

KEEPING UP WITH THE DEADLANDERS

J.R. Rodriguez

Keeping Up With the Deadlanders

By J.R. Rodriguez

Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved

Smashwords edition

Edited by Felicia A. Tiller

Cover art by Dan Galli

Interior Formatting by Kody Boye

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and "Library of the Living Dead Press," except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Aknowledgements

This book is dedicated to the two people who've made the biggest difference in my life:

Ryan:

You've done more for me than you'll ever know. I am eternally grateful that I have you by my side. I couldn't imagine life without you or the love you continue to give.

My Mother:

Although you've been taken by the unending spirals of Eternity, you continue to keep me bettering myself.

Very Special Thanks

To Barb and Steve, thank you for taking me in as your own and giving me the support you have for the last ten years. I feel as if I can now really call you "mom" and "dad".

To my family in the bayou state, thank you for always being there and showing me what family means.

To _Fantastic Horror_ (now closed )for getting me started and believing in me enough to publish the first two "Ankou" episodes on your website. All of you guys helped me become a stronger writer in the time I worked with you. A special thanks to Ms. Anna Haney for being my first fan.

To everyone at _The Twisted Library_ (now closed) forum and the Library itself. My very first book publication came from that press. Grateful for the Library for getting me started and for helping me get this book refined and published. Special thanks to Dr. Pus for his belief in my neophyte work enough to want to publish it.

To the people that have kept my creative processes alive: Sharon Needles/Aaron Coady. Your beautiful spookiness kept my characters alive in their world of death.

To my author friends who inspire and support me: Kody Boye, Daniel Fabiani, Victorya Chase, A.J. Hakari, and Marcelo Saez.

To everyone that's read "Uncle Ankou".

# EPISODE ONE:

UNCLE ANKOU

Famine walked into the living room of the family mausoleum. No one actually did any _living_ in it so the name was an oxymoron. The place was the largest of the slowly crumbling stone buildings in the cemetery, and the only one adorned with gargoyles, stained glass windows, and burning torches. He hated the place because it was a little too gothic for his taste. He also hated his name, but it had been given to him because it held some great significance to his father.

It seemed as if his maker, The Grim Reaper, had been close to and had worked with a being having the same moniker. The original Famine must have been one hell of a guy to have made such an impression on his father. It was going to be hard, he knew, to live up to such expectations. Still, it was just another thing that made being part of the family so frustrating.

Today he wore black leathery trousers, a long sleeved equally black dress shirt, and dark knee –length boots with a series of silver hooks and chains serving as laces. Everyone thought that the attire was too "human" and hated when he wore it. He made sure that he had it on often enough to draw ire, but it was, in his mind, all in fun. There had been a time when he had been human so it wasn't really that far-fetched to wear such things.

The Weeping Woman Llorona, one of his "guardians", was folding shrouds on a large marble slab in the middle of the room. She was dressed in a glowing white gown and her long raven black hair flowed undulating serpentine down her back. She didn't even turn when he entered.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Just hanging around," answered Famine, nonchalantly.

"Doing what?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, really? You've been gone a long time to be doing nothing."

"Yeah, that's how it is," sighed the teenager, rolling his pale yellow eyes.

"Why do you have that attitude?"

He threw up his hands in frustration. It was hard to give up the way he used to act. _That's what happens when you're changed at such a young age_ , he thought to himself. How the hell did she know he had rolled his eyes anyway?

"I don't have an attitude. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

"If you stopped asking so many questions and left me alone..."

"Left you alone?"

Llorona turned from her folding to look down at Famine. Her luminescent face remained stoic and her dark almond-shaped eyes stayed transfixed on him. Famine never liked it when she got that look. It always meant she was going to lecture him.

"We left you alone before and you know what happened."

"And you guys won't let me forget it."

"Actions have consequences, young man. The Reaper took a chance on you and look where it got him. You're still very young and have a lot to learn. Just be patient, seventeen's not an easy age."

Famine turned from her waving his hands. He hated it whenever someone called him a teenager.

"I'm two hundred and fifty! Anyway, it's not fair. No one trusts me. All I do is stay in this place. I never get to get out of the cemetery."

"Trust takes a long time to earn back. I know from first hand experience. It's difficult."

"But what happened was a long time ago."

Llorona floated to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her luminescence ebbed. She softened her tone as she talked. "You've shown great restraint and discipline since then, too. I know the Reaper's seen it. We all just need to sit down and talk this over together. Maybe you can go out and help him in the field."

Famine turned back to Llorona. A lot of her solid facial features were visible now. She had been quite a lovely woman when she died. Her skin was smooth, her lips full, and her cheekbones high. There was definitely some exotic blood in her; he often saw it whenever she was passionate about something. If Famine had to venture an age, he would have guessed she was in her early thirties. He had also toned down his attitude.

"That would be nice. Just don't see that happening again any time soon, though. I just miss being like others."

"You're _not_ like others. That's what makes you unique. It also gives you all the more reason to take time to adapt."

He knew she was right and fell silent. Him trying to be like everyone else was a hopeless task and the best thing was to just do what he was told. Only once he got to know more about the world could set himself apart from the "family". Besides, this surrogate group of guardians accepted him for whom he was. They didn't care about his "Other Nature" as he called it. Not a lot of people are tolerant of boys who preferred the company of other boys. He gave up on arguing with Llorona and sat on one of the other slabs in the otherwise vacant room.

"Why are you folding the good shrouds?"

"We're having company. Ankou is coming."

Famine gave a disgruntled moan. The man was about as boring and dry as hundred year old newspapers.

Llorona went back to the shrouds and looked down at them with contempt. _Just because everything in this world is dead doesn't give clothing distributors license to make them so drab_ , she thought to herself. Aloud, she said "He gets enough of that from everyone else out there. Be nice to him."

"But he always brings everyone down. He's not fun. Plus he smells like an old crypt. We always have to air the place out after he leaves."

"He can't help it. It's the way his job's made him. And that's the way really old things smell. It could be worse. He could smell like _roses and flowers_!" she said shuddering and grimacing,

"The Reaper isn't like that."

"He's cut from different flesh. Not that he has any of it now."

Finished with the shrouds, Llorona picked them up and carried them through an arched doorway and into an adjoining room. Her head narrowly missed the great swath of cobwebs that hung across it like a net. Famine flicked a flowing lock of his shoulder length straw-colored hair from his narrow, but femininely featured chalk-white face and followed her. She was placing the shrouds on the backs of tall dark chairs arranged around a weathered dining table. An open coffin sat in the middle. The rest of the furnishings in the room were sparse; only a couple of candelabras and an even more beaten up buffet occupied the space. Famine pulled out one of the chairs sat down, producing a cloud of dust as he did so.

"Why is he coming?"

The Weeping Woman bent to rummage through the buffet. Her voice echoed a bit as she stuck her head inside. "Just to visit, although I can't imagine him being that casual. The last thing that man has in him is spontaneity."

"You said to be nice to him."

She came out of the buffet with four long stemmed wine glasses. She set them around the table and bit her lower lip in thought. "I am being nice. Truthful, but nice."

Famine's face contorted in confusion. He talked slowly as if trying to figure out some ancient Earth riddle. "So, you can say whatever you want, no matter how rude it might sound...and still be nice?"

"That's the thing. You can say whatever you want as long as you put it in the right words."

The ancient teenager still sounded perplexed as he spoke. He looked down at his shiny black boots as if they were going to reveal the answers to him. "So, it's not really rude. It's truthful while being nice?"

His guardian smiled. Now that she thought of it, none of it made sense either. Sometimes she amused herself with the things she said. No one ever said it would be easy to shake off human qualities. "Something like that." Famine stared blankly at her for a second, slightly tilting his head. "I see...and you think _I'm_ confusing."

In the lower levels of the mausoleum The Reaper was stirring. A series of loud crashes and the sound of glass breaking broke the momentary silence. Muffled curses and maniacal laughter soon followed.

"He's at it again," Famine said in exacerbation.

"It keeps him busy."

"He can't fix things worth a damn. He's blind to it. Even a zombie could better."

"I know, but as long as he thinks he's doing something good, everything is better."

"And all we have to show for it are broken steps, holes in the walls, and things that look like they were built by a two-year old. Nice." Llorona laughed. She looked at an open space on the wall opposite the buffet. Her face suddenly grew brighter. She snapped her fingers. "That space needs filling and I have just the thing for it!"

With that, she flew out of the room. Famine got up and strolled to the adjoining room. An open doorway led downstairs. The ancient cracked stone steps were in need of repair, no doubt another task on The Reaper's list. He could hear the old man down there now, still toiling at what he believed to be work. He would be up soon enough.

Famine turned his attention to the shelves on the walls of the room that served as a human kitchen. They were filled with large jars of colorful gaseous blobs. Unlike his namesake, he _did_ need nourishment and these jars were full of the stuff. He chose a jar of swirling dark blue substance, opened the lid, and breathed in some of the gas. This batch was particularly thick and sweet...his favorite sort. Some of the other stuff was foul tasting, thin, and unfilling. Those were the good souls, he had been told. Evil ones seemed to breed delicious, saccharine nectar that was unlike any other. Famine was wise enough to just take enough to slake his thirst without spoiling his appetite. The last thing he needed was a lecture from The Reaper about ruining the taste of a great gourmet dinner. He had just returned the jar to the shelf when he heard Llorona call from the other room.

"Famine!" her voice boomed.

"Yeah!"

"Tell The Reaper to get in gear. Ankou will be here soon! I love the man but I don't want to listen to any of his stories alone."

"Yeah I'll tell him!"

He was about to shout down when he heard footsteps upon the staircase. A flickering light grew steadily brighter as the steps got closer. Soon, a tall skeletal figure in a tattered hooded shroud appeared at the doorway with a torch in hand. In the other he carried a bottle of dark colored wine.

"You heard?" asked Famine.

"The living could hear."

Famine smiled and walked with The Reaper into the dining room. All the candles had been lit. Llorona was standing in front of a large painting of a gray and black landscape of dead trees. She tilted her head as an artist examining her work. "What do you think? Too cheery for dinner?"

The Reaper sat the wine on the table and looked up at the artwork. He shook his head in approval. "One of your better pieces, Llorona. It fits perfectly."

"Thanks. I was going through a rather happy mood at the time. I was afraid it would show it too much."

Llorona rested her arms on the back of a chair and turned to look at her housemates. "I'm starved. Have any _one_ good planned for dinner?"

The Reaper pointed a bony finger at her. "I think you'll like what I prepared. Got inspired at work last night."

"Sounds intriguing. Can't wait."

Famine eyed the bottle The Reaper sat down. He then looked at the painting and spoke inquisitively. "Think I could have some of that Chardonnay?"

"Let me think about it."

"And how long is that going to take? Fifty years?"

The Reaper turned towards him. A spider crawled out of one of his eye sockets and up his dull gray skull. He picked it off and threw it to the side.

"Considering how long you've been around, fifty years is nothing. "

Famine gave up. It was never any good arguing with Death itself. You never won. He folded his arms and spoke in an exasperating tone. "I guess."

"It'll be here before you know it," The Reaper said trying to appease him.

Famine said nothing. He contorted his pencil-thin lips in deep thought. There was silence for a few more seconds. That was always the worst.

"I need to pick up that junk I left in the parlor," said Llorona suddenly.

She left the room, and The Reaper and Famine followed a few seconds later. The light coming from under the mausoleum door was very faint. _If that doesn't signal Ankou's arrival, nothing else does_ , thought Famine.

