Undeadly

“Dad!” I pasted on a smile as frustration (no kiss) warred with embarrassment (so busted). Dad had the worst timing ever. “This is my friend. Rick Widdenstock.”

My father wasn’t much taller than I was, but he was built like a bull. Barrel-chested and muscular with slicked-back dark hair and amber eyes that took in everything, he did kinda look mob-ish.

“How ya doin’, Rick?”

Rick pretended my dad hadn’t scared the crap out of us. He crossed the room and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

My father pumped Rick’s hand. He was impressed by good manners. Me, too, actually.

“My little girl, you know, she’s not sixteen yet.”

“No, sir. But I’ll be here tomorrow night to celebrate her birthday.”

“Just see that you celebrate it with your hands in your pockets, Rick.”

“I have every intention of kissing Molly, sir,” he said. “I’ve waited for her a long time.”

I almost fell over. A long time? I didn’t think he’d noticed me until two weeks ago. And that was only after he’d broken up with Mina—and they’d dated all last year. Maybe he was just laying it on thick for my father. Although his announcing he wanted to make-out with me probably hadn’t made Dad all that happy.

But it sure did me.

“I appreciate honesty, Rick. But watch the hanky panky, y’hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Walk your young man out, Molly,” said Dad. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Terrific.

Rick might’ve been cowed by my father, but he’d hidden it well. He’d made a stand, too. He took my hand and we walked outside together. We leaned against the driver’s side door, close but not touching. I wouldn’t put it past my dad to be looking out a window and scowling at us.

“You must really want to date me,” I said, realizing as the words left my mouth that I’d made a huge assumption. I mean, kissing me was one thing, committing to dinner and a movie every weekend was something else. That was dating, right?

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I really do.”

“Why?” I asked. I didn’t feel like anyone special, and I certainly didn’t fit in with Mina and her crowd.

“You’re pretty, smart and funny. What’s not to like?”

I pretended to think about it. “True.” I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “So why should I date you?”

“Because I have a kickin’ ride, I’ll pay for every date and...” He leaned down and whispered, “I’m a very good kisser.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said primly.

He laughed. Then he put a finger to my lips. “You’ll see tomorrow night.”

Disappointment crowded my stomach. “Tomorrow?”

“When you’re sweet sixteen, Molly Bartolucci, I will kiss your socks off.” His lips melted into that oh-so-sexy grin, and I grinned back, butterflies jumping and fluttering.

I stood in the driveway and watched him leave. He waved at me then drove sedately down the street. I turned to go back into the house, prepping my story for Dad.

He was still in the living room. He’d pulled a picture off one of the shelves, the last one we’d taken before Mom bailed. When he looked at me, tears glittered in his eyes.

“You look just like her.”

Dad didn’t really talk about Mom that much. For a while, there’d been a hole in our family, but eventually it closed up. She’d left, and we’d survived. Still. This was weird. I’d been expecting the chewing out of my life, and he was getting all sentimental. I sucked in a breath and said, “We weren’t doing anything. He just gave me a ride. I had to change clothes—”

Dad put the picture back and waved off my explanation. “Demetrius called my cell and said that Whacko Woodbine’s zombie bit you.” His gaze dropped to my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

He nodded. “Good.”

I put a hand on my hip and frowned at him. “Who are you? And what have you done with Al Bartolucci?”

Dad chuckled. “You think I don’t know about you and boys? Oh, I know. You’re a good girl, Molly. But you’re gonna be sixteen and you wanna date. I get it. And that guy, Rick, he’s all right.”

“And the zombie bite?”

“Demetrius is a world-class necromancer,” said Dad. “He says you’re gonna be fine, so you are.” He opened his arms and I walked forward to accept his hug. He kissed the top of my head. “You’re very special, Molly. I know that. You gotta lot of things to do, you know? I’m real proud of you.”

For some reason his words weren’t comforting. His body was tense, and I felt the sorrow woven in with his pride in me. He wasn’t telling me something—and I knew it was important. And it made him sad.

I leaned away from his embrace and looked into his eyes. I didn’t know if I’d be able to bear it if something happened to my dad. I already knew life wasn’t fair—if it was, parents wouldn’t leave. “Daddy, is something wrong? Are you sick?”

