Relic and Ruin Read online

  Relic and Ruin

  Relic and Ruin

  Wendii McIver

  Contents

  Dedication

  Initium

  In the Beginning

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Part 2

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  List of Phobias

  Copyright

  Crossbones Sample

  For everyone.

  All my love, Wendii

  INITIUM

  Grim Reaper: The personification of death in the form of a cloaked skeleton wielding a large scythe.

  Necromancer: One who conjures the spirits of the dead via the conduction of the souls of the dead back into their former bodies for purposes of communicating with them.

  Zombie: The body of a dead being given life again, but mute and without will.

  Human: None of the above.

  IN THE BEGINNING

  This is how the feud began. And how good and evil came to be.

  It is an old tale of two brothers, not of blood but brothers nonetheless: Grim and Neco.

  The two possessed strange abilities, though they did not know it at first. They worked in the wheat fields of a world unlike yours.

  It was Grim’s job to cut away the wheat with a scythe, while Neco dug and churned the earth.

  There was also a girl. No one remembers her name, or how she came to know the brothers. Both fell in love with her, though she was entranced by only one. And on the day that they came of age, Grim asked her to marry him. The woman accepted, for she loved him back, oblivious to the younger boy, Neco, who was left with only heartbreak and jealousy.

  On the night of the wedding, inside a large barn filled with family, friends, and the bride, beautiful and pure in her long white gown, Neco finally snapped. Through blind jealousy and hatred, his strange abilities finally manifested.

  The ground beneath them trembled and an almighty crack echoed across the Nethers as things—creatures—crawled up from the earth. Attendants screamed and fled as the undead, rotting and foul, hauled themselves from the soil. The corpse-like beings rallied before Neco, soldiers awaiting orders.

  Neco commanded his army to kill them all, sparing only his brother and his brother’s bride.

  Before either Grim or his bride could muster a cry, the undead soldiers spread over the farm like a plague. Every last one of the attendants was chased down, the monsters breaking upon them in a sickening fury of teeth, talons, and godlike strength. Children, elders, husbands, wives—the fields were awash with their blood.

  Having returned to Neco, the undead soldiers pushed Grim to his knees and held him there, beneath the arch under which he was to be wed.

  Neco beckoned to the woman. When she didn’t move, he took her by the arms and, despite her struggles, dragged her to the center of the aisle, in front of Grim.

  Ignoring her curses, Neco took her by the chin and raised her head.

  “Why would you do this?” he asked. “Why would you tear us apart like this?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

  “Why would you do this?” he said, gesturing to the massacre that surrounded them. “Was I not kind enough? Smart enough?

  Funny enough? Did I not work hard enough?” He dug his fingers into her cheeks, but she gave no reply, refusing to meet his eyes.

  How could she not choose him?

  Grim screamed in protest as Neco’s hand moved to her throat.

  The younger brother held up a hand dismissively, not taking his eyes from the girl. She spat curses and words that would transform into hellfire if only she could muster the magic to do so. She wanted her words to hit, to break, to burn.

  But as the last words left her lips, Neco’s grip tightened.

  Grim yelled and tried to lunge out of the soldiers’ grip.

  Neco ignored him. The soldiers gnashed their teeth in unison, a chorus of click, click, click. Neco looked down at the woman, smiled, and threw her into the waiting arms of his soldiers.

  Her screams—accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh and talons raking across bone—filled the barn. Blood seeped into the floorboards below. Soon her screams stopped, leaving only Grim’s.

  The world seemed to slow then. Grim managed to stand and, shrugging clear of the monsters, reached out the nearest window and grabbed his harvesting scythe—the very same he’d used while working alongside Neco. The wooden handle changed with his touch, turning from faded, water-swollen wood to glowing black metal. The blade curved and grew longer, morphing into a deadly, pewter blade that reflected the moon like a mirror.

  Grim made his way to Neco, cutting down every rotting creature standing between him and his brother. One after the other, at the faintest slash of Grim’s blade, the soldiers burst into dust. Grief and rage consumed Grim, swirling around him in dark, mist-like tendrils.

  Neco turned, still expecting his brother to be restrained, and the blade of Grim’s scythe cut straight down his face—a bone-deep gash through his left eye. Neco howled and stumbled backward, tripping into the pews. Grim advanced to the group of undead still crouched around his would-be bride’s disemboweled body.

  Before he could bury his scythe into the first creature’s brain, Grim was shoved from behind by Neco, who’d barreled into him.

  He spun and faced his brother. Neco, blood gushing from his face, smashed his older brother over the head with a long floorboard.

