, summoning her attention. He put a hand on either of her shoulders, holding her in place. ¡°I need you to keep it together just a little bit longer, okay? We need to get out of here and fast.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ okay,¡± Flora responded slowly.

    Clovis took one of her hands in his and held it. ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± he said gently, pulling her along. ¡°Let¡¯s hide you somewhere no one would expect.¡±

    <hr>

    Somehow, Clovis managed to get Flora, still dazed and mostly speechless, on the back of his motorcycle. The trip was a disorienting blur of lights and shadows as she clung tightly to his back. She was still stunned even after they¡¯d arrived at the destination ¨C a group of apartment buildings, all surrounding a shared parking lot.

    It was only when her phone started ringing that Flora became alert again, blinking through the confusion. She fumbled to get her phone from her pocket; Albert¡¯s name flashed on the screen.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Flora answered uncertainly.

    ¡°Flora? Are you home? I¡¯m on my way over with something,¡± Albert¡¯s voice seemed so distant. ¡°I know it¡¯s early, but we need to talk right now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not home,¡± Flora said, blinking hard again as she looked around. The distant streetlights and passing car headlights made everything bright and blurry in the darkness. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Where are you?¡± Albert asked, sounding unusually alarmed.

    ¡°There was an undead crow in my apartment,¡± Flora explained, clarity finally clicking into focus. She stood up straighter and squared her shoulders. ¡°I think someone is targeting me.¡±

    ¡°Come to the office,¡± Albert offered. ¡°Or tell me where you are, and I¡¯ll come get you.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡± Flora started to answer, but Clovis put a hand on her arm, drawing her attention to him. He shook his head emphatically and mouthed the word no. ¡°I¡¯m somewhere safe,¡± she said instead.

    ¡°Flora? Just tell me where you are,¡± Albert asked, sounding strangely desperate.

    ¡°I¡¯ll call you later, Albert,¡± Flora said. ¡°I really need to sleep.¡± It wasn¡¯t a lie, at least; her eyes felt so heavy.

    ¡°Flora¡ª¡± Albert started to protest, but Flora disconnected the call, cutting him off.

    ¡°Albert¡¯s my partner,¡± Flora said Clovis, guilt churning in her belly. ¡°I trust him.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t. Or Father Donovan,¡± Clovis countered, his hands in tight fists at his sides. ¡°You¡¯ve got a potential necromancer on the loose who seems to have a big problem with you, and I think someone close to you is telling them where you are. Twice now, there¡¯s been zombies where you are.¡±

    ¡°Three times, actually,¡± Flora corrected him. ¡°I had an encounter a few nights ago. It¡¯s how Albert was injured.¡±

    ¡°See?¡± Clovis said. ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s Albert or Father Donovan, or even someone in the Church, just to be cautious until we figure out what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°We?¡± Flora asked carefully.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Clovis smirked. ¡°I can¡¯t figure out if you dragged me into this or if I dragged you. All I know is that we¡¯re both involved in this now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Flora peered into the darkness, trying to make out a nearby street sign. ¡°Where are we?¡±

    ¡°My place,¡± Clovis said. ¡°Turn your phone off so it can¡¯t be tracked ¨C damn, I should have done that first.¡±

    ¡°Your place?¡± Flora asked.

    ¡°I can take you to a hotel instead, if you prefer,¡± Clovis offered. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to assume, I just think it¡¯s better if we stick together for now.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re right,¡± Flora agreed as she pressed in the phone¡¯s power button. ¡°We should lie low until we know what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Briefly, a message flashed on the phone¡¯s screen, with Albert¡¯s name:

    Call me! Urgent!

    Then the phone¡¯s screen went black.