Unchosen (6 page)

                            Officials have not confirmed the cause of death, saying only that it was a possible animal attack.                            Briarstock is the oldest daughter of wealthy entrepreneur Derek and his wife Sandra, who is well known in the elite circles of Reno society. The Briarstocks have not publicly commented about the death of their daughter. Their lawyer, Rosie Nowles, released a statement this morning:
The Briarstocks are devastated by the loss of their daughter, and request that they be allowed to grieve in private. They are extremely grateful for the community’s support and they commend the Reno police department for conducting an efficient, professional investigation.

              I re-read the article twice more. Neither the article nor the picture offered much information about my aunt’s traumatic death. Was she mauled by animal? Killed by a necromancer? Attacked by one of Set’s minions?

             
Well, there appeared to be one person who probably knew the answer.

Rosie Nowles … AKA dear auntie Anput.

Molly’s Reaper Diary

Put on Your Big Girl Panties and Deal

That’s it.

Put on your big girl panties and deal.

Write it on your mirror.

Tattoo it on your arm.

Set it as a daily text reminder.

You don’t have time to whine and wail about your lot in life. You’ll want to, believe me. It does no good to give in to your fear, your anger. Just box up the emotions and do what you gotta do.

You can freak out afterward.

“Scythes were created in the Underworld to strengthen reapers’ connections to the magic gifted by Anubis. Scythes open portals between worlds. Scythes are extremely important to reapers, and why they often kept animal protectors born of two worlds, the living and the dead. These familiars often protected the scythes—and their owners.”

~
Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown

“He was undead, a zombie. I’d been taught from an early age that zombies were mindless corpses, but here was my friend, whom I’d known so well, and he was still sentient … and yes, in some ways, very much alive. We had long conversations about the living and the dead, and he often expressed longing to be freed from his body. What could I do but honor my friend’s request? Regret was my companion the night we crept into the woods and I took the ax to his neck. He thanked me before the blade came down.
He thanked me.
When his body lay still, I fell to my knees and grieved more deeply than when death had taken him the first time.”

~The Diary of Eudora Helmnot, 1874

Chapter 6

I RAN ALONG the worn path, concentrating only on my breathing and the scuffing sounds of my Nikes hitting dirt.

Two days had passed since I found the article about my Aunt Lelia.
She’d been killed around the same time Mom met and eventually married Al Bartolucci. And thus began the lifelong lie about my true identity.

Last night, I’d called to talk to my family, and asked Daddy if he knew anything about Aunt Lelia. Since Mom had never mentioned having a sister, he couldn’t satisfy my curiosity. I thought about broaching the topic with
Grandmother Sandra again, but she’d made it pretty clear the last time I brought up Aunt Lelia that she was not going to talk about her eldest daughter. Ever.

Asking Henry about what happened to my aunt was like literally talking to a wall. His lips had been sealed with spell—and it was the same thing with any information he had about my mother. His only response was to tell me to find the book called
Anubis and the Seventh Warrior
. The book was supposed to be in the restricted section of our school library, and had been missing for weeks. Apparently, someone had stolen it, and ever since I’d attempted to check it out, the librarian had treated me suspiciously.

To top off my
failure sundae, I hadn’t been able to reach Anubis. I couldn’t get Anput on the line, either. When she had been the reaper Irina, she had given me a small white diamond (after all, I’d helped her steal a bag full of diamonds … um, long story). I figured if I held the diamond, I could summon her—you know, the way I summoned Henry.

It didn’t work.

Then I got the brilliant idea of calling Rosie Nowles. However, her secretary let me know that she was going to be out of town for the next few weeks. She refused to give me another number, but asked if I wanted to leave a message. So I did. Who knows if Anput would ever get that message? I was left to conclude that my dad and aunt were getting my (ethereal or cell phone) calls, or they were ignoring me.

I rounded the corner, jogging past a familiar copse of large pine trees, and listened to the chatter of squirrels and birds darting among the treetops.

It was peaceful out here.

The hard run was good for me. I definitely felt better. I picked up the pace, pushing myself harder. Sweat rolled down my back and dotted my temples. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to control my inhalations and exhalations. I knew my muscles would ache and I’d need a long shower to wash away the stink, but that was okay. I wanted to be exhausted tonight. I wanted to sleep so deeply that I wouldn’t dream. I
didn’t want to have another Set nightmare.

