Graveminder

Chapter 34

CHARLES WORRIED ABOUT ALL OF THEM, HIS NOT-ENTIRELY-DEAD-OR-alive Graveminders. Such was the nature of their arrangement. They were his responsibility, his warriors, and he could do little to protect them. His interference several centuries ago had given them a touch of death, but he couldn’t shelter them from everything.

“You said if I needed help ...”

“I did. I would do anything in my power for you.” Charles pulled his newest Graveminder into an embrace. “ This , however, I cannot fix.”

“My son is dead, and you—”

“I cannot let the dead return as if they were still alive. That is forbidden.” He brushed his hand over her damp cheek. His Graveminders were among the strongest and most courageous of women, yet like all mortals, they were still so fragile.

She stepped back and looked into Charles’ eyes. “If you don’t help me so he can come back right, I’ll let him come back as Hungry Dead.”

“Alicia ...”

“No. I do everything asked of me. I am ... this , here”—she made a sweeping gesture at the storefronts along the streets in the land of the dead—“as your Graveminder, without choice. I accepted it. I did as you asked, as my aunt asked when she designated me as her heir. All I ever wanted was a family and ...” Tears started to slide down her cheeks again. “He’s my son .”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said.

“No. The rules are that we are safe until eighty years. Brendan was just a child. He was to be safe.”

“Accidents are not within my control. Poverty, accidents, murders, fire, these I cannot stop.” Charles knew that the particulars weren’t all remembered. The contract he had with Claysville wasn’t a written document. They’d been too afraid of outsiders learning of it, of bringing witchcraft persecutions to Claysville.

“I am sorry for your loss.” Charles reached out, but she moved away. He watched her, knew her with the same certainty that he’d known every Graveminder since the first, Abigail. They were strong, not afraid to test the rules that didn’t make sense to them. Life and Death, all in the hands of these women. He was only Death. He’d tried to give life back once.

For Abigail.

And the results had been disastrous.

“There has to be something ... Please?”

“I cannot return his life,” Charles told her. “And if you do this thing, you’ll be dead by the next day. I can promise you that. You keep the dead from walking, Alicia. You do not ever invite them to return.”

“I hate you.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “If you wish, you can spend eternity taking it out on me, but if you do this, you will be sentencing yourself and your Undertaker to die.”

Despite every bit of common sense, Charles still regretted his choice. Hurting Alicia—hurting any of his Graveminders—wasn’t something he did lightly. If he could’ve given Alicia her child with impunity, he would’ve, but he was bound by rules. He’d broken those rules for Abigail, a mortal who had opened a gate to the land of the dead.

And look where that’s landed us.