He looked surprised. “What? No. No way. I’m just wallowing because you’re a young lady now and you’re making me feel like an old man.”

I felt the truth in his words, but I still knew that he was holding back something important. Something I wasn’t gonna like.

“C’mon. We’ll go to the Zomporium and rescue your sister.”

“I think you mean we’ll rescue Mrs. Woodbine.”

Dad laughed. “Yeah. Ally will eat her for lunch, that’s true. But that woman deserves it. I should’ve never taken her business.”

“What’s done is done.”

He looked at me, another flash of sorrow in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “What’s done is done.”

Chapter 3

“The Greeks loved a good oracle, though they were not the first culture to embrace the art of prophecy. For millennia, necromancers have approached the Oracle of Anubis to find out their life’s purpose. Not every query is answered nor is all news heard welcomed. However, unlike the questionable nature of the Greeks’ oracles, the prophecies told by the Oracle of Anubis might as well be written in stone. A necromancer is always at the behest of Anubis’s will.”

~History of Necromancy, Volume II

In the dream, I walked through a tunnel carved out of rock. Ahead, I saw lights flickering and my footsteps quickened. Unrelenting black followed me, shadows that seemed to chase and growl, as if trying to stop me from going forward.

Torches lit the small, circular room, which was hewn out of the reddish stone and painted in bright hues. It looked like a picture from a history textbook. The incense was thick, but its odd scent wasn’t unpleasant. The only statue on the altar was Anubis, god of necromancy. I walked to the small wooden table and stared at the painted idol. Slowly, I reached out and touched it.

The statue felt warm. Alive.

“I present to you Molly Inez Bartolucci,” whispered a low, feminine voice. “She comes before you to be judged worthy of your gifts.” Then, like the white smoke of the incense, the voice faded away.

I wasn’t sure what was going on. I’d never been to any place like this. I had a small altar to Anubis in my room and every day, I said a prayer and made an offering. Dad taught Ally and me about honoring Anubis, even though Dad wasn’t a necro. He said we should always respect the gods and offer our gratitude daily.

I was still in my pajamas, and I was trapped in a place I had no idea how to leave. It was only a dream. Right? But...but if it was a dream, how did I know that? Wake up, Molly.

“Be still, daughter.” The booming voice bounced off the chapel’s walls and vibrated in my chest.

“Anubis.” I fell to my knees, more from fear than in supplication. Still, it had the same effect. I felt the death god’s approval.

“Your task will be great, daughter. And at times, the burden of your gift will be heavy. I have looked into your heart and judged you worthy. You are a child of Anubis, chosen of my gifts. Are you willing to accept my bidding?”

“Yes,” I said, because I was afraid not to agree. Hel-lo. God of the Underworld. The Reaper of all Reapers. I don’t think you’re allowed to say no.

“Of course you can say no,” said a voice that was closer, softer, but no less commanding. “Those who serve me, serve willingly.”

I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed, but they were. I didn’t want to open them, but then I felt a gentle hand cup my chin. So I opened my eyes.

The man sitting next to me cross-legged wore a T-shirt and jeans. He was barefoot. He had skin like a café latte and his almond-shaped eyes were as dark as the night. His long black hair brushed his shoulders.

Huh. Anubis was cute. Not my type at all, though. In fact I felt a little...repelled. Probably because he was a god and all.

“Trust me, Molly, I’m not cute.” He laughed. “This is just the form I’m taking now.”

Whoa. Anubis could read my thoughts. I blushed. “Sorry.”

“I’m quite old...say, around infinity. Cosmos, spiritual energy, psychic nuances...it’s complicated.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s more complicated than algebra, I’m out.”

He laughed. “Got it.”

He took my hand and turned it over. Little lines of black sparkles followed Anubis’s finger as he traced patterns in my palm. Heat followed the trails.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Giving you the gifts you will need for what challenges lie ahead. You’re choosing to serve.”

“Yes,” I reiterated even though he hadn’t really asked a question. I was scared and not at all sure I could do what he wanted, and the whole challenges thing did not sound fun. “Um...what challenges?”

He looked at me, and his wise-beyond-the-ages expression held amusement. “It will be revealed as you go. Think of it as a life puzzle, something I’ve given you the ability, intelligence and talent to put together. Patience, wisdom and fortitude are what you’ll have to cultivate to prevail.”