When it came to dinner visits, Ankou broke "the rules" and always came out just before it got dark. Sometimes it paid off and he could catch an unsuspecting soul or two. Famine thought that that was pretty spontaneous for Ankou, even if no one else did.

Llorona took a seat on a moldy, overstuffed sofa in the main family room. She started picking up half-empty paint tubes that were scattered on a small coffee table and put them into a large red velvet bag.

The Reaper went over to the fireplace and examined an Edwardian sailing ship in a bottle that sat on the mantle. What he saw in those silly things Famine didn't know. Would people really be scared if they knew Death played with toys? There was a glowing blue orb of light in the hearth. It didn't give off any heat. It was strictly for show. Sometimes he wondered why they bothered with such things. If they hated human behavior so much, why the pretense?

"I'm going out to wait for him," he told them as he opened the heavy door and stepped into the twilight.

The graveyard was still. A low patch of fog swirled around the ancient tombstones and statuaries like little fingers. A couple of bats flitted from dead tree to dead tree. Famine was just out for a few seconds when he heard the familiar sound of a wagon's wheels upon the earth. That had to be Ankou's carriage. Famine peered down the road towards the setting sun. A man riding a horse drawn cart was approaching. This was his famous uncle...the harbinger of death that struck stark fear into those he encountered. The very sound of his rickety cart was enough to drive mortals indoors hiding in the dark in hopes it would not stop at their houses.

The wagon stopped directly in front of him. From under the wide brim of his dark hat, Ankou's eyes glowed as they peered down at Famine. His long brown hair stuck out sporadically in wild tangles. He was wearing a neat black velvet and lace suit with a matching tie and cape. _A bit dandyish for an omen of death_ , Famine thought. Ankou's voice was raspy and rough when he spoke. How old was he anyway? He sounded like he must be at least a thousand.

"Nephew."

"Uncle Ankou. How are you?"

"Like usual, you know how it is."

Actually, Famine didn't know how it was. That was just how the man talked. "Yeah."

The family business had made them all the same. Being civil was just a formality among them. The door of the mausoleum opened and Llorona stepped out. She nodded towards the seated man and spoke cheerfully.

"Ankou. So nice to see you."

Ankou nodded back, tipping his hat. "Llorona, it's always a pleasure, my dear. I brought something for you, Famine. Look in the back."

_What could this possibly be_ , he thought? Ankou brought over an occasional corpse every now and then, but never anything especially for him. He hurried over to the cart and peered in the back. Sitting there was a large shaggy gray dog. It looked up at him with its cloudy, dead eyes and wagged its dead tail stiffly. The canine pulled back cracked lips from its massive muzzle and licked Famine's hand with a dry tongue. Famine could hardly believe what he was seeing.

"No!"

"Yes," said Ankou turning towards his nephew and the animal, "he's all yours."

He suddenly remembered Llorona. She was smiling and walking over to greet the dog. "Oh, please. Can I keep him?"

"I don't see why not. I had a dog a very long time ago. It would be nice to have one around the house again."

"You think the Reaper's OK with it?"

"Oh please, he's a big softie. I think he would've gotten one by now but he's just never home to take care of it."

Famine scooped the dog from the cart as Ankou got down. The carrion driver turned to pet the shining skeletal faces of his horses and offer them a word of reassurance. They huffed and snorted in response. The three of them then entered the mausoleum. Besides the sofa and coffee table, there were three ornately carved wooden chairs and a large black rug with a pattern of skulls and gravestones in the family room. A couple of Llorona's grim and desolate landscape paintings hung on the wall opposite the front doorway. The Reaper was standing in the door of the dining room to meet his guest. Famine rushed towards him with the dog in his arms.

"Look what Uncle Ankou gave me!"

If the Reaper could've looked surprised he would've. Instead he just opened his mouth as if to smile. He reached out and gave the dog a pat on the head. "I've always wanted a dog. I'm just never home."

"This might be the new thing you're looking for," Llorona said.

"I'm so glad you approve, brother. I was worried I'd have to take him back to the graveyard. That would've been too bad."

"Yes, it would have."

"Don't want people to start thinking I give things back. That would look weird." The Reaper nodded and motioned towards the dining area. "We should probably start." They moved into the room and sat at the table. The coffin now held a body wrapped in a nondescript shroud. The Reaper took his place at the head while Ankou and Famine sat across from one another.

"Looks like you have the makings of a fine meal here," said Ankou, motioning towards the coffin.

"Hopefully you will like it. A few days ago, I picked up this corpse that had drowned in a vat of wine. When I rendered it, the flavor was divine. I decided to soak this one in one of my Pinots to give it extra taste," The Reaper replied.

"I never met a soul that wasn't tasty. Except maybe for some of those saintly people. They're a little bland for me. But I'm sure you've done an excellent job."

One by one, the family put a hand upon the corpse. A glowing red light arced from the body to each hand. A warm glow pulsated like an aura around each of them. The siphoning generally took a few minutes to work. It would give them the energy they needed to go about business in The Deadlands, their home. After they had finished, The Reaper poured wine into the glasses. Famine stared at the thick green liquid in his and wondered what it was. He didn't want to find out. Ankou took a long draught of wine and smacked his thin black lips.

"Oh, you picked a good one, brother. You've outdone yourself again. A fine chef I say."

The dog sat patiently at Famine's feet during the feast. It now sat up and placed its paws on the boy's lap.

"How is it going, Ankou," asked The Reaper.

"I had a rush a few days ago. There was a fire at the hospital. I mean a lot of them were headed my way anyhow, but that fire helped me. Didn't have to make so many trips."

"Nothing quite that exciting, I'm afraid. Haven't had any mass pick-ups in a long time. I don't get that sort of thing in my line."

"Oh, come off it, man. You talk about your job as if it were boring," scoffed Ankou.

"Yes, it can be. But at my age, I don't need a lot of excitement."

Llorona sipped from her glass before speaking. "I don't see you out there deathing it up, old man. A little excitement might do you some good. You can't go through death without experiencing some fun times...even if you're a harbinger of terror and fear. I find excitement in some of the more mundane things. It helps me through. It'll do you a world of good, too."

Famine felt that he needed to talk to his uncle. The man had brought him a dog after all. "You get that cart, though, Uncle. That's exciting. The rest of us have to float everywhere we need to go."

"I'd imagine floating would be easier than driving. You get there quicker."

"Yeah, but it doesn't scare people the way your cart does."

Famine thought he saw the taut and mottled green-gray flesh on Ankou's triangular face form a slight smile. Ankou took some more soul from the body, leaned back, and stroked his chin. He laughed raspily. "I never thought about that. I mean, it's just an everyday thing in my mind. I guess I never really stop to think about what's going on."

"I bet you have some stories," he went on.

"Don't get him started. Once he gets going, it's hard to get him to shut up," The Reaper said motioning towards him.

"Look who's talking, Mr. I'm Single-Handedly Responsible for the Plague. You can go on, too."

Famine knew the legendary boringness that the family possessed. He tried to break the cycle by getting the old soul collector to tell an exciting tale for a change. "Tell us a story, Uncle."

Ankou was silent for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. He then suddenly sat upright and looked towards Famine. "There was one time I chased someone for the entire night. I usually catch between ten and twenty people a night, but this one time I wanted to take my time and _really_ enjoy the catch. I saw this man walking home from the market. Damned fool had started back too late. He was just shuffling along without a care in the world. I loosened up the wheels on the cart a bit to make them louder and started after him. He heard me and started walking faster, so I rode after him faster."

"The thrill is in the pursuit," Famine said.

"Yes! You should have seen him run! I didn't know those humans could move so fast."

"What happened then?"

"Well, I chased him for a little while longer. We both kept going and going. At one point I was right on top of him. Then I thought 'Old man, it's going to be over now. Getting him now will spoil the fun.' So I stopped chasing him and let him get a little further down the road. He thought he had gotten away. What a fool. That's a human for you."

Famine scooped the dog from the floor and put him in his lap. It eyed Ankou with fascination.

"Anyway, he was still a good two hours from home when I crept up on him again. The chase began anew! This time, I rode after him even faster. He ran unlike anyone else I had seen run before. I chased him into a cave and he tried hiding from me but I waited. Finally, just before sunrise, when he thought he was safe, he sneaked out of his hiding place. You should've seen how surprised he was when he saw me! He begged to be taken so I put him on my cart and rode away. _That_ was a night."

Famine was genuinely captivated by his uncle's story. He had only heard about The Reaper's floating about, grabbing people, and then floating off again. Not a lot of excitement. Even when Llorona was in the business, she didn't seem to have much to say. Of course that was before his time so she could've done the same thing Ankou had. She seldom spoke of her good old days.

"So, people are really _that_ scared of you?" He asked.

"You should see them scatter and hide when the sun goes down. All I have to do is just move the cart a few feet and let them hear it coming. They howl like mad. Hell, I don't even have to ride up to scare them. If they as much as see a hat like mine after dark, they react the same way."

Famine thought about something Llorona had said earlier. She had mentioned something about going into the field. What his uncle was talking about sounded like just this. It was a long shot, but he had to ask. He cleared his throat and boldly spoke. "You think I could ride with you sometime, Uncle Ankou?"

No one said a word at first; they only looked at Famine. The boy swore he could hear the beating of bats' wings in the uncomfortable silence. He was sure they all thought he was just being an impetuous child. Thinking that made him regret even asking the question. Then the Reaper suddenly picked up his wine glass and swished around the liquid. "I don't think your uncle wants a tag along."

" _This_ could be the new thing I've been looking for. If you want to trust me again, what better way is there than getting out again? Besides, I'd have some supervision." The pleading suddenly seemed pathetically desperate. Perhaps begging was a bad an idea as asking and now regretted both.

"That's not a bad idea. I'm afraid I put that idea out there, though." Llorona said putting a napkin on the table. She looked over at the Reaper.

He put the glass down and nodded towards her. "It was something I had been thinking about, too. I'm not against it if Ankou's not."

Famine out the dog back on the ground and stared anxiously at his uncle. "What do you think?"

Ankou was taken back by the whole situation. He had never had to deal with anything like this. Ancient cogs and wheels slowly spun in his decaying head. Although this was the first time in years they had done that, his response was quick. The old man pursed his lips and bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, I think it might do you some good to get out and learn. You'd be enriched by the experiences. You'd get a better understanding of what we do. No other being your age is out there doing things like this. Just imagine what it could do to your stature. Plus I'd love a companion."

Famine smiled and jumped up. "You can trust me, Uncle Ankou. I'll do whatever you tell me. This is going to be wonderful!"

The old cart driver had taken off his hat and was smoothing out his wild hair. He fixed the crooked collar of his cape and looked quite proud of himself. "Indeed it is. It's a hell of a place out there. I think you're going to like it."

The Reaper got up and slung the empty corpse over his shoulder as Llorona picked up the glasses. "Just be careful," he said. "If you're going to prove something to us please prove it safely. I can always use my link if I have to. I know how you hate that."

The link he was referring to was one The Reaper had set upon him since he had come to The Deadlands. Famine wanted quickly to reassure him that using it wasn't necessary. The last thing he needed was to be mentally spied upon.

Llorona gave The Reaper a look of surprise. She didn't think he'd play that card. "I don't think you'll have to do that. He's a smart kid," she remarked.

"Still, though, you know I'm here if worse comes to worse."

"I know, I know. I'll keep out of trouble."

Ankou put his hat on again and got up from the table. Llorona had disappeared into the kitchen. The Reaper was pointed in the same direction.

"I need to put the rest of this away. It'll make a good midnight snack," he said indicating the corpse. He was gone a second later. Famine looked over at Ankou.

"When can we start?"