I was terrified of him.

Worse, I was afraid that my god-dad had made a mistake about naming me the
Kebechet
. Okay, so I was the literal daughter of Anubis. What did that mean? It didn’t make me automatically qualified for the job. Let’s not forget that Anubis had failed to tell the Nekros Society I was “the one.” Now, I was training for a series of challenges that I shouldn’t have to face. Although, I had to admit that I wanted to see the look on Clarissa’s face when I won—and she finally had to accept the fact that she was not the freaking champion.

The path zigzagged for a while, partially because it went downhill. I focused on my breathing again, the crisp scent of pine, and the cool mountain air. The sky was already purpling, and I knew the sun would set in less than an hour. I decided that when I got to the bottom of the hill, I would
return to the school.

At
the spot I’d designated, I turned around and jogged back up the incline. The silver ring on my right hand tingled with warmth. The ring was my reaper token—a gift from Anubis that magically held my raven familiar and my awesome scythe.

Surprised, I looked down at the
band and watched the raven fly off it. The tiny bird glided over my hand and launched into the sky; it grew bigger and bigger and bigger. The huge raven was more shadow than substance, but still very formidable.

In its claws, it held my scythe.

Caw. Caw.

Its cries made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The air grew heavy, and the friendly sounds of the forest disappeared as though someone had hit
a mute button.

I stopped running, my heart pounding and my breath heaving as I watched the raven circle above me. The last time I had seen the bird was when I had escorted a ghost to the other side. The same ghost who had traded a stash of diamonds (I covered this earlier … stolen jewels … Anput’s diamond
gift … blah, blah, blah.) for her freedom from the dreaded Spirit Extraction, Encapsulation, and Restraining (SEER) machine.

Like I said, it was a long story.

The bird dove down, cawing urgently. My arms seem to lift of their own accord, and the beautiful silver scythe dropped into my hands. It was warm—alive, really—and it felt like part of me.

A faint shadow rose from the earth, wavering weakly. I held my scythe, ready to fight, when I saw my Aunt Lelia’s face in the grayness. Her haunted eyes held more pain than I’d ever seen.

“Sh-she’s here. You’re not ready.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

“Who
’s here? Ready for what?”

“Get … to … school. Safe. Run!” She opened her mouth in a soundless scream, and my aunt’s
sheut
was sucked into the ground, almost as though as she’d been yanked through the earth by an unseen hand.

I didn’t waste any time. I gripped my scythe and ran. My raven flew above me, its caws seeming to urge me to go faster and faster. My calves throbbed and my lungs burned as I dashed into the forest.

My heart pounded so hard I could felt the beat of it in my throat.

I was afraid to look around me, afraid I might see the mysterious “she.” The forest tha
t had seemed so peaceful before now felt dark and foreboding.

The silence unnerved me.

Despite the protests of my legs and lungs and heart, I kept running. Within minutes, I saw the spires of Nekyia Academy jutting above the treetops, and I focused on the gray stone as I tried to keep momentum.

The air
grew colder and the sky darker. I started to feel like something awful was right behind me—and if I stopped for even a second, it would grab me.

I kept
my gaze forward. In only minutes I would break through the trees, out of the shadowed embrace of the woods.

Then a tall
figure stepped out from behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. I yelped—and veered, my sneakers losing traction as I hit a pile of dew-slick leaves.

An arm snaked out and I felt the cold clamp of fingers on my shoulder. I was yanked back so hard, my legs gave out beneath me and I fell.

I immediately rolled away and popped to my feet, holding my scythe up.

I looked at the
man.

Then I blinked.

“Jon Lemons?”

Jon Lemons was Barbie’s zombie.
He was funny in the sense that he understood his name, and got upset if anyone tried to call him anything other than “Jon Lemons.”

What was he doing out here alone?

The zombie’s gaze met mine, and I shuddered at the intensity of his unblinking stare. He lifted a gray finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh.”

I worked on
deepening my exhalations as I slowed my breathing. My senses were on high alert, and I gripped the scythe. Above me, my shadow raven kept circling.

Jon Lemons stretched out his arm. The finger he’d put to his lips now
pointed to the pathway that led to the school.

He shook his head slowly.