  Grim stumbled back, vision turning black. Dark tendrils of power zapped about him like lightning. The scythe burned his palm. He could feel Neco’s power, as if he was standing too close to a fire. Grim roared and raised his scythe—ready to cut his brother down. Neco did the same with the plank of wood.

  Everything slowed once more as their weapons clashed, and all went silent. It was as if the world had sucked in a huge breath—and then a roaring explosion knocked both brothers off their feet.

  Grim landed flat on his back, winded, looking up at the black curtain of the night sk
y—not the barn. He sat up, confused. The earth in front of him dipped, revealing a deep, smoldering crater.

  The trees that had once surrounded the barn were now mere piles of ash. The barn—what remained of it—consisted of only a few chunks of charcoaled wood and the sizzling, melted, metal arch under which he was to be wed.

  For a long time, Grim stood there, watching the smoke dance in the air. Then he sat down and cried. Eventually, eyes swollen and red, he looked at his hands. They were scorched and blistering.

  The scythe.

  He stood and turned to see his scythe half-buried in the ground, its blade reflecting the moon’s light. The long blade was jagged in parts, serrated with beautiful patterns. A large pointed hook curved out its back.

  He approached the weapon, pulled it from the ground, and held it in his hands. He knew then what power he had. And he would do whatever it took to avenge his family and his love.

  He would destroy his brother.

  PART ONE

  NECROMANTIC

  Chapter one

  coulRophobIa – fEaR of cloWNs

  The pendant rested warm and pulsing against the hollow of Nyx Lahey’s throat. It flashed every few steps to assure her she was going in the right direction.

  Detectors were rare and extremely valuable but also stubborn, and they didn’t always work. When she was seven, Nyx found the plump ruby—a priceless gem the size of her eyeball—in the trunk of a dead tree behind her grandmother’s house. She had discovered it while landscape workers were on break after cutting down the tree.

  Her father, a Reaper who specialized in the study of detector stones, fashioned a golden, braided chain for it, and encased the ruby in a matching frame. He’d trained the stone to flash when its wearer approached their prey, the stone pulsing faster and faster the closer they got.

  The pendant threw off another beam of light as Nyx continued walking. It had been taught to flash in the presence not only of zombies and Necromancers, but also creatures that belonged to the Inbetween: things neither zombie nor human.

  The detector flashed again.

  Sickly yellow, artificial light poured from the deteriorating carnival stalls to either side of her. Which would have been fine had this place actually had any power. But the park had been abandoned for years. Something, or someone, was causing this.

  She climbed into an abandoned ice-cream van and checked the cupboards and drawers, even behind the door, searching for anything that might give her an idea of what they were up against.

  On their way in, before they split up, her father had outlined everything from the academy’s email: five girls had been found murdered in the park—gutted, actually, some with the backs of their heads caved in, others wrapped tightly with barbed wire.

  Some even had limbs sewn to different parts of their bodies.

  Each was found hanging from the park’s entrance, their mouths sliced into long, bloody grins.

  The police had found nothing—no motives, no suspects, not a trace of evidence. Meaning the crime was likely supernatural in nature. It was then that the Misten Academy stepped in and took matters into their own hands. They sent Reapers to hunt down whatever had killed those girls.

  They sent the Laheys.

  The Laheys weren’t actually Reapers—not technically. They were an old family of Necromancers caught up in a never-ending war between Necroes and Reapers. Hundreds of years ago, their ancestors had switched sides. Lahey children were sent to the Reaper Academy, where they were given scythes and taught to handle items meant only for Reapers. All while dealing with their necromantic powers, and the social pressure of being “the enemy.”

  The ruby flashed again, illuminating the inside of the ice-cream truck. Nyx covered the stone with her hand and jumped to the crunchy, trash-covered ground outside.

  One of the stalls cast a golden square on the ground—lit from within. Nyx blew the black hair away from her face. They always did this to try and scare you off—a flickering light, something thrown at you from across an empty room. A single light shining in a house filled with broken bulbs. A whisper from above.

  Each Inbetweener had their signature. They were smart like that.

  A row of painted porcelain clown heads hung inside the stall, their mouths open midlaugh, heads swinging from left to right.

  Some had been smashed or spray-painted. Glitchy, repetitive carnival music screeched from a busted speaker above the awning.

  To her left stood the entrance to the rides—a huge black tunnel guarded by a mechanized clown statue in a multicolored jumpsuit, bolted to the ground. One side of its face was smashed in, revealing broken shards of porcelain, metal, and exposed wiring. Its remaining face, scratched and faded by the sun, showed rosy cheeks, exaggerated blue eyes, and full red lips.

  One of its mechanical arms moved up and down, waving. From a speaker hidden inside its mouth, a garbled, “Hello! Hello! Hello!

