The Beautiful Dead

The Beautiful Dead by Daryl Banner Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: The Beautiful Dead by Daryl Banner Read Free Book Online
Authors: Daryl Banner
save a rickety chair
into which I’m unceremoniously planted.
    “Your name,”
the woman demands.
    “Winter?” I
say, like a question.
    “Your real
name.”
    The two bony
men at either side of the woman, they stand there with arms folded, two
bodyguards. As if this tough lady needs any bodyguards.
    “I … haven’t
had my whatever-dream yet,” I admit, squinting, “so I don’t know my ‘real
name’, ma’am.” Ma’am seems the most appropriate thing to call her. I’m reminded
of a livid schoolteacher here to discipline me—for what grievous offense I’ve
yet to guess. “Can I ask what’s going on?”
    “Who is your
Reaper?”
    I have to
think a moment before remembering what the hell a Reaper is. “H-Helena Trim.
I’m her—Raise.”
    “How long
ago?”
    “No clue.”
Partial lie. With Grimsky’s help, I’ve been counting the two months and two
days I’ve been Undead.
    “Are you a
Human?”
    “Weren’t we
all, once?”
    “Do you work
for Humans?”
    I smirk.
“Isn’t having a job discouraged?”
    “No time for
smarts,” she says shortly, narrowing her eyes. “Answer the question.”
    “No, I don’t
work for anyone.”
    “Have you
encountered any Humans?”
    And now I
hesitate. I think on warm skin. Watery eyes. I think on my stupidity for not
knowing the moment I saw him what he was. But now he’s gone, probably forever.
Like my Old Life. Like life at all. Does this world even have green
trees?—grass?—birds?
    I know it has
cockroaches.
    “Any Humans,
girl,” she snaps. “Answer.”
    Lying’s easy
when you’re dead. “No.”
    “Are you a
Deathless?”
    I blink. “A
say-what-less?”
    The woman nods
abruptly at one of her bony men. “Dreck, perform the final test.”
    My eyes flit
from one face to another, alarmed. “Final test? What final—”
    And before I
even get the word out, there’s a sword through my chest. A ringing silence
fills the room. I do not move. I cannot move. No one so much as curls a
finger as I sit here, stabbed like a note to the wall. We all idly stare at me
like we’re watching the evening news.
    A curious
headline that’d make. This just in: Dead girl impaled with sword.
    “I don’t feel
anything,” I whisper finally.
    Then quick as
it went in, one of the bony men grabs its hilt, slides the sword out of me like
I’m a sheath. He hands the gleaming thing back to the woman.
    I’m still
staring at my chest. “And that was for—?”
    “Just a test,”
the woman says simply, and her voice is less aggressive now, almost kind.
    “A test? Spearing
me with a sword was just a test?”
    “A steel
sword,” she corrects me, using a bit of cloth to wipe the blade down. “The
Deathless,” she goes on while wiping, “are sensitive,” wipe, wipe, “to steel.”
    “Can someone
explain to me what’s going on? I’ve not been around for long. Things are still
new to me. Hilda’s not going to be happy you stabbed this new red dress.”
    “Send her my
regards,” the woman says, hands off the blade to one of her men, then leaves
the room with him.
    “Hello??” I
call out after her. “I have questions …!”
    “Come,” the
remaining man says, indicating a door.
    “Where are you
taking me now?”
    “To the
Refinery for a little Upkeep,” he says, then adds, “unless you prefer keeping
that hole in your heart.”
    My hand moves
there. I suddenly feel very self-conscious, almost hurt, almost wishing I hurt.
    “Are you
ready?” he asks with patiently hanging eyes.
    “Okay,” says
me, says Winter, says whoever.
    It’s about an
hour later that I’m leaving the squatty pink building I was somewhat created
in, thanking a strange mouthless woman (who isn’t Marigold or Roxie or the
twelve-year-old girl I’d met before) for filling my chest-chasm. It’s amazing,
the things you’re so quick to accept about this peculiar world. When the door
shuts, I feel utterly alone and dismal. There’s even a howling wind snaking
between the buildings

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