              Okay. So he didn’t want me to go that way.

             
Up ahead, zombies shuffled out from the clusters of trees. There had to be a dozen of them, maybe more. Their clothes hung off their emancipated bodies in stained scraps. Dirt smeared their hair, their faces. They were in varying states of decay. Most had greenish purple skin and filmy, vacant gazes.

             
I’d seen enough zombies to know these were fresh from their graves.

Someone had raised them.

My stomach pitched. Holy Anubis! It took powerful necro magic to animate corpses still six feet under—especially so many. These walking dead would not have their
kas
intact. Only their master’s necromancy would keep them upright and moving.

T
hey formed a two-by-two column, blocking the path. The zombies began to move forward as one unit; unearthly moans mingled with the shuffle of bare feet against packed dirt.

Okay.
Okay.
Take out the puppeteer, and the puppets would fall.

Except I didn’t see a puppeteer.

I backed up a couple of steps, and Jon did the same, staying even with me. The zombies picked up their pace, and they were coming … coming right for me.

They sniffed, and low, creepy moans rippled through the undead crowd. I heard jaws cracking, mouths opening impossibly wide.

Shit. Oh, shit.

The Hunger. They all had the Hunger.

Fear chilled me to the bone. I gripped my scythe, holding it at the ready. I didn’t have my cell phone to call anyone. I was reluctant to summon Henry and ask him to risk his unlife for me again. Yelling at the top of my lungs might bring innocent students and teachers into the maws of starving zombies.

Damn it. I couldn’t leave a pack of wild
brain-munching zombies running around outside the school.

“Hey, uh, Anubis? Anput? Got a minute to help me?” I prayed out loud. “Hello!
Kebechet
in danger of becoming zombie chow!”

The zombies
marched closer, and desperation soared through me.

“Go find help,” I told Jon. “I’ll hold them off.”

Jon didn’t move. Instead, he stood by my side, seemingly willing to face the zombie horde with me.

“Jon,” I said, this time adding a little
ka heka
command to my words. “Go to Nekyia. Get help.”

“Noooooo. Pro
-tect. Ke-be-chet.”

For a moment, I was stunned by his refusal, especially since
I’d never heard a zombie speak—much less show a force of will.

The two zombies leapt into the air, issuing howls that drove fear like a spike into my stomach.

Then they were on us.

Jon grabbed the woman who tried to claw out my eyes and twisted off her neck with a sickly crack. He threw her head into the forest, and then proceeded to rip off the limbs of her still fighting body.

The other zombie, this one a man, grabbed the sides of my head. His mouth, filled with decayed teeth and blackened tongue, aimed for my face. His breath smelled like a sewer, and made me gag and cough.

I head
-butted him. The impact to my skull hurt and made my ears ring, but the move popped his hands free of my face.

             
He snarled, his glassy gray eyes narrowing as he tried to grab me again.

             
I brought my scythe up. The metal glowed silver as it sliced the zombie from hip to shoulder.

             
He flopped to the ground in two pieces and lay still.

             
Jon Lemons had wadded into the zombies who’d now lost their military precision. They attacked Jon, but he fought with animal ferocity, punching, kicking, and yanking.

             
Zombies fell upon the decimated corpses, gnawing and mewling as they chomped on the dead, ripping off skin, chewing through organs, feasting on faces.

             
Not all were distracted by the carcasses.

             
Three zombies managed to escape the carnage wrought by Jon, and surrounded me in a circle of hungry, terrifying death.

             
All three were women, and they seemed to understand the power of my scythe. If they did not fear it, at least they knew to avoid it.

             
The tallest of the three, once a blonde if the scraggly hair left on her scalp were any indication, came at me first.

             
I hit her in the face with the blunt end of the scythe, she reared back and screamed. I twirled the scythe around and the blade cut through her neck.

             
Her head sailed off into the woods.

             
Her body fell sideways, knocking down one of the smaller zombie women. I wasted no time piercing that one’s neck, too.

             
The third zombie shuffled back. Her face had half rotted away, revealing a monstrous smile of teeth and ligaments.

             
She slashed at me with her arms, made grisly by worms and time. Her once pink blouse was filthy and torn. Her skeletal fingers clawed at my shoulders, her teeth clacking as she tried bite off a chunk of my cheek.