My stomach clenched as I realized the weight of his words. “What if I can’t do whatever it is?”

“I believe you can.” He pressed my hand between both of his. His dark eyes held mine. “And so must you, daughter.”

“Molly? Wake up!”

Ally’s screeching voice echoed in the cave. Anubis winked at me, and disappeared. For a moment, I sat alone in the cavern, and wondered what the—

“Molly!”

“Ugh!” I pried open my eyes and found Ally leaning over me. The curtain of her brunette hair tickled my forehead.

I blinked up at her. “Jeez. I’m awake already.” I glanced at the digital clock. 1:06 a.m. I sat up in my bed and she crawled in next to me. She wore Happy Bunny pajamas. The top said I Deserve All My Stuff. The rude pink cartoon character was one of her faves, which figured. My sis was, in a lot of ways, Happy Bunny.

She tossed a small wrapped gift in my lap. “Happy birthday.”

I grinned. After Mom had bailed on us, I’d started the birthday game. I woke up Ally on the exact time and day of her birth (3:03 a.m. on November 4), and gave her a present. She surprised me the next year, on my birthday, by doing the same. It was a tradition we’d created and stuck by—no matter how much we irritated each other.

I plucked off the tiny bow and tugged at the taped edge.

“Have you seen Deadlings?”

What had she taped this with? Super Glue? I glanced at her. “No. Is it a movie or something?”

She sighed. “Deadlings and the Cursed Ones is one of our necromancy books. It’s not on the shelf. I wanted to look something up—”

I stopped picking at the tape. “What?” I asked sharply. Ally was too smart for her own good. Her plans created mondo trouble. I mean, they always worked, but again...mondo trouble. I wasn’t getting grounded again because of her. Shall we discuss the zombie dog incident? Yes, animals can be zombified—but it’s illegal. Animal souls are different from people souls. Animals brought back are usually vicious and can’t be controlled. More than one pet owner has ended up injured or dead because they took their precious fluffywuffykins to a black market zombie-maker. And having dead, vicious dogs appeals to certain criminal types. But does my sister pay attention? No. At the tender age of twelve, Ally had come across a zombie Doberman chained in a yard and talked me into rescuing it. And by rescue, I mean being chased and almost eaten.

Somehow, someway, I always got blamed (she’s persuasive, all right?) because I was the older sister who should “Be the example, Molly, not the afterschool special.” Sigh. Well, I had bigger things at stake now. Like cars and boyfriends.

She shrugged, her gaze skittering away. “Just something for the club.”

“Like what?”

Rolling her eyes, she plucked the gift out my hand and used her fingernail to rip open the side. She handed it back. “Nothing, all right? Club business, which means not your business. Just open your stupid gift already.”

“You’re so sweet,” I muttered, ripping off the paper. It was a shiny red box. I opened it. Nestled inside was a slender, delicate-looking bottle with the ankh, the symbol of life and the soul, emblazoned on it.

“It’s perfume,” she said. “I ordered it special from this necro website. It’s called Soul, Baby.” She looked at me. “Dumb name. But it smells good. And you like that kind of stuff.”

“Ally...it’s wonderful.”

“Dad helped me buy it for you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Ally could be annoying, cranky and generally a jerk...but sometimes she got things right. Really right. I had to admit I felt a bad case of the warm fuzzies.

“Oh, and BTW, you’re welcome for bringing home your purse and cell phone. After you left me to deal with that hag from hell, I should’ve tossed it all into traffic.”

“I already said thank you,” I said. “You want it written in blood or what?”

Ally grinned at me. “Well, I did get to see Dem and Nonna take her down. But not before she ate her way through a plate of cookies. I saw her stick a bunch in her tote, too.”

“Meh. Parting gift,” I said. “Good riddance.” I closed the box with a snap. I rubbed the top of the lid and chewed my lip. “I had a dream...um, about Anubis.”

Ally peered up at me. “You had an Anubis dream on your sixteenth birthday?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know, right?”

She was quiet for a moment. “You remember what Dem told us? About how Anubis would visit some necromancers in their dreams?”

“Sure.”

“On their sixteenth birthdays?”