"I'd thought we could ride around tonight so you'd see what it was like."

"Sounds great. Can I bring the dog?"

Ankou began walking towards the family room. He neatened the ruffles of his shirt sleeves and whisked away some stray dust. "I think he needs to stay here tonight, child. He needs to get used to his new home."

The man was right. If the beast was going to be here from now on, it needed to know the layout and feel of the place. Perhaps later it could go with them. Right now, all he wanted to do was get out of the mausoleum. Llorona came back with a large canvas under her arm. Famine wondered where she'd gotten it since she usually kept her supplies in a visible location. The woman was full of surprises. She stopped and looked proudly at Famine. She spoke with an air of confidence. "You're going to do fine out there. You have a great teacher. I hope he is able to give you what you want."

"I'm sure he will."

"I'll see you later. Be careful," she said patting his shoulder.

Famine nodded and Llorona left the room humming to herself. The Reaper appeared a second later. He had a dish towel flung over his shoulder. "You two heading out?" he asked.

"Indeed we are, no time like the present as the mortals say," Ankou replied.

The three of them exited the mausoleum and went to the waiting cart and horses. Ankou took the reins as Famine took a seat beside him. The Reaper stood beside the wagon and gave one of the horses a pat. "Try not to get into too much trouble," he said.

The Reaper's sense of humor was as dry as his bones. He tried, and that counted for something. Famine sighed and said nothing. Ankou peered over his nephew's shoulder and spoke. "It's going to be a good night, brother. He'll be fine."

"I know. He's in good hands."

"I'll make you proud," said Famine.

"I believe you will."

The Reaper stepped back and began moving towards the door. He gave the duo a quick wave and went back into the mausoleum. Famine turned to his uncle. The man was adjusting the rearview mirror on his side. He finished, looked up, and spoke quickly. "Let's be off. We don't people to think we're not coming."

"We wait for no man."

"You're learning already, child." Ankou clicked his tongue and the rickety cart started off down the road. Tonight, there were hearts to strike fear into and souls to be captured.

# EPISODE TWO:

CARRION ANKOU

Famine threw the dead body into the back of the cart. This was the fifth one tonight and the pile was getting higher. The pale youth in a close-fitting tattered white burial shroud wiped his brow and moved a lock of hair out of his face. He looked towards the driver of the cart, a tall figure dressed in a long black robe and a wide brimmed hat.

"How much longer, Uncle?" asked Famine.

Ankou peered over his shoulder, his corpse-like gray face showing a slight smile. "Getting tired already, child?"

"Not tired, just a little bored. These are all virus victims. No fun in that. Just like picking up trash off the side of the road. We're not garbage men!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. We have to take care of any _real_ business before we have any fun. That's just the way it is." Famine climbed onto the seat next to Ankou who clicked his tongue to the skeletal horses. The rickety cart started down the winding dirt road of the village. All around the duo, houses remained shuttered and dark. Every now and then, they could discern a faint light from a crack in a window or from under a door. Once every four to six doors down, a body lie sprawled next to the road. Some had been bound in a shroud and others were just thrown out, their virus-ravaged faces staring up blankly at the night moon.

Whenever there was a corpse, the act remained the same: Ankou stopped, and Famine, despite his small frail frame, tossed it in the back. He didn't even notice the fact that the cart never got heavy or ran out of room. That was one of the advantages of a death wagon...you could pack in as many victims as you wanted without the pesky business of physics.

They had gone down a few more winding roads without having seen a body. _There has to be something to complain about_ , Famine thought, _what is the use in being a teenager if I don't?_

"This cart is sooooo slow," he sighed, "at this rate, we won't even reach the edge of town by daylight. We won't even have any time to hunt."

"Ah, the impatience of youth. Always in such a hurry'"

"When did you get this thing anyway?" "I've always had it. It's gotten me where I needed to go. It has taken many a soul to oblivion, and it has done its job well."

"That's boring."

"I'm sorry being an omen of death and catcher of souls isn't always happy ravens and poison ivy, child."

"Now you sound like Pop. I thought my coming was going to be good for the both of us.""

Ankou let out a raspy laugh, his breath coming out like smoke from a dragon's nose in the cold air. "It will child! It sure as hell will!" he paused, "I still have work to do though."

Famine continued to look ahead. The two continued on in silence for a few minutes more. They were coming upon the last houses of the village and remaining corpses for the night. Ankou pulled the cart to a halt; Famine stepped off and repeated his pestilent game of toss for the final time that night. A few laborious minutes later, the cart had its consignment, passed into The Deadlands, realm of the Dead, and was heading towards the cemetery.

The countryside around them was a forest of twisted dead trees with massive trunks. The black bark had grown in a way so it that resembled tortured faces. Mysterious orbs of pulsing blue radiance danced off in the distance. A slight scent of decay permeated the air. They would soon discharge their cargo to the Grim Reaper, who would then see to it that the soul would be taken from its shell.

He had a deal with some local ghouls, zombies, and demons that took the rendered carcasses for their own perverse needs. They were predictable and easy to please, so that meant they were good workers. The Reaper never had to worry about them getting any Marxist ideas. Just give them what they wanted (disused bodies) and they were good to go. While that sort of simplicity didn't sit well with Ankou, he knew that there had to be someone to do the dirty work. Funny how even in a world of mythological beings and creatures, there was a duality.

About two miles away from their destination, Ankou slowed down the cart. Something had drawn him out of his mental tirade. He pointed towards a faint light in the sky ahead. "Oh, I don't like the look of that. Damn."

"It's too early for daylight. What is it?"

"Trouble. I was hoping I wouldn't run into them tonight."

"Who? Run into who?" Famine asked impatiently.

The light in the distance was becoming brighter. Famine could now hear new sounds. He thought he heard the galloping of horse's hooves, the deep braying of hounds, and shouts of excitement and chaos. Ankou continued down the road, kept his eyes on the sky, muttered to himself, and shook his head.

"OK, Uncle, what is that?"

"The soul catching business can get nasty sometimes. Not everyone is as civilized about it as we are."

"I didn't realize we were in competition."

"Well, you have these free agent types running around out there. Not really competition as much as imitators, and poor ones at that."

Famine now saw forms in the sky ahead, and they were rapidly approaching the cart. His initial thoughts were correct: the noises were of galloping horses and their boisterous riders. They descended like a fog and settled on the road ahead, forcing Ankou to stop.

The riders were tall, wispy, spectral figures of white and gray. Their horses and dogs also appeared to be made of the same cloudy ectoplasm. They seemed to hover slightly above the ground, a thin swirling mist between it and the horses' hooves.

"The Wild Hunt Boys," he explained leaning over to Famine.

The tallest of the ghostly party broke apart from his pack and rode up to the cart. The faint image of his former human attire, those of a foxhunter, flickered on his body like candlelight. His voice was a low hiss. "Babysitting there, Ankou?"

"Babysitting? I'm not a kid!" Famine protested.

"Oi! Just you go back up to the sky there, cloud boy," Ankou replied to The Hunter while motioning for Famine to settle down.

"Not a very nice way to treat friends," The Hunter said back.

"You're no friend of mine."

"Still driving that shoebox on wheels, too. I thought they would have given you an upgrade by now."

"At least he has a real vehicle. What do you guys have?" Famine asked with contempt.

"It's alright. He's just mad because he keeps being turned down for that air hostess job."

The hunting party broke out in laughter. Ankou and Famine smiled at this unexpected response.

The Hunter remained stoic. "Delightful as always, Ankou. Making up for your ugliness with humor has been your strong suit."

"What do you want? I have a job to do."

The Hunter peered into the back of Ankou's cart, noticing the pile of corpses. He nodded towards them with a slight smile on what could be described as his face. "Awful lot of merchandise you have there. Not going to use _all_ of that are you? I think that would be waste."

Famine's thin pasty face contorted with anger. "Go get your own, you stupid git! We worked all night for them! Don't give him nothing, Uncle!"

Ankou nodded, pointing his gloved finger towards The Hunter. "I'm taking this cargo to the Reaper. He has plans for it that don't include you."

"That's the problem with your family, Ankou. You're always hoarding the goods out here. It's not like you guys have a monopoly on souls. It's fair game out here as far as I am concerned," The Hunter said.

"That's where you're wrong. We _are_ death in the minds and hearts of the people. They wouldn't stand having your lot alongside our kind. They just wouldn't accept it."

The Hunter's look was that of disbelief and contempt. "And you know that for a fact?"

Ankou was silent for a few seconds, and then he leaned back a bit to survey The Hunter and his party, "I've been in the game for a very long time and have seen a lot. I know what these pathetic bags of water and flesh fear and revile. I know what makes their hearts sink with pure terror and dread. It's not a bunch of silly wispy boys on their silly wispy horses. It's a figure of darkness without pity or remorse. It's the Reaper. It's _me_."

"So get back to chasing deer or whatever the hell it is you guys hunt and leave us alone," Famine interjected. "

You're all talk and no action, the whole bunch of you. I'm not afraid of any of you rotting piles of meat, " The Hunter boasted as he turned towards his party, "What can you do with your silly ugly hats, last century's cloaks, and termite infested carts?"

"Watch it, assho--," Famine shouted.

Ankou quickly cut him off. "Don't listen to him, child. He's an idiot."

The Hunter placed his hands on his hips and glanced up at the moon. He let out a long sigh. "I'd expect that from you. You were weak a thousand years ago and you are. You can't even go out without your ugly, bratty kids for protection. Did your brother force the kid to come?"

"I am here because I want to be like my uncle. Besides, Ankou could kick your ass all over this road."

The Hunter spun around to face Ankou and Famine again, a broad smile across his visage. "Is that so?"

Ankou's expression on his corpse-like face was one of surprise; he shook his head and waved his bony, gloved hand towards The Hunter. "Oh, no, no, no! The child's got a big mouth," he turned towards Famine, "He doesn't know when to keep it shut. Besides, his brain isn't fully developed so he doesn't know any better. Teenagers are annoying that way. "

"What? I know what I'm saying, Uncle. You _could_ kick his ghostly ass," Famine defiantly said waving at the hunters, "and his riders' asses, too." Ankou's jaw dropped and he quickly faced The Hunter again.

The other ghostly riders stirred, commented amongst themselves and a couple threw out curse words in their direction. Ankou leaned towards his nephew and whispered. "Would you keep quiet? If you want to have any fun tonight, we need to get out of here fast. We just don't have time for this now." Famine was about to protest when the Hunter spoke.

"So is this a challenge I'm hearing, Ankou?"

Ankou was quiet for a moment, his bony finger tapping his emaciated chin, his head slightly down. Famine stayed quiet, too. He stared at his uncle, awaiting a response.

"Did you fall asleep there, old man?" The Hunter teased.

Ankou's head snapped up. "Death doesn't sleep, you damned fool. I was just thinking about a way to beat you without resorting to violence. I abhor it."

"Is that so? I'd love to hear what you came up with."

Ankou smiled ever so slightly, showing narrow blackened teeth. His eyes glowed a little more than usual. "Let's see who can really collect souls. Let's see who can be called a real Death Omen. We can sit here all night and talk, but the truth lies in the actions."

"In other words, put your money where your mouth is, you ass. That is if you're man enough." Famine said.

The Hunter rolled his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and kicked a small stone lying in the road into the brush on the side of the road. A mangy rat ran out screeching in terror only to be devoured by a nearby spectral hound. "You think I'm afraid? Hardly.

What did you have in mind?"

"We'll have a race. You take one man and I'll take Famine here. We'll run down this road until we meet the next person. Whoever catches him first keeps the soul and proves himself a true collector. So, what say you?" Ankou asked.