  Hello! —” echoed.

  The ruby flashed again. Nyx gave the robot one last look before moving toward the black tunnel.

  “Can I have some light, please?” she asked, squinting into the darkness. The ruby obliged, casting a red glow into the tunnel ahead.

  The robot voice continued to sputter. “Hello! Hello! . . . Good-bye. ”

  Nyx slowly turned around. The clown no longer waved, no longer spoke. Its smile was now a frown, with pointed teeth sticking out from beneath blood-red lips. It’d turned and now faced the entrance of the tunnel.

  The ruby flared.

  Nyx continued forward, her boots echoing with each step.

  Hands over her shoulder, she pulled her scythe from its holster.

  “Good-bye,” the robot sputtered once more, giving her a murderous stare.

  She swung, bringing the blade up in a quick arch. The upper half of the statue slid diagonally away from the rest, landing with a thump and a clang. She’d cut straight through the power box.

  Around her, lights flickered and music jolted. The Inbetweener’s power stumbled for a moment. Nyx looked back at the statue before returning to the tunnel, scythe still in hand.

  It wasn’t the prettiest thing, especially in the ugly red glow of the detector. Bronze metal, with copper-colored barbed wire wrapped around parts of the blade and angry, wild sections of serration.

  As a Lahey, Nyx was able to handle the otherwise toxic Reaper Iron. But since she was the enemy, her scythe had been chosen for her by a bunch of snot-nosed parents on the academy board who offered only the most horrendous looking bit of gear they could find in the back of the scythe cupboard.

  Nyx’s footfalls softened as the tunnel ended, and she came out the other side onto dead grass. The tracks of a giant, rusted roller coaster twisted and turned above and around her. Farther down, a Ferris wheel was silhouetted against the lights in the distance, creating a web of metallic spires. More stalls and buildings lined the litter-covered path ahead.

  Nature had taken over the area. Trees twisted in and out of the metal, roots growing through the concrete while weeds and vines scaled the rides and pavilions. The detector flashed red once more, assuring Nyx that she was headed in the right direction.

  She passed an empty purple tent with “Magic” inscribed across an old, frayed banner. Lined up along its outside walls were mirrors of various shapes that distorted Nyx’s reflection in myriad ways. No matter how tall, fat, or short she appeared, the details were the same: black hair, cut in jagged layers and half-curled; bright, orange eyes; mud-stained jeans; and boots. A multitude of gleaming Reaper Iron hung from her many belts and straps.

  Bronze scythe in hand, gun on her hip.

  Nyx continued working her way down the center of the park, rummaging through every open building, pop-up van, and tent.

  Across the park, she could hear her parents doing the same.

  Following a bend in the path, she came to another run-down building. She kicked in the door and found herself peering into a tiny, messy storage room; a single smashed win
dow filtered in light.

  As her boots hit the metal floor, the ruby started to strobe. She spun around, scythe at the ready. She saw only the shadows of the trees as they danced in the weak wind. There was a clank to her left. Paper rustling.

  Stay calm.

  She backed into the room, holding the scythe in front of her.

  Four quick flares from her detector. She kept her eyes trained on the door, expecting something to come barreling around the corner. But nothing did.

  She dropped her arms and turned to look at the contents of the room: stacks of old boxes, dirt, bug shit, and cleaning chemicals scattered across a steel floor. Nyx noted a deep, empty echo beneath her feet as she stepped forward. She stamped her foot and felt the floor shake under her weight. The building was at ground level but the world below had been hollowed out.

  She sheathed her scythe and began to clear the space as best she could. Finally, she found what she was looking for: a gleaming hatch, its outline clearly visible in the dirty floor.

  The detector warned her once more as she pulled the hatch up, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. She pulled the gun from her hip and aimed it into the pitch black. The pendant around her neck brightened to light the way as she trudged forward.

  At the bottom, Nyx found herself staring down rows of hanging fluorescent lights. Cement pillars held the ceiling in place while huge hooks hung from chains suspended from the low ceiling. It looked as if someone had turned an underground parking lot into a meat locker.

  In the center of the room was a long steel table, right out of a butcher’s shop. Surrounding it were several smaller wheeled carts containing knives, small saws, and other instruments used to delimb animals. The cold of the room seeped through Nyx’s clothes almost instantly.

  There was a long, loud shuffle to her left, from around the corner. She flicked the gun safety off and hugged the wall. The ruby flared like a beacon.

  This is it, she thought, glancing at the chain around her neck, waiting for the pendant to signal green—to alert her parents out in the park.

  Nothing happened. She frowned. There was more shuffling, followed by a distinct and echoing: