Jigsaw of Souls Series: Books 1 to 6 Bundle

Chapter 5

 

Dezzy was halfway through a turkey club sandwich. Crisp had no meatballs in the house but promised to go buy some later. Dezzy was happy enough to have any sandwich at the moment. He’d already polished off a peanut butter and jelly.

 

“So you can feel these threads now—the weaves of Death?” Crisp asked.

 

They sat at his kitchen table again. Vincent nodded. Even now there was a pulse all around him. He could feel it in the ground. It was the energy that drew Dalca to this town in the first place. That spot in the park in the middle of town where the energy pooled. That was what Dalca had wanted. It was the same energy that pulsed in all dead things. The remnants of life that flowed through death.

 

“I can. Like an after image on top of the world. Not in you, or Dezzy. But in the ground. And if I look outside, I can sense it. In bundles, almost. I think it’s the strigoi,” he said.

 

“What’s a strigoi?” Dezzy asked, his mouth full of sandwich.

 

“It’s the undead,” Vincent answered.

 

“It’s what Dalca called them. You’re using his words,” Crisp said. His voice had a note of caution to it.

 

“Not like we’re going to call them zombies,” Fix said.

 

“I can see something else, though. It’s like the threads but hidden inside of them. Smaller ones. Those I can see in you and in Dezzy. I think it’s what brought him back to life. I think it is Life.”

 

“Biomancy,” Crisp said. “I knew a biomancer once, a long time ago. She could coax a dying plant back to life. Heal a wounded bird’s wings. Soothe a burn or mend a broken bone. It was a remarkable skill. The only person I have ever known who could do such a thing.”

 

“Could she bring the dead back to life?” Vincent asked. Crisp shook his head.

 

“Necromancers bring the dead back to undeath. She could weave Life. But she could not create life. Neither a necromancer nor a biomancer makes life where none exists. There is not a word for what you have done,” Crisp said.

 

“Well, that’s not totally true,” Dezzy said, finishing his sandwich. “When the first Bloodless returned from the Void at the start of the Second Schism, it was accompanied by the Illuminated of the Higher Plane. And, so the story goes, the Illuminated brought life back to the Bloodless who had perished on the Precipice that they might once more make the journey with eyes open to the darkness. Or something like that.”

 

“What the Hell does that mean?” Fix asked.

 

Dezzy looked from his uncle to Vincent as he used his tongue to try to get a chunk of turkey out from between his teeth.

 

“Life exists, is all I’m saying. Like, sure it’s weird that this guy with his haircut and stuff can create life. But your mom created life. My mom did. Squirrels and fish and llamas do it. Creating life is only miraculous if you think of it out of context. It’s the most natural thing. And Life is a lot more powerful than Death. Death is an empty cup. Life is a full one. It’s always got an edge.”

 

“That is curiously insightful,” Crisp said. His nephew smiled and drank from a glass of milk.

 

“You try being dead for a few decades. You come up with some stuff that’d make for killer song lyrics.”

 

“Yes, so it would seem,” Crisp agreed. “I am still stunned to see you. I feel like we need to catch up but I don’t even know where to begin.”

 

“I know! How is everyone? How is mom? How are Guns N’ Roses? What year is it?”

 

“I think your mother is well. She is still in Phoenix. I have not spoken to her since Dalca cursed this place, however. It has been some time.”

 

“This isn’t Phoenix?”

 

“Oregon,” Crisp said. Dezzy nodded.

 

“Cool, cool. I guess I should call home? Should I call home? That’d be scary. Oh man, it’ll be scarier if I just show up. I should be old now. And dead. How do I handle this?”

 

“That is a question I am not sure how to answer just now. But also, it may not matter for the time being. It is impossible to leave Alder Falls.”

 

“Damn. Well, let me ask you this, Uncle. How far is it to the store where we can buy meatballs?”

 

“Desmond, don’t be absurd. We are not going to buy meatballs. We’ll buy ground beef and make our own meatballs. I am not so cursed yet that I will eat pre-made meatballs.”

 

Crisp stood up from the table, and Vincent and Dezzy did the same. The older man walked from the room back to the front of the house. He patted his pockets absently and then pulled out a key chain.