"Let's say I do go for this childish game of yours. What's in it for me? Why should I waste my time and...talent...on you lot?"

"Other than bragging rights, the winner gets to catch souls in this area for the next year without the other interfering. He gets everything without question."

The Hunter shook his head "no" and put his hand out to match the gesture. He let a slight laugh of skepticism. "Your brother will never go for that, you know. He's more powerful than any of us. He's not going to just turn things over like that."

Ankou's voice took a tone of reassurance and softness that took everyone by surprise. He acted as if he was addressing a small child as he directed the rest of his speech to his opponent. "Let me take care of him. The Reaper can be persuaded. He might be the most forceful being in our world, but he's a man of honor. He'll know and trust my judgment."

The Hunter thought for a few seconds. He spoke defiantly. "When I win, I also want your cart full of bodies."

"Bugger off, buddy! I told you we already worked to get these guys. You can't have them!" Famine said pointing to the bodies in the rear of the cart.

Ankou held his threw his hands up and shrugged. "Sure, as a bonus, _if_ you win, you can have tonight's catch. If I happen to win, I get to have ten of your men...or what's left of them. Every little bit counts towards The Reaper's pool."

"You got yourself a deal."

The Hunter climbed back unto his horse and waved for the tallest of his Riders to come near him. Once he was there, The Hunter looked back at the rest of the party and waved his wispy hand, the fingers tapering off into whip-like tendrils. "The rest of you go ride along the coast and look for any weary travelers."

With a tumult of fanfare, baying, and shouting, the rest of the Riders galloped off into the dark sky. The Hunter turned his attention back to Ankou and the cart. "Weary travelers make the best company. They always want to go somewhere and we're always on the go."

"Who gives a damn? Let's get this thing started, Uncle, I'm tired of hanging around these pathetic losers."

"Right you are, nephew. We'll take the actual road and you guys ride just above us."

The Hunter nodded. He and the Rider floated above the cart and hovered there. "Anytime you're ready, old man."

Ankou gave a raspy yell, pulled hard on the reins and the cart moved forward. Overhead, the ghostly duo followed closely. They rode for a moment without sighting anyone on the road.

"I think this might be a waste of time. Who's going to be out on a deserted road in the middle of the night at the height of a plague? You should have just gotten out, said some magical incantations and sent them all to Hell," Famine complained.

"Magical incantations? Who do you think I am? The witch Baba Yaga? Besides, there is no Hell. It's all a lot of shite made up by humans."

"I was just saying you could have done something else back there."

"You impetuous kid. Haven't you learned anything? Loudmouths like that always end up fools in the end. Just wait. Since when did you become such a smart ass anyway?"

"It's part of being young, Uncle. I'm supposed to be rebellious and all that sort of shit, you know." Famine rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and gave an exasperated sigh.

Ankou glanced up at his rivals who were still keeping pace. "Let's pick it up!" He yelled again and the cart began to race faster. Famine then noticed a small stone wall running along the right side of the road. It became higher and craggier as they rode on. There also seemed to be bits of jagged metal jutting from the top. It seemed familiar. He glanced at his uncle, who kept his eyes dead ahead. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash in the carrion driver's eyes. He was up to something. Famine was startled by a yell from The Hunter.

"Aha! Look! There!"

Famine peered ahead and saw a solitary figure ambling down the middle of the trail. The gait looked like that of a man uneasy on his feet. The Hunter and his Rider pulled ahead, barreling towards the walker. Ankou kept the cart at a steady rate; the speed didn't catch up to that of their challengers. Famine looked towards him with eyes wide.

"What are you doing? Catch up! Go faster!"

Ankou said nothing. Ahead, The Hunter was almost upon his quarry.

"They're going to win, Ankou! They're going to bloody win!"

"The winner will lose and the loser will win."

"You're talking out of your ass."

"You're going to regret saying that, young Famine. We'll see whose ass is talking when it's all over."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

Famine decided to just be quiet and watch his family's reputation and livelihood go down the proverbial toilet. He sat back and watched as the walker finally turned to face his attackers. There was shouting and screaming from both parties. The hapless victim vainly flailed his arms about, trying to dissuade his ghostly aggressors from taking any further action. The Hunter threw a net over him and dragged him to the ground. There were shouts of jubilation and excitement, as the quarry seemed to be caught.

Famine hung his head. This was a damned sad day in the life of such a glorified and revered soul collector. How could this have an ending in their favor? What would his father say about all of this? He couldn't imagine the Grim Reaper giving it up to a bunch of silly apparitions. Worse yet was what other spirits and creatures would think of him. Being a defeated Death Omen was one thing, but being the son of one seemed worse. A few seconds later, Ankou's cart drew up behind the celebrating duo. Famine looked up to see The Hunter and the Rider standing above the prostrate figure under the net. They smiled - if you could call it that - broadly and looked very smug in their victory.

"Who's the pathetic loser now, boy?"

"Kiss my deathly pale ass."

"Not very sportsman-like behavior there. Need to teach your nephew a few things, Ankou.

"I agree that he needs to learn something, but sportsman-like behavior isn't one of them at the moment," said the soul collector taking off his glove examining his black nails in an uncharacteristically dainty manner.

The Hunter glanced at his companion and shrugged. "Whatever you say. I won. Now hand over those bodies, get out of my way, and let the Wild Hunt take over from here." The Hunter and Rider laughed and pointed at Ankou and Famine.

"I wouldn't put those souls in your purse just yet, Sky Boy," Ankou said flatly.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you look at your...er...victim?"

"What's there to look at? It's just some guy," The Hunter replied with indifference.

"Is that so? I'd have a look just the same, fellows."

The Hunter and Rider looked down at their writhing capture. It wasn't just some guy. In fact, it wasn't a guy at all. Staring up at them were two glowing yellow eyes. They were set into an elongated decaying face with thin black lips and a pointed nose. The thing drew back its lips to reveal jagged blackened teeth and a snake-like tongue of crimson. Shaggy gray hair covered its rounded head and rested on its broad wing-like shoulders. It raised its grotesquely thin arm and pointed a jet-black talon at the two. It spoke in a quick, clipped manner. "What's this, then?"

The Hunter's lipless mouth dropped open in shock. His companion and horse stepped back. He stared back at Ankou with an incredulous look on his face.

"Who is this?"

Ankou pointed towards the beast on the ground. "Meet Gus the Ghoul. He works for my brother. He's sort of a garbage man. Oh, I'm sorry. I think he prefers the term scavenger. Isn't that so, Gus?"

"I actually prefer corpse handler, but that's okay. How are you, Ankou? Who are these blokes?"

"Wild Hunt," Ankou answered. "Oh, yeah, I should have guessed by the smell."

The Hunter was furious. He floated up to Ankou's face and stared him down a bit before screaming. "What's the meaning of this? Give me what's mine! I won your game!"

"No, you didn't. I said whoever caught the next _person_ won. Need I remind you that Gus over there is a _ghoul?_ He's not a person. No offense, Gus."

A small red and black spider scuttled across the monster's leg. He quickly snatched it and popped it in his mouth with delight. "None taken," it replied in a nonchalant manner.

Ankou continued to address his accuser without blinking an eye. "As such, you didn't win anything. Everything we betted on is forfeited. Nothing is won tonight, except maybe some intelligence."

"Trickery! You cheated!"

"No," Famine said, "you're just stupid. You didn't stop to think about anything you did."

The hiss in The Hunter's voice was becoming higher and more pronounced and drawn out. "This is an outrage. You _knew_ this would happen!"

"And you would have, too, if you had listened." Turning to his nephew, he said, "See what I told you about hotheads, Famine?"

"I do now."

"How could I have known _that_ ," asked The Hunter pointing towards Gus, "would be here?"

Ankou motioned towards the wall. The Hunter looked over it and saw the rows of age-old tombstones and an occasional torch-lit mausoleum of crumbling stone. They sat in a vast gray graveyard shrouded with a wispy, low-lying mist. Here and there, gnarled twisted trees stood with branches reaching sideways like black skeletal hands. "I told you where I was going with the bodies. You know the sort of creature that works with my brother. What else would have been out here?"

The Hunter reeled back and screamed. He pulled the net off the ghoul, who then stood and stretched. He was holding a severed arm in the hand that had been pinned under him. He regarded it with some concern. "I was going to take this home for dinner tonight. It's too mangled to do anything with now!" With disgust, he threw the limb over the wall and into the graveyard. A small group of startled bats flew from the tree it landed near and fluttered off into the night.

"You're not going to get away with this, you stinking sack of rotted flesh! You used your family connections to get yourself ahead again!"

"I did nothing of the sort. Like my nephew said, you were stupid. Now, I suggest you and your boyfriend there depart before my brother comes out."

Gus and Famine chuckled at Ankou's remark. The Hunter scowled, drew back, and got back on his horse. "We'll meet again someday and when we do, it'll be _me_ who'll make the fool of _you_!"

"Somehow I don't think that's going to happen, but go ahead and think what you want." Ankou coolly replied.

"You admit you're a fool!" teased Famine.

"Goodbye, Hunter."

With a scream of rage and disgust, Ankou's competitors ascended into the cloudy night sky. Gus walked over to the cart, looked over the pile of corpses in the back, and nodded with approval.

"Ooh, you got some nice ones! Virus victims! A few of them are already rotted! I'm like a kid in a candy store when it comes to this stuff. Nothing like a festered corpse to make the night complete."

"I thought you'd like that. Plus, my brother will have a field day with all the souls. Your pantry will be stocked for a while, Famine." "Hopefully, there'll be a few extra sweet ones. I know they're bad for me, but they taste so good."

The door in the nearest mausoleum opened and a figure emerged. It was the Grim Reaper. His cowl was down revealing his shiny skull. _Looks like he took the trouble of polishing the old dome_ , thought Ankou, _he must be in a good mood_. He floated over the cart and surveyed Ankou's catch. "Had a nice night I see, brother. This'll keep Gus and me busy for a while. What was all that damned noise just now?"

"Just some loud mouthed jackass. Uncle Ankou had to shut him up."

"Oh?"

"You know how it is. Rowdy locals. Some people just don't know when to be quiet."

The Reaper nodded and motioned to Gus. "Let's get started. We have a long night ahead. The sooner we finish the better."

The ghoul began to grab bodies and carry them to the smaller mausoleum in the graveyard. The Reaper followed suit. He stopped to say something to one of the stone gargoyles near the entryway. The winged beast moved awkwardly forward and out into the cemetery. It flew to the carriage with an uncanny grace, took a body, and went off into the night sky with a garbled shriek. Seemed that Gus wasn't the only one getting an extra treat tonight. The Reaper liked giving his pets something under the table now and then. It builds the bond, he often said. Famine looked over to Ankou who was chuckling to himself and stroking his chin. "Do you really believe that guy will show his face again?"

"Oh, I should think so. That kind doesn't stay quiet for long." "That doesn't seem to bother you."

"Why should it? I'm looing forward to it!"

# EPISODE THREE:

FAMINE'S WHEELS

Ankou's horse-drawn wooden cart raced down the dark, lonely road at breakneck speed pursuing its screaming victim. The driver roared with maniacal laughter, his eyes glowing bright against his emaciated face. Beside him sat Famine. His flowing black cloak whipped around him like gigantic raven's wings in the wagon's windy wake. He also laughed at the sight of the man in fancy tattered clothes running from the wagon. Every now and then, he would let out a bark-like cheer while shaking his skeletal hands in the air above his head.

"Get him, Uncle! Get him now!" screamed Famine.