Something inside me went cold and still. “That kind of stuff doesn’t really happen anymore.”

“Are you brain-damaged? It just happened to you. You really don’t like school, do you? We’re talking about this in my eighth-grade Necro 101.”

“I remember that class. Sorta,” I said, feeling defensive.

“In the sixteenth year of a necromancer’s life, parents used to take their kids to the Oracle and ask to know their paths. If the child had an Anubis dream, it meant they were chosen to do something important.”

I stared at her. “Hello, have you met me?” I vaguely recalled Dem telling us that during one of our necro lessons. Ally had a brain like a computer. She remembered everything in excruciating detail. Suddenly the gift in my hand felt like a huge weight. My heart felt heavy, too, as if too burdened to keep beating. I took a deep breath. “Do you really think I had an Anubis dream?”

Ally shrugged. “Well. Maybe it’s psychological. I mean, people don’t consult oracles anymore, right?”

I eyed her because she sounded almost soothing. And Ally trying to comfort was so not her style. “Aw, man. They do, don’t they?”

She stared at me, obviously debating, and then, like always, her honesty won out. “Yeah. Some necros still consult oracles. They’re built into the temples, Molly. Lots of necros honor the old ways.”

Foreboding crawled through me. We both sat on the bed, the silence thick.

Ally said, “You think Mom misses us?”

It killed me to hear the longing in her voice. She’d had the least amount of time with Mom; she was barely eight when Cynthia Bartolucci hit the bricks.

“Sure she does,” I lied.

Ally didn’t seem to take comfort from my words. “I used to remember what she looked like. Her scent. Her laugh. It gets harder to think about her.” She sighed. “She’s never coming back.”

“I know,” I said softly.

She swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She took a couple steps and then looked over her shoulder. “I bet the dream means nothing. Why would Anubis pick you to do anything?”

Since genuine curiosity laced her voice and not the scoffing tone she used when she thought others beneath her intellect, I didn’t throw a pillow at her head. Her gaze looked worried, too. And that kinda freaked me out. Ally wasn’t a worrier. A plotter, a planner, a pain in the butt, yes, but definitely not a worrier.

“True,” I said, waving my hand as if it could push aside both our doubts. “Besides I don’t want to do anything that will ruin my manicure.”

Ally snickered. Then she bounced off, going through our adjoining bathroom into her own room.

I fell back against my pillow, clutching the perfume box in my hand. It took me a long time to go back to sleep.

MOLLY’S REAPER DIARY

A Short History of My Life and the First Lesson of Reaperhood

So, I already wrote about the history of reapers. And I figured maybe I should write about the history of me. Well, not in a Lifetime movie kind of way. The first sixteen years of my life aren’t exactly riveting. Here are the highlights:

* * *

I was born.

Then Ally was born.

Having a sister two years younger than me is annoying...except when it’s not.

Uncle Vinnie died when I was three.

Mom left us when I was ten.

Nonna moved in and taught us about cooking and fear. (Hello, rolling pin.)

I started zombie-making training.

I survived my freshman year of high school.

I am currently enduring my sophomore year of high school.

I got my driver’s permit.

I turned sixteen.

I had an Anubis dream.

* * *

Like I said, riiiiiiiiiiveting. I hope that my future holds more exciting adventures, even beyond driving and dating. I did just accept Anubis’s offer of extra gifts, but I had brain fail in the dream.

So here’s the first lesson of being a reaper in training.

Ask questions.

I haven’t known Anubis long, but I don’t think he’d mind if you posed a query or two about what to expect when you agree to serve him. Here are few questions, you might want to ask:

What does serving you mean exactly?

How do I know when it’s time to serve you?

What’s the timeframe for serving you? It is...um, forever?

Do I get vacation days?

What gifts did you give me? And what am I supposed to do with them?

Are there perks involved with service to an immortal god? Such as free chocolate, a day pass away from my sister or getting out of school early?

Will there be homework?

* * *

Feel free to personalize these questions as they suit your birthday dream conversation with Anubis. Meeting Anubis is usually a time-sensitive matter, so keep your questions precise and be prepared for answers that will totally bum you out. If you don’t have time to ask him about homework...the answer is yes.

There is always homework.

One more FYI...