 

“Yes. Come on then. Vincent, this will give you a chance to get the lay of the land. We need to get Bogdan out of your head and I hope you have the ability to do such a thing now.”

 

Crisp opened the door, and Dezzy took a step out into the sunlight. He took a deep breath.

 

“Oh, you can’t fake that. Beyond the Veil, on the Precipice, you can have sunlight and wind and rain, but it’s not like this. This is so good,” Dezzy said. He spread his arms wide and spun in a circle.

Chapter 8

Vincent sat on the uncomfortable stool in the corner of the room, staring at the man’s back. He’d been waiting here for close to half an hour now. The man was not prepared to handle a meeting like this. But he seemed sincere. And oddly competent, despite his lack of social skills. People in this line of work never had social skills.

 

The lab was remarkably clean. He kept things organized. Vincent appreciated that. Messiness and chaos were not the same things, and far too often, people conflated the two. Chaos was exceptional. Messiness was lazy.

 

The room smelled of body odor masked by cheap cologne. The man was trying to be impressive and achieving the opposite. His desperation was palpable. His desire was rank. Some men were simple things, even if they were geniuses in other ways. Marcus Graham was such a man.

 

Dr. Marcus Graham had degrees in physics, astrophysics, chemistry, molecular biology, and probably a few things Vincent hadn’t bothered to look into. Once a man had four PhDs, you can just take it for granted he has some idea what he’s talking about. Dr. Graham had some idea.

 

In the popular science world, the one governed by boards of administrators and status quo types, Dr. Graham was not considered a loose cannon. He was not a cannon at all. He was a fool and a danger to others. They had cut off his funding. They wouldn’t even review his work any longer. He was persona non grata. An embarrassment to his former alma mater.

 

Graham had presented a research paper on transdimensional life. It was his position that antimatter could be used to open rifts in space and time to dimensions of chaos, in which beings that existed in defiance of all known physics could be found. Beings made of primordial powers, for which human science had no names. In this place, consciousness, matter, and energy were all entwined. The scientific community, as a whole, thought he was a complete and utter fool.

 

Vincent had tracked Graham down about a year after the university had ended his tenure and asked him to leave. The man had no more equipment of his own and was somewhat broken by the way he had been treated. Building himself up again, and finding him the tools he needed to continue his research, was not an easy job. One didn’t buy antimatter at the Piggly Wiggly.

 

Vincent was not aware of how to create antimatter on his own. Even Razul was useless in figuring that out. If Razul wanted antimatter, it just came into existence. If Vincent wanted antimatter, he had to Google it and then stare at the screen for several minutes.

 

The end result of much research was something of a plan. All they needed was the Antiproton Decelerator that they used at CERN. The whole facility cost around five billion dollars to build. It was a speed bump in the road to success, to be sure.

 

“Okay, Mr. Donnelly,” Dr. Graham said suddenly from across the room. He turned around with a small cart on wheels. On top of the cart was what looked like a glass case growing out of a computer. Inside was nothing.

 

“This is it?” Vincent asked. He got off the stool and walked toward the man. The computer had numerous displays and readouts. The box looked like one of those things people used to store autographed footballs.

 

“It is. Contained, secure, and stable,” Graham said proudly.

 

“And it’s not empty?” Vincent said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Kill him now and be done with it. This is stupid,” Razul said. Graham looked indignant.

 

“Empty? Of course not. This is the largest sample of antihelium in the world, Mr. Donnelly. The largest sample ever created on this planet.”

 

Vincent grunted.

 

“It’s being held securely by an electromagnetic field. Do you know how long the idiots at CERN kept this for when they made some? By accident? Minutes. I can contain it indefinitely. I have already produced several atoms of antilithium. Antilithium! Solid antimatter! They’re not even dreaming of that yet, Mr. Donnelly. Our experiment will work. It will change physics forever,” Graham said. He was working himself into quite a lather over this.

Chapter 9

The sun was warm and bright. It was set to be a very lovely day. The grass in the field made a soothing, rustling sound as the breeze passed through it. One of those warm, lazy breezes that keeps a nice day from becoming hot and oppressive.