Ankou took out his black whip and lashed it out towards the running victim. The tether wrapped itself around and lifted the man off the ground with ease. The body went limp as a rag doll as Ankou threw it over his shoulder and into the back of his chariot. He quickly wrapped up the whip, blew on it like a cowboy would his smoking gun and slowed down.

"Ah, good ol' Whippy. You never fail me, girl," Ankou said as he put it away.

"You couldn't think of a better name than Whippy?" asked Famine, incredulously. "Well, I'm not a very creative person. Although I once had a vanity plate that read 'I Break for Corpses' but I thought it was a little too wild for my tastes and got rid of it."

"You're a real rebel, Uncle Ankou. "

Ankou laughed. He glanced up at the shining full moon then at an hourglass on the driver's side floor of his cart. The sands were quickly leaving the upper reservoir. "Better get this body home so your father can prepare it for dinner tonight. I hope he's pleased with this one. I always end up with someone he hates."

"Yeah, he enjoys feasting on those he likes. He says they have a better flavor."

"You'd think being around souls all day, he'd be sick of them. Oh well, maybe it'll meet his standards."

"Just do what you can. Food is food in the end."

"From your mouth to his ear."

Within a few minutes, the cart had pulled into the misty cemetery where a large crumbling gray mausoleum stood. Two torches blazed on either side of the entryway, illuminating the cracks and crevices of the stone, making them appear to be tortured faces.

Dinner was in the works, and the last thing either of them wanted was to keep him waiting. Ankou got out, grabbed the body from the back of the cart, threw it over his shoulder and went in. Famine jumped down and ran towards the cemetery. He stopped suddenly. He had left something in the carriage. He went back and picked up a skull from the passenger side. There were still scraps of bloody flesh and gristle attached to the bone, along with a protruding opaque eyeball.

"A treat for the dog. He's going love it."

He was headed back to the cemetery when the mausoleum door opened and Ankou stepped out. He had taken off his hat and cloak and now only wore his usual all black suit. He dodged the torch flames when they suddenly arched towards him in the blowing wind. "Famine, child!"

"Yes?"

Ankou looked nervously back into the mausoleum and then back at his nephew. "I forgot the wine for dinner. In all of our excitement, it slipped my feeble old mind. Your mother doesn't care, but big brother doesn't think we can start without it. He ran out of his own."

Famine couldn't figure out why Ankou had told him this. He waited a few more seconds then his uncle finally let it out.

"I need you to ride down to the Vampyre's Cask and get a bottle of his blood Chardonnay."

Famine looked around him to see if Ankou was talking to some other creature of folklore that might be milling about the cemetery. He saw none. The question had to be asked. "What? Me?"

"Yes, you. I managed to talk your folks into letting you take the cart down the road."

He'd had been waiting for this. Sure, it wasn't his _own_ death-mobile, but it was a start and then it wouldn't be long now before he started having soul-collecting runs to himself. He thought of the freedom he would have when he did finally manage to get this piece of adulthood. Trying not to sound too surprised and excited, he stuck the skull under his arm. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Ankou straightened up, grabbed the lapels of his vest with both hands, and smiled. "Well, with my charm and charisma..."

"No, really, how did you do it?"

Ankou's face fell, his eyes lost a bit of glow. "I told them I'd come with you."

Still not so bad, Famine thought. He'd still be at the reins. Besides, there were worse people he could be seen with, like some common demon. "Okay, let's go. I just need to give the dog his treat before we leave."

"He's in the house...your folks let him in a while ago. Go give it to him and I'll wait for you in the cart."

Famine ran inside the mausoleum. A ghostly green fire burned in the hearth. He could never understand his mother's need to have one going when it did none of them any good. Constant reminders of the family's unusual pedigree fell on deaf ears, so no one ever bothered pursuing the matter any further.

Cŵn Annwn was resting near the fireplace, his mangy tail feebly wagged and his cloudy gray eyes danced when Famine squatted and offered him the skull. "I'll leave it right here for you, boy." He gave the dog a quick pat on the head and started towards the door. He could hear Llorona in the next room setting up her easel and paints. She was going to do a family portrait later. The least he could do was let her know he was leaving. "I'm going with Uncle Ankou now!"

"OK! Be careful driving that old jalopy! Not that I think you'll be breaking any speed records or anything. "

"Will do!"

"Don't tell Ankou I said that! You know how he feels about the damned thing. He's proud of it. You know a man and his pride, it's bigger than Dallas, as I've heard humans say."

He didn't know what the hell a Dallas was, but humored his mother anyway. Famine laughed, closed the front door, and stepped out into the cold night air. Funny how such elements bothered him even though they should not. That's the price you pay when there's a little ex-human in you, he supposed. Ankou sat in the passenger side waiting patiently. Famine got in beside him and took the reins. "You're not wearing your hat and cloak?"

"Nah, we're just going down the road. Not like anyone's going to see. Anyway, that old Nosferatu at the wine store doesn't care what you wear as long as you buy some of his stuff."

"I thought he was an old friend of yours, why does it bother you to buy from him?"

"He is and it doesn't. We just give each other a hard time. Now let's get going. Last thing I need is your father on my ass."

"Ass? Did you just say ass? That's downright profane coming from _you_."

"Yeah," he continued, "those adults were right, I am easily influenced!" Famine chuckled, clicked his tongue and tugged on the reigns. The cart lurched forward suddenly, slowed down, and then lurched forward again.

"Watch it, child. Ease up on the reins."

Famine nodded and pulled more gently this time. The cart's pace slowed and leveled out and soon it was going down the dusty road towards the monster equivalent of town. They had gone for a minute without talking. Ankou hummed to himself and tapped his skeletal hands on his knee. Famine found this a little distracting and decided to break the awkward silence.

"So, Uncle, do you think I can ever take the wagon out by myself to hunt?"

Ankou chuckled. "One thing at a time there, child. I'm sure that your folks have better things in mind for you than being another me."

"But dad's a collector like you." "No, not like me. He's an artist in his profession. He has flair and style. I have...well...you see what I have. I think they would like you to follow in his footsteps instead of mine."

"I know. There's more rigidity in what he does than the corpses he leaves behind. I don't know if I want to be part of all that. Your job is more fun. "

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of my work."

"It's not just your work. You're fun, too."

Ankou laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, well, you have a point there. But your father can let loose with the best of them. You just haven't seen his other sides."

Famine shrugged his shoulders. "I guess not."

"But to answer your question, I say just see what happens. You never know what time brings. Just look at us now. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd have you with me, I'd told them they were crazy."

"Death's funny, yeah Uncle?"

"Never have truer words been spoken." Famine fell silent. The wall of thick swirling fog that separated the realms was just ahead. Famine guided the cart as best he could through the blinding mists. Within seconds, they had entered the Borderlands, the world of monsters and mythological beings. They rode a little further and soon approached a winding earthen street lined with slanted wood buildings and a handful of decaying stone tombs. From within the former, ghostly yellow light poured out onto the road. Human and non-human shadows moved around the lights while shrieks, groans, and maniacal laughter echoed from within the abodes. The same dense cloud that constantly enveloped the cemetery also seemed to "live" here among the squalid little town. Ankou pointed to a shop on the right hand side of the lane.

"It's over here. Just pull up and I'll run in and grab the wine."

Famine stopped the cart in front of a more maintained looking shack with an elegantly hand painted sign above the door. A crimson script proclaimed the name of the business: The Vampyre's Cask, Fine Food for the Spirits. Ankou stepped out of the carriage and started towards the door.

"Can't I come in, Uncle?

"No, I'm afraid not. Strict rules. You have to be five hundred to go in."

"Who's going to know?"

"What if someone saw you go in with me? That would ruin your family's reputation and put a stop to our hunts." Famine relinquished. "Alright. This sucks."

"Don't let that old vampire hear you say that. He's sensitive about his eating habits. Anyway, I'll just be a few minutes." Ankou opened the creaky door and stepped in.

Famine sighed. He gave the horses a pat on their skeletal heads while scanning the neighborhood. There was plenty going on within the various businesses and homes, but no one on the street. He had leaned back and folded his arms over his chest when he heard faint singing coming from down the street. It wasn't like any singing he had ever heard, though. It sounded like someone was crying. The voice was female and had a high, mournful, and soft tone that both scared and soothed him. As the crying got closer, he could see movement in the fog directly ahead of the cart. Within a few seconds, a discernable human form took shape and glided towards the horses. Famine leaned forward, squinted, and called out. "Who the hell's there?"

He got no response except for the continued wailing song. He was about to shout again when the mists were parted and the source of this noise stood only a couple of feet away from the carriage. Floating there, much to Famine's amazement was a tall statuesque young woman in a flowing white gown. Her great beauty struck him as he sat there taking in all of her mystifying presence.

She had long dark green hair that floated around her head like her tattered gown. Her skin was a slightly glowing light blue and her eyes were a pale yellow that had a faint aura about them. She had delicate facial features that reminded him of the royal women that he had seen in paintings. Her etherealness had him gobsmacked. She spoke. Her accent was distinctly British, a plus in his book.

"I've nothing to do with hell, sweetie. Although many people say that I'm a warning that you're headed there. I guess everyone's entitled to their own opinions."

Famine finally found his voice. He did his best to make it sound a bit more masculine than his normal tone. He didn't want her to think him a little boy. "That's a bit unfair."

"I guess. But that's how it is."

"People don't look at us the same as they do themselves. We're like them down deep."

The girl's face seemed to become brighter and there was a hint of a smile. "I'm always saying that, but my mother thinks it's all bollocks-"

"It's all what?" Famine asked.

"Bollocks. I think you might call it...uhm...what's the word? Uhm. Bullshit as humans say?"

Famine felt stupid and could not find anything the right words. "Oh, yeah! Bollocks!"

"Anyway, as I was saying, she thinks we should just all float around scaring worthwhile mortals, snatching the classiest souls, and being glamorous in general. What kind of way is that to exist? Right boring if you ask me."

"My parents are the same way. They can be really stubborn sometimes. They forget what it was like to be in their hundreds. My uncle is cool, though, he understands."

"Lucky you. I'm Morrigan, by the way."

"I'm Famine."

Morrigan perked up a bit. "You're related to the Apocalypse family?"

"Oh no, just named after one of them. My father is a friend with the real guy. I think he works with him sometime."

"I see. Your father must be important to know people like that."

"He is, I just don't like to brag about my family."

Morrigan moved closer, examining the cart with great interest. She reached out and stroked its rotten wood frame with her long fingers. "Is this a death wagon?"

Famine was surprised at her knowledge. It took him a couple of seconds to reply. "Yeah, it is."

"Is it yours," she asked with slight amazement, "I mean, do you take this out yourself to collect poor unsuspecting souls?"

Here was the potential to make an impression and a friend. There was a part of himself that he wanted to share with someone, and this young lady seemed a great candidate. Having someone to connect with was what he missed the most. Sure, The Reaper, Llorona, and Ankou were great to be with, but they were all older than him. There had to be more to death than hanging around a dank mausoleum all day. She wasn't a handsome young man but that was fine. A friend is a friend. He thought for a second. First impressions are the best. _Ah to hell with it, I'll just say it is._ "Uh, it is mine. I don't think it's all that great, but it gets the job done."

"You're a modest one, Famine. I think most beings your age would have let this go straight their heads, but you don't. I like that."

Famine tried to keep his nonchalant demeanor. "Thank you. I'm glad you noticed. I've collected over four thousand spirits so far and I've earned the attention and admiration of the Reaper but I don't let it change me. I keep myself grounded because it makes everything easier."

He smiled.

She smiled back.