You will be afraid. That fear will sit like a cold, dark lump in your stomach, and it will grow tentacles and clutch at your heart and your brain, and choke your thoughts and emotions until all that exists is pain and exhaustion and terror.

My advice?

Embrace it.

Chapter 4

“The Oracle predicted Set’s return, and that the god of chaos would ruin the world. Even though humans had reaper powers, they would not be enough to defeat Set. Anubis refused to abandon his human children again, and began to choose the worthy to receive more of his gifts. Throughout centuries, a secret sect of warriors with the strength, abilities, magic and skills trained, every generation, to go into battle against Set. Among them was the Chosen—a singular warrior who would channel Anubis’s powers to defeat Set. This champion was known as the kebechet.”

~The Champion and Other Tales of Anubis, Author Unknown

I spent most of my birthday day worrying about the Anubis dream. And getting ready for the party. Gena and Becks came over early to help me decorate and get the furniture all situated. They were appropriately horrified by my Dad’s ancient stereo equipment, but Becks took over the task of burning cool music onto CDs.

We had fun, especially when Nonna started bringing out the food. We had to taste test, you know? And the closer party time got, the more excited I got and the less I worried about Anubis and dreams and Oracles.

I said less, all right? No matter what conversation I was having or what food I was eating or what music I was listening to or whatever...the Anubis dream and what it could mean stuck in my brain like a tiny, sharp thorn.

I didn’t want to be worried about it. I didn’t want it to mean anything. But somewhere deep inside, where my fears and ghosts lay hidden, was the truth.

Anubis had chosen me.

* * *

It was just after 7:00 p.m. We’d strung up paper lanterns across the eaves of the porch. Cans of soda and water bottles were crammed into a couple of ice-filled coolers, and Nonna had outdone herself with the food. A long table outside was filled with appetizers and mini desserts, and we had trays set up around the living room and kitchen with similar treats. The partygoers spilled out through the open patio doors.

Ally was hanging out with her Citizens for Zombies friends, probably painting signs and writing speeches. Uncle Vinnie was with Dad. Even though my uncle was a zombie, Dad still treated him like a human. They watched TV together every night. I could hear Daddy’s television turned way up, probably to drown out the noise of the party. Nonna Gina was out with her quilting club. I’d never seen her quilt, but she always came home from her “meetings” in a really good grappa-induced mood.

The CDs that Becks had burned were playing and so far I’d kept Dad away from the sound system. He’d been bummed that he’d been unable to sneak in the soundtrack to The Breakfast Club (which, BTW, has only one good song on it...well, one good song if you’re old and like that kind of thing).

Presents were piled on a table near the fireplace. Everyone seemed to have ponied up a gift and I couldn’t wait to plow through those babies. I wondered if Rick would bring me something (oops...my shallowness was showing again) and what it might be?

He hadn’t arrived yet, though a lot of kids were already in the living room. Some were dancing; others were rambling out the open sliding glass doors and down into the yard. I saw several kids light up cigarettes near the back fence.

I turned around and headed into the house. I prayed my Dad wouldn’t come down to snoop, because I would die if he got all parental.

When I came back inside, Becks grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen. Rebecca “Becks” Fortwith had been my friend since seventh grade, when we had the same English class and bonded over our mutual horror about The Grapes of Wrath. I mean, John Steinbeck is all right, I guess, but reading about the dust bowl and farmers in Oklahoma was kinda boring. And he didn’t mention zombies at all. Not like Zombie-cide 1932 by Hayden Smith. He went into ugly detail about starving farmers cooking and eating their zombies. And the families who ate zombies went crazy, or died, because hel-lo you can’t eat zombies. Even though necro magic arrests decomposition (well, mostly), zombies are still corpses and so, are yucky. Anyway, that’s why Oklahoma banned zombification. If you already had a zombie, then you could keep it. And even now, zombies accompanying visitors to the state had to get special passes and couldn’t stay longer than thirty days. Oklahoma is so weird.

“This. Is. Awesome,” said Becks.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, offering me a brace-filled smile. Becks was the tallest girl in school and her height made her self-conscious. She was always slouching. She had gorgeous blond hair and these big blue eyes, and creamy pale skin. Her parents let her wear makeup, but she hardly needed any.