 

The clearing had been set up to accommodate a large group of people. The altar set before the large wooden pyre was clean and neat and not overly ostentatious. Behind it was a glass case on top of a machine that hummed along as it monitored the conditions inside the case.

 

A lanky man in a long robe smoked a cigarette a short distance away. He squinted, staring at Vincent and Dalca. His expression was unwelcoming. Everything about him was unwelcoming.

 

Beyond the man, a red-haired woman in an identical robe spoke to something she held in her hands. Vincent could not see what it was. Her eyes darted from the hidden object to lock on Vincent’s. She was gorgeous, and her eyes were a deep green like he had never seen before. He could not hear the words she was speaking. After a moment, she returned her attention to what she was doing.

 

A boy was in the field as well. He was dressed the same as the adults. He danced to a song no one else could hear and seemed to be quite amused in his own little world.

 

“Is this a memory?” Vincent asked.

 

“Yes. No,” Dalca said. Vincent looked at him. He was Bogdan again, not the monstrous form of Constantin. He wore the same robes as everyone else. Beyond him, to the left of the altar, was another man. He was restrained, chained to a tie down stake like a dog. The man was curled up in a ball, his back to Vincent and Dalca.

 

“This is my memory. Maybe yours. Maybe theirs,” Dalca said, nodding to the others in the field.

 

“This is where everything happened,” Vincent said. All of the people here had died. Except him. Dalca, Fix, the woman, the child, and the unsettling man with his cigarette. Fix must have been the man on the ground.

 

“This is where everything went wrong,” Dalca said. “It was not supposed to end the way it did.”

 

“You died,” Vincent said. Dalca spat.

 

“I was betrayed. We all were.”

 

“By who?” Vincent asked.

 

“Yes, you would like to know, wouldn’t you? Your mind is a wasteland. You are a patchwork quilt of these vile beings, cobbled together like Frankenstein’s monster. You have no idea what you even are,” Dalca said with disdain.

 

“Then tell me, Bogdan. Tell me who I am. Tell me why you’re torturing the people of Alder Falls.”

 

Dalca laughed a hearty laugh. The man with the cigarette narrowed his eyes. The little boy smiled and spun in a circle while he danced. The woman regarded them both with cool disinterest.

 

“Torturing the people? I’m saving them. I’m saving all of them. You truly know nothing,” the necromancer said.

 

“You are killing people,” Vincent said. Bogdan rolled his eyes.

 

“You have my power now. You understand Death better than any of these monsters. You know what it means to be dead more than any living thing can. Death is better, Mr. Donnelly. How do you not see that?”

 

“Than living? You’re insane,” Vincent said. Bogdan held his own face in his hands, wiping them slowly down his flesh as though wiping himself clean.

 

“Not better than living. Better than what we unleashed. It is in your head. You will remember soon enough. And when you do, if you can retain your sanity in the face of what we did here, you will understand. You will wish you never got in my way,” Dalca said.

 

“It can’t be worth killing those people. Trapping them in their own town. Turning them into slaves,” Vincent said. Dalca stared at him. His face was flushed red. His eyes glistened and Vincent realized he was holding back tears.

 

“My father was the most respected man in our village. Did you know that?” he said. Vincent remembered.

 

“He was powerful. I think more powerful than I ever realized. But he showed restraint. I once thought him weak. I thought he squandered his power. Misused and wasted it. But I think perhaps I was wrong. I know now he was trying to do what he thought was right. And that is what I am doing,” Bogdan said.

 

“How—”

 

“To bring life after death is a gift, Mr. Donnelly. To be able to say goodbye to a loved one. To be able to end the pain of life with the numbness of what comes after is a thing few will ever understand. I wanted to be respected. And to earn money and fame for my power. And maybe that was wrong. Maybe I was arrogant and stupid. But none of that matters now. I need the power from the Font. I will spread death around the world, I will pull every soul in this world from the jaws of the nightmare we birthed and deny every one of my betrayers the satisfaction of saying they won. That is my gift to the world, Mr. Donnelly. That is what I can do. If you get out of my way,” he said, his voice an intense hiss.