What now? Before he could think of anything, she nodded and talked with enthusiasm.

"So you _do_ collect souls. This is exciting. There aren't that many of us Omens out there."

"It's nothing, really. I'm not just all about work, though. I like to have fun."

"I bet you're the wild one, sweetie. Guess all young guys are. Doesn't matter," Morrigan said. "All that aside, you know the Reaper. I'd say that was something." "

Yeah, he's alright. Not as thrilling in person as you might think, but I guess all celebrities are like that." Way to go there. Just malign your father and the most powerful being in folklore and myth. Nothing bad could ever come of it. Besides, he'll never know.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"I just started actually."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, I love it! The chase can be an exciting experience. I know I'm going to catch them, but the thrill of pursuit makes me feel energized and...absolutely alive, to use a human phrase. When I finally collect the soul, I have this feeling of pride knowing that _I'm_ the one who got it." _Damn I sound just like Ankou_ Famine thought.

"It's good to take such pride in your work. Shows you care. I wish could go out and do things on my own like you, but my mother doesn't think I'm ready yet. I think I am."

"That's too bad. What do you do?"

The girl seemed surprised at Famine's question. She answered him as if she were answering someone who had asked something very obvious. "I'm a Death Omen! I warn people that they're going to die. Didn't I just say that?"

Famine suddenly felt stupid. "Oh, that's right!"

Morrigan seemed a bit offended. She put her hands on her hips in mock defiance. "What? Do you think I was some sort of second-class demon?"

"Oh, no no! I just didn't think. I do that sometimes."

She didn't think that he really understood. Morrigan moved closer to where Famine sat, looking into his eyes. She regarded his expression for a few seconds. "Silly boy. I guess it doesn't take too much wit to do what you do. Makes me wonder now if soul catching is all it's cracked up to be."

"What? Are you saying I'm stupid?"

"No. I'm saying that youth and ill judgment go hand in hand. It's appealing to an extent. Well, it is in you to a degree."

Famine didn't know if he should be flattered or offended. He decided to let it go. "Thanks...I think."

"Anytime. Do you think I could drive your cart? I think that would be fun. I've never driven on one of them before. In fact, I've never _driven._ "

This one's pushy. If I say no, she might go away then all hope for a new friend is gone and I'm back in the graveyard talking to weeds and bats again. Just say yes. What's the worse that could happen? There was really nothing to lose. "Sure, I don't see why not."

Morrigan smiled broadly, her eyes met Famine's and flickered. _Oh, shit, I need to make myself clear._ "But just not now."

Her smile faded, the flicker disappeared. That's the worst that could happen and it did. Say something to make her feel better.

"I mean I'm actually on a job. I'm waiting on this night creature to join me. I'm teaching it how to scare people."

She didn't look so disappointed anymore. Her tone was more apologetic than her words. "Oh I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's alright. You can still take it for a spin later." "I wouldn't get in the way of your work?"

"Nah, I'll take a night off and we can just go around doing whatever you want."

"Couldn't I catch at least one soul? I want to know what's like, I don't care " Morrigan said imitating an adult in a haughty voice, " _how unbecoming a lady_ it is."

"Sure."

Morrigan turned away and sat beside Famine on the passenger side of the carriage. She glanced over into the shop windows to her right then leaned in and spoke in his ear. Her voice was firm. "Just to let you know, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I hope you don't think I'm trying to...what's the expression humans use? Uhm...pick you up?"

He hadn't thought about what his attempt at trying to gain friendship looked like to her. As beautiful as she was, he just wasn't interested in her _that_ way. At least she didn't seem to overtly notice his Other Nature.

"No! I don't like you like that. I mean you're beautiful and all but I just need a friend. I don't have any. It gets lonely doing what I do. There's no one my age to talk to. I hope that doesn't sound too needy."

Morrigan turned to face him, a smile across her face. "Not at all, sweetie. I would still love to meet your father, though. I've followed his work since I was very young."

"I think I can manage that. Maybe you could come over and have one of his famous meals."

"The Reaper cooks? Impressive. I'm a little tied up for the time being, so I don't know when I could do that."

Famine could not believe what had just happened. Just an hour ago, he was out getting dinner with Ankou, now here he had just made a new friend. Hell, he had just made his _first_ friend. Things change quickly and unpredictably in his life. Just when he thought he had everything figured out, here came a new experience to change the way he thought about existence.

"Then, it's a date."

Morrigan gave him a curious look. He quickly corrected himself. "I mean, its not. It's...something...I guess."

Just then, the door to the wine store opened and Ankou came out muttering to himself carrying a bottle under his arm. Morrigan quickly rose from her seat and floated beside one of the horses. Ankou was still talking when he noticed her. "...money hungry blood sucker....wine cheaper at Ghost-Way...he better like this. Well, hello there young lady!"

"Hello, sir."

"Famine, child, who is your lovely friend?"

"Uh, this is Morrigan."

Ankou extended his hand towards her. She reached out and shook it while smiling. "I'm Ankou, delighted to meet you."

Morrigan glanced at Famine, then the wagon, to Ankou. " _The_ Ankou _?_ " she asked.

Ankou looked positively happy with himself suddenly. "The one and only."

"Pleased to meet _you_ , sir. It's an honor and a privilege," Morrigan said before directing her attention to Famine, "So, this isn't your wagon?"

Famine was totally dumbstruck. His face registered surprise and embarrassment. He took his time to answer. "No, it belongs to my uncle here."

What came from her mouth next also came as a shock. She wasn't angry. "Oh my, your uncle is the Ankou. I've never met supernatural royalty before. I mean, that's what you guys are like to the rest of us Omens."

"What? Really? Royalty?" Ankou asked flustered.

She moved a bit closer to he wagon and now faced Famine. "Yes. You're part of a proud and famous family that's feared and admired all over. I didn't expect to ever run into any of you."

"So, you're not angry because I lied about the wagon?"

"No. You're not the first guy to lie to impress a girl, happens all the time with them. Besides, I wouldn't have believed you about driving _The Ankou's_ cart."

Famine thought more quickly now. "I didn't lie about everything. I _do_ go out hunting, though. Isn't that right, Uncle?"

Ankou was quick to reply. His face was now one that showed great pride. "Indeed, Miss Morrigan, he does. We were just out not long ago. You should have seen him get that villager. He's a natural."

"I'm sure he is."

A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Famine didn't feel as if he had a mass the size of a boulder in his throat any longer. "So, are you still coming over?"

Before Morrigan could respond, he remembered Ankou. "Oh, Uncle, I asked Morrigan to meet Pop if that's okay. She's a fan."

"Fine with me, child. I'm sure he'd be happy to have such a nice guest."

Famine looked back at Morrigan. "Is that going to be a yes?" "I'd be thrilled."

They both smiled. Ankou stepped into the cart and put the bottle of wine next to his feet. "I hate to sound like rude, but we need to be getting off, Miss Morrigan. We have a previous dinner engagement we need to get to. I hope you understand."

"Certainly. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Ankou."

Ankou laughed hoarsely. "Likewise and please just call me Ankou. All that mister stuff is so formal and tight. I may pick up corpses, but I'm not as stiff as one."

"Very well, Ankou. You have a peaceful night."

She looked now at Famine, who was readying the carriage for departure. She didn't want to sound too silly. She decided to play her "high-society" voice as her mother called it. "Nice meeting you as well, Famine. It's been a pleasure. I'm sure we're going to get along wonderfully."

"I hope so, Morrigan," Famine said rubbing his neck, "It'll be nice to have friends over. Hell, it'll be nice to have anyone over."

Morrigan shook her head in approval. "Better get going. You have somewhere to be, remember?"

He nodded towards her, yanked on the reins, and clicked his tongue and the cart moved down the road. Just as they were out of town, Ankou leaned in towards his nephew.

"Doing quite well there, child. You'd almost think you'd been driving this cart for a long time. Did pretty well with your new friend, too."

"Thanks, Uncle. I'm glad I have your support on everything."

"I'm glad to give it," Ankou said before leaning back to his sitting position, "you _do_ know whose family Miss Morrigan belongs to, right?"

Famine had no clue about that or why his uncle asked him the question in the first place. "Uhm no, not really. Does it matter?"

"If you want her to get along with _our_ family, it does. Think, child. What was she doing when you met her?"

"Singing. Sort of. Sounded more like crying now that I think about it." "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh, I see. What did she said she did?"

"She's a Death Omen."

Famine was expecting a response but Ankou said nothing. If anything, he was good at prodding enough to make things clearer. It looked like Famine was by himself at guessing this one. He sat there with two phrases repeating in his head: _crying_ and _omen of death_. These things have something in common, now what was it? Did it have something to do with her line of work? No, she didn't work Famine remembered. _It has to do with her family, kid._ _What do these things have to do with them?_ Then it hit him. It wasn't as much as what they did but as to _whom_ they were. "The Banshee!"

Ankou let out his characteristic laugh. "You know how your mother feels about her. I shouldn't worry about it, though."

"Oh really? I just invited over the enemy of the family for dinner and there's nothing to worry about?"

"No. I wouldn't call them enemies as pains in the other's ass, anyway. There are egos even in the sprit world that clash. One weeping woman thinks she's better than the other. One gets more attention. So on and so on."

"I hope you're right. Last thing we need is trouble."

"Where's all that fiery attitude you had when we met that wanker ghost rider? You'll shout ass and cuss him all kinds of ways, but you're afraid of a girl and her folks?"

"It's weird, I know." Ankou shrugged and leaned back. "Ah, like I said, don't worry. In the least, I think it will make a hell of a dinner party."

# EPISODE FOUR:

DEAD LIGHT

Famine stepped out of the family mausoleum and examined the mist-enshrouded cemetery with narrowed eyes. A small cluster of bats flew from the branches of a twisted dead tree nearest the building and disappeared into the night. His face was a mask of concern and anxiety as he wrung his narrow hands in frustration. If he had a beating heart, it would be leaping out of his chest at the moment. The full moon tried in vain to penetrate the swirling low-lying fog in the graveyard. He wished the same light would break through his veil of apprehension and make him feel better.

Morrigan suddenly appeared behind him and tapped his shoulder. He yelped in surprise.

"Ye Gods!" he screamed

Morrigan giggled as she pulled the large collar of her shimmering blue dress around her face. She floated a few inches above the crumbling stone steps of the mausoleum's entryway near him. "Not anxious, are you?" she asked mockingly.

Famine was dressed in a long ruffled white cloak, his hair sticking out in tangles from beneath the hood. He had matching trousers and a coat to go with it. This was not his usual attire. It was too hoity-toity, but he wanted to make a good impression on Morrigan's folks. He, The Reaper, and Llorona would be meeting them in a restaurant later in the evening. He clutched his chest, displacing and flattening the frills of the cloak. Morrigan's jest was ignored. "Please don't sneak up on me like that! I still scare!"

"Sorry about that. I thought you heard me coming."

Famine spun around to face her with a look of confusion. "How could I hear you? You don't make any noise! You're a ghost!"

Morrigan floated towards a rickety wooden cart parked on the winding mud road in front of the building. She threw up a hand dismissively and called out over her shoulder. "Stop your yapping and let's get going. That road test isn't going to go away, you dramatic little boy."

Famine sighed and joined Morrigan as they took their seats in the cart. He gave the reins a quick yank and the skeletal gray horses snorted and began their trot down the dirt path. All around them, the creatures of the evening sang their songs. All manner of chirps, whistles, groans, and screams resonated in the air. The gnarled branches of the black trees looked as if they were directing Famine towards the Registry of Otherworldly Transport (ROT).

Morrigan patted the elegant bun into which her green hair had been pulled. She had even wrapped it in a string of pearls she borrowed from her mother. While she hated extravagance as much as Famine did, it was nice to be different from time to time. She shot a glance at her friend. His silence was unnatural and annoying. He just hummed an unfamiliar tune as he kept his gaze fixed on the road. Morrigan loudly cleared her throat in protest to his self-absorbed funk.

"Do you need a lozenge?" Famine asked flatly.

"No, I don't. I just hate all this quiet. It's weird."

"It's not quiet. I can hear the forest beasts."

Morrigan crossed her arms across her chest and gave Famine a stern look. He didn't notice. Might as well be talking to a wall she thought. She cast her glance back ahead and softened her tone. "That's not what I meant, sweetie. I know you're nervous about the night but staying quiet won't help. Talk and get your mind off things."

"I wish your mother would've taken The Reaper up on a nice home cooked meal instead of going out to eat. I'm worried about what'll happen at that fancy restaurant. I don't want anything to happen between our folks that'll ruin our friendship."

Morrigan uncrossed her arms and nodded. "I know," she said seriously, "She's obsessed with these stupid things. She said that Friday nights are when the most important monsters come out. She'd never be seen someplace where she wasn't the most important woman in the room."

Famine said nothing. The cart was approaching the wall of fog that separated The Deadlands, the realm of death and all things pertaining to it, from the Borderlands, the realm of the supernatural beings. He hated going through the portal because it was cold and disorienting. It felt as if his head were swimming and his body was being pulled in a million different directions. He sullied on and drove the cart through the wall. Within a few seconds, the passing was complete and they were in a world far different than the one they had just left.

The countryside in the Borderlands was filled with towering oaks, winding cobblestone roads, and had a lighter, drier air. Death was always so dreary and cold. The supernaturals, on the other hand, were much more upbeat and liked things more lively. A small stone wall lined each side of the road. The moon illuminated everything in a stark white light. He could see so much more and enjoy the details of the world he barely ventured into.

Famine pointed a gloved finger towards an upcoming fork in the road. "The ROT should be a few miles beyond that point."

"I hope you get a good examiner. I've heard that some of them are real scary."

"That's just talk. I'm sure they're all good. People just like making things worse than they really are. Wouldn't be as interesting otherwise."

Morrigan made a face of disgust as she thought about what might be riding in the cart very soon. If she had learned anything from the Banshee, it was to hate the ugly. She didn't like herself for having such a nasty attitude but at least it was only one inherited attribute. "I hope it's not some zombie! Maybe it'll be someone handsome and nice," she said thoughtfully.

The thought of that brought a slight smile to Famine's face. "We'll have to see what happens. It'll probably be boring."

"Just as long as we're not late. My mother would be livid. The woman's so uptight...she's never in the mood to loosen up and have any fun."

The last half of her statement seemed to be a poignant afterthought in Famine's mind. He hated that his dear new friend lived under such tight controls. True, he had been forced into exile for a long time, but at least he could be himself. Poor Morrigan had to live up to an image that she could never enjoy. "Someone should teach her then."

"People like her never learn anything, honey. She's comfortable where she is and she'll stay that way forever."

"Things have a weird way of changing before you know it. You never know when something unexpected will happen."

Morrigan shrugged. "Meh, I guess so."

Famine had just taken the left path at the fork and driven a few yards when the ROT appeared from behind a crop of enormous oaks. The building was a gigantic Gothic castle complete with towering spires, tiny elongated windows, gray stones, and a moat with a drawbridge. A tiny wooden booth stood at the end of the road that lead to the castle. A grumpy, ancient-looking hag with a shock of wild white hair and large crooked nose sat inside watching a small black and white television. As the cart approached, she angrily shut off the set and leaned out to speak. Her voice was stereotypically witch to the point of being offensive.

"Tee-hee-hee! Welcome to the Borderlands Registry of Otherworldly Transportation! I'm Grizelda, how may I direct you today? Damn, I hate this job."

Famine gave Morrigan a perplexed look as if to say 'did she really say that'? He took out a sheet of paper from beneath one of his ruffles. He started to hand it to Grizelda but she waved it away with a gnarled hand.

"I don't want to see that. What are you here for?"

"Yeah, I'm here to take the road test. My name is..."

"I don't give a flying fuck who you are, kiddie. Just go in."

Grizelda pushed a button hidden somewhere near her television. A loud and piercing beeping noise tore apart the relatively silent night as the drawbridge lowered. Famine gave Grizelda a nervous smile, put the paper back, and picked up the reins. Morrigan leaned over and grinned at the old witch.

"Thanks so much for your help, ma'am. You've been too nice!"

Grizelda gave Morrigan a double take before she sneered and turned the television back on. Famine could hear that she was watching some news program about witches' liberation and equal rights for older hags. The old thing didn't seem the type who'd protest and wave signs but it took all kinds to make the Borderlands go around.

Morrigan peered up at the castle's towers with fascination. She had never seen such architecture. Her family resided in a more conservative castle. The Banshee would probably love calling this fortress home. The reason for being there suddenly pushed its way into her mind.

"What time is your appointment?" she asked.

Famine glanced down at his watch. "In about ten minutes. I hope we're done quickly. The sooner we're done here, the sooner it'll all be over with. Maybe we can go out for some ice scream cones after."

Morrigan nodded in agreement as Famine parked the cart a few feet from the entrance of the ROT. Famine sighed one last time and the two went inside. The waiting room of the ROT was stark and utilitarian. It was a large rectangular shaped room with beaten-up plastic chairs, black tiled floors, and drably painted beige walls. Oil lanterns and torches lined the rough stone walls; they served as central light. There were a menagerie of monsters, demons, and spectral beings waiting their turn to be called for testing; they had blank and bored looks on their faces. Some read out-of-date magazines while others listened to music on their seventies-style headphones. Famine and Morrigan sat on a small wooden bench near the front entrance so they could get out as quickly as possible.

"I hate these places," said Famine, "They're so dull and ugly." A second later he added, "Speaking of ugly, how do I look? I'd hate to take a bad picture.

Morrigan rummaged through a small clutch purse sitting on her lap and fished out a golden compact. She handed it to Famine with relish. "See for yourself, sweetie."

Famine let down the hood of his cloak, ran his fingers through his hair, and grimaced as he examined himself in the mirror. "Ugh, my hair looks awful!"

"You have great hair! Look at mine," Morrigan said pointing to her head. "It's green!"

"I guess so. Good hair must run in the family. Llorona's is divine. I'm sure the Reaper's would be if he had any."

He returned the compact to Morrigan and put the hood back up. He glanced at the front counter to see if anyone was coming their way. No one was. Everyone was still busy with their own doings. Morrigan saw Famine fidgeting with the ruffles of his sleeves and decided he needed some distracting conversation. That always got the mind off worrisome matters. He barely spoke of the times before he had come to The Deadlands. She was curious to know more and now seemed to be a good time.

"Say, do you remember your family? I mean your _real_ family?" she asked.

"You mean my human family?"

Morrigan nodded.

"No, not really. The Reaper erased most of my memory of the time I was human. He said that it was better that I was kept in the dark about certain things. I still remember bits and pieces about the place I grew up. It was a swamp, I think. But that's about it." Famine answered.

"That must be terrible, not knowing where you came from."

Famine said nothing for a bit; he stared out of the window at the swirling mists outside. "I do catch little glimpses of faces in dreams sometimes. They're not really in focus and they come and go so quick that I can't tell anything about them."

Morrigan moved closer to Famine. "So you do dream. You're the first person I've met that says that."

"You don't dream?"

"I have these off images pop into my mind every now and then. It's not really dreaming because I don't sleep. I don't need to."

Famine pushed Morrigan gently off him and looked into her eyes. She wasn't like any other being he had encountered in The Deadlands. She seemed deeper and more thoughtful than the soul collectors in his existence. Plus, she knew of his other nature and liked him just the same. Telling her had taken a huge load off his mind. He had been afraid she'd act with repulsion and leave. It was a shame he was so deceitful about procuring her friendship. All those white lies he had told her those few weeks ago had seemed to work. She didn't care what he had done, but he felt guilty about it. He wanted to know as much about her as she did about him.

"What about you? Do you ever wonder where you came from?"

Morrigan sat back upright and straightened out her gown. "I don't need to wonder, honey, I've always been here. I've always known the Banshee and my father, Azazel. I assume I was created for the same reason they were."

"That's sort of grim."

"Yeah, but that's how things are."

Famine was about to speak when a tall, strong looking woman in a sleek black business suit approached them. She was extremely pale with a full but attractive face, a headful of curly fire-red hair piled high in her head, and sparkling green eyes. Her voice was sharp as she read the papers attached to the clipboard she carried. "Famine? Are you Famine?"

Famine nodded and rose from the bench. "Yes ma'am."

"It's time for the road test, kindly follow me."

She looked up from her clipboard to see Famine. Her eyes widened and she let out and audible gasp as she took a step back. Famine didn't think he looked that bad. Perhaps his hair did need some work he thought. The woman's tone became sharper. "Do I know you? You look very familiar."

Famine shook his head. He had never seen this lady before tonight. He didn't like her tone but she had asked a perfectly normal question. "No, I don't think so."

The woman looked unsure. She eyed Famine suspiciously before returning her attention to the papers in her hand. She had softened her tone but still sounded curt. "You look just like someone I once knew. The resemblance is uncanny. It's a little scary."

"I'm sorry. I must have one of those faces."

The woman nodded and stepped forward. "I apologize for my reaction. Your appearance just took me by surprise. I'm Angelique; I'll be the examiner tonight. Where is your vehicle?"

Famine pointed towards the front of the room. "It's right out there."

"Let's go, then."

Famine followed Angelique as she started towards the front door. Morrigan got up right behind Famine. Angelique whipped around and pointed towards her. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay here, young woman. It's against the rules for anyone other than the tester to be in the vehicle."

Famine turned to Morrigan. "Please, can't she come? Morrigan's like my good luck charm, she'll help me feel less nervous."

"I'm sorry, it's strictly against policy."

Morrigan decided it was time to play a card to convince Angelique likewise. It was the first time she had done it but it still felt weird. "My mother, The Banshee would have a problem with that. She's not a policy type of woman."

Angelique sneered and sighed. "I see. Let's not have the Banshee upset."

Morrigan smiled and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you! I'll tell her you were nice!"

Famine gave her a puzzled look. He whispered as Angelique went out the door. "What was that about? Does she really have that much pull?"

"Her money does."

Famine turned and left. Angelique followed and was making her way across the parking lot. They scrambled to catch up to the fast moving woman. As they got nearer to her, Famine pointed to the cart parked near a decrepit dusty stagecoach. "It's there," he said.

"A cart? A bit old fashioned for someone your age, isn't it?" Angelique asked.

"It's my uncle's. He let me use it for the test."

Angelique said nothing as she hopped into the passenger seat. Famine followed suit as Morrigan took a seat on a bench in the back of the cart. He was about to take the reins when Angelique stopped him. "Before we get started you need to show me a few things on this vehicle."

Famine let the reigns fall as Angelique consulted her clipboard. She took out a pen and started writing. "Where are the brakes?" she asked.

Famine picked up the reigns again and motioned upwards. "I use these and give the horses a command."

Angelique nodded and kept writing. "Are there any lights on the vehicle?"

"No. My uncle doesn't need them."

Angelique gave Famine a skeptical gaze. "Really? There are no emergency torches or any other flame or lighting device onboard?"

"No."

Angelique finished writing and pointed towards the drawbridge. "Let's go. I want you to pull out and take the road in front of this building. Once we're out there, take a left. Oh, Miss Morrigan, please keep quiet. You're here as an observer. Consider it a privilege."

Morrigan said nothing. She motioned across her mouth as if she were zipping it. Famine nervously yanked on the reigns and drove the cart over the drawbridge. Angelique gave Grizelda a wave as they passed her to get onto the main road. Famine stopped the cart, looked both ways down the road, and began driving towards The Deadlands. He wondered if Llorona was undergoing a similar trial by fire with The Banshee.

*

Half an hour later, Angelique was writing feverishly on the clipboard and she hadn't looked up in the past few minutes. This made Famine nervous. What was she saying? Was he passing? He had to ask even if it sounded presumptuous. Was there was no point in being a teenager if you couldn't be annoying?

"When can I expect the license to arrive?" he asked smiling sheepishly.

Angelique said nothing. She continued staring at the papers before her. "You've successfully paralleled parked, changed lanes, and gotten in and out of the fast lane. You've shown that you can keep control of the vehicle and that you know the rules. If all else goes well, you can expect that license by the end of the week. Is your address current?"

"Yes, it's all on those forms."

Angelique went through the papers. As she was scanning the pages, her eyes flashed. She blinked, then gave Famine a look of wonder. "You live in The Deadlands?" she asked.

"Yes. I live in a cemetery in the middle of The Deadlands with my folks and my uncle."

Angelique gave the cart a once over then turned her attention back to Famine. "You mean to tell me that your uncle is The Ankou?"

"That's right," Famine nervously answered, keeping his eyes on the road, "He doesn't live in the mausoleum with us. He has his own place down the street."

"Your father, then, is the Reaper?"

Angelique was nosy. Shouldn't she be worried about his driving skills rather than his parentage? Again it was time to be bold and ask her direct questions. "That's right. Is there a problem? I mean what does that have to do with my test?"

Angelique quickly threw the clipboard out of the cart. Why the hell she did was beyond Famine's comprehension. She looked around the passing countryside with narrowed eyes. Ahead was a turn off that led to a muddy road flanked with tall leafless trees. She pointed in that direction without answering Famine. "Take the next right and go down that road."

"Why ma'am?" asked Famine asked timidly."

"Just do what I say! You want your license don't you?"

Famine gulped and nodded. He didn't remember studying for that in the manual. Morrigan had told him that the examiners make surprise requests just to see if testers had really looked at the material. However, this request seemed odd in light of the last few questions she asked him. He had a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach. This somehow didn't seem right. Since he wanted to pass and get on with his night, he saw that he had no option.

At the next right, Famine turned onto the road. There were huge puddles of murky water dotting the street. As he progressed, it got harder and harder for the horses to make their way through the mire. He glanced over at Angelique. She had not picked the clipboard up again. Instead, she kept her focus clearly ahead. The cart suddenly stopped. Famine gave the reins a quick snap and it moved slowly ahead a few feet.

Morrigan poked her head between him and Angelique with wide eyes. To hell with keeping quiet, she thought, something had to be said. "I don't think this was a good idea."

"She's right," Famine replied, "I think we should go back. We're going to get stuck if we keep going."

"I didn't ask your opinion, boy. And I told _you_ to keep your mouth shut, girl! I suggest you sit back before you find yourself on the side of this road!"

The rudeness struck Morrigan so hard that she wordlessly followed Angelique's. Famine's voice became firmer as he glanced back at his friend. "There was no call for that. I'm just saying that we may not be able to get out if we do get stuck."

Angelique turned to Famine and started at him angrily. Her eyes were blazing as she spoke through clenched teeth. "I said keep going!"

At that exact moment, the cart stopped again. Famine tried using the reins to move, but the wheels sank deeper into the stinking black mud. He could now see that the horses were stuck. They attempted in vain to pull themselves free with all the strength their skeletal bodies could muster. Famine pointed at them and shouted.

"See there! I told you! Now look at the mess we're in!"

Morrigan had once again put herself between driver and examiner. Seeing the horses struggle struck a chord with her. That only made her anger deeper. She screamed directly in Angelique's ear. "You stupid bitch!"

"Don't raise your voice to me," Angelique shouted back, "get out and push, boy!"

Famine turned and faced her with an incredulous look on his pale face. He couldn't believe what this woman had just said. It had been bad enough to put him in this situation; she now wanted him to get himself out. Morrigan shot her a venomous glare.

"What?" Famine asked.

"I said get out and push! I don't care how long it takes to get this heap out of the mud, just do it! If you really want to pass, you'll be quick."

He gave her a dirty look and hopped out of the cart. He landed in the mud with a loud squishing noise. Almost immediately he was up to his ankles in thick slimy sludge. He looked down at his pants and sighed. The muck had just ruined them. There was no way he could go into the Blue Crypt wearing dirty clothes. He moved around to the back of the cart. Each step was an effort as it was hard to pull his feet free from the vacuum the mud seemed to have.

He had just put his hands on the cart when he felt something brush his leg. He looked down to see that the mire was actually moving. It pulsed and undulated as it slapped around his feet. Suddenly a muddy tentacle shot forth from the road and wrapped itself around his right arm. Two others appeared and grabbed his legs and torso. They gripped him with incredible force; he could feel them squeezing tighter and tighter with each passing second. His mind reeled. This couldn't be real. Perhaps he was still at home in bed and was now having a nightmare. He screamed and tried to pull himself free from the tendrils. Each time he pulled, though, they seized him tighter. To his horror, tiny versions of the monstrosities had slinked their way out of the mire and had wrapped themsearound his feet. He tried calling to Morrigan despite the heavy constriction around his chest.

"Help me! Please help me!" he screamed.

In seconds, Morrigan had jumped out of the cart to help. As soon as she landed in the mud, she was entangled in the same fashion. She reached over to grab his arm but a tentacle wrapped itself around her hand.

A maniacal laughter met his ears and looked up to see Angelique rising into the air. She peered down at them with demented glee; her smile was broad and beaming. Her voice was icy. "You're not going to get any help so I suggest you shut up."

Famine gasped. _What the hell just happened?_ This weird woman had gone from a bitter bureaucrat to a scary floating bitch. As if the tentacles weren't bad enough he now had to deal with some sort of strange supernatural being. There wasn't time to think about this now. He continued struggling against the tendrils as he spoke. "What's going on? What happening? Help us!"

Angelique put her hands on her hips and spoke off-handedly. "I'm sorry but I had to subdue you. It was the only way I knew you'd listen."

" _You're_ doing this?" Morrigan screamed. She didn't seem phased by the crazy woman hovering over her.

Angelique gave her a look of disgust. "Yes, that's right little girl. Now quit squirming. If you relax, the mud will too. I need you to pay attention."

"My mother will have your ass for this!" Morrigan screamed.

Angelique floated down and hovered a few inches above the mud. She kept her hands planted on her hips and wiggled her head. "Your mother won't do squat...and it's _your_ ass that _I_ have. _I'm_ the one with the upper hand."

Famine's face contorted in anger. He continued fighting against the tentacles. "I've been threatened by better villains than you, you stupid whore. Let us go if you know what's good for you."

"I don't respond well to threats, child," Angelique said moving behind her two captives, "you seem to think you're dealing with an idiot. I assure you I am not an idiot."

Morrigan turned her head to face Angelique. "Forget my mother, _I'm_ going to kick your skinny ass."

Angelique laughed. "I'd like to see you try, Sort of hard to fight when you're tied up. I told you two to stop squirming. The tentacles will soften their grip and we can get this over with."

Famine had grown tired of fighting the tentacles anyway. He stopped pulling against them and looked up at Angelique with rage in his eyes. "Say what you have to say, bitch."

"Now, now that's no way to talk to your elders. You must respect them."

"I don't respect anyone who holds me against my will. What the hell do you want?"

Morrigan nodded enthusiastically in agreement with Famine's question. Angelique sighed and floated to a nearby stone with a flattened lichen covered top and sat upon it. She crossed her legs and patted her hair. After a second, she turned her attention back to Famine and spoke in a haughty manner. "It's quite simple, really. I want _you_."

Famine's face twisted with disgust and he let out a small gasp of shock. Morrigan's jaw dropped in astonishment. Angelique rolled her eyes at the reactions. "I don't want you _that_ way, you stupid boy."

Famine's face visibly relaxed. "What way do you mean it then?"

"You're a Deadlander. As such, you possess something many of those other things back at the ROT don't. You have a unique power and strength that far surpasses anything they could dream of."

This was the first Famine had heard about this. No one ever said anything to him about power. He knew that his familial ties had given him some prestige but that was about it. This woman was spouting drivel and he was in no mood to hear any of it.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"No one's told you about Dead Light?"

Famine shook his head. A look of utter shock washed over the Angelique's face at the reply. She put her hands in her lap and talked to the boy as if he were a small child. "Dead Light is a strong inner power that only a soul collector or its children possess. It gives you strength, courage, and great intellect. It also gives you complete control over life and death. Every Death Omen goes through it even if they're not natural ones. They're about your age when it happens, I believe. I'm really surprised no adult has had this talk with you. I thought it was one of those things that just happened as you got older. It's like a supernatural puberty if that helps you understand."

Famine continued giving her a puzzled look.

Angelique sighed. "Getting back to the matter at hand, you have to be aware of it before you can use it. But once you do unlock its secrets, you'll be able to fight and win any battle. You'll be able to see a great many things and know lifetimes of fantastic knowledge."

Famine had almost grown unaware of the tendrils still holding him captive. Angelique was weaving tales that captivated his imagination like noting else ever had. It was too good to be true. He thought about the fanciful tales in the Reaper's library books. That sort of thing just couldn't exist. This woman's actions still stirred rage deep within him. This, coupled with her fanciful lies, drove him to use a word he never had. "I don't believe you, _Mytho._ " he sneered.

Angelique and Morrigan both gasped. _Mytho_ was a derogatory term for anything living in the Borderlands. It underscored the deep-seated scorn and contempt most Deadlandsers had for supernatural beings. He hated using the word in front of Morrigan, and did not want to hurt her feelings. He suddenly thought of that after he said it. "Sorry, Morrigan. I didn't mean that to be directed at you in any way."

"It's okay, honey."

"Oh, please spare me the sentiments." Angelique said rolling her eyes..

"Hey," Morrigan shouted back, "we're not the ones talking nonsense. That stuff you're talking about sounds like a load of old shit. What are you on?" "On? I'm not on anything. Believe what you want, kids."

Famine began pulling against the tentacles again. He spat his words at Angelique. "What does any of this have to do with you? What are you? Some supernatural guidance counselor?"

Angelique got up from the rock and hovered back to him. She looked him up and down and spoke flatly. "What I want is to get a hold of this great untapped power. I need _you_ to do that of course. I need you to share it with me. I'm on my way up as they say. Soon I will take possession of what was rightfully taken and take revenge against those that wronged me. I'll make them suffer endlessly and every second. Your Dead Light could help me achieve that. I must show you how to find it. I will help unlock your power and give you unimaginable abilities"

"What makes you think I'd help a crazy bitch like you, granted that this Dead Light is even real?"

Angelique brushed some dust off her skirt and floated down directly in front of Famine's face. The mud parted as her feet barely touched the ground. He took a step back and almost fell. The tendrils held him upright and pushed him back towards Angelique. "You're going to help me. You're in no position to refuse."

Famine spat at her. She quickly moved aside and his spittle hit the muddy ground. "You're not getting anything!"

Angelique smiled and nodded towards Morrigan with her head. "You must like this young woman. You seemed very close to her. A girlfriend?"

"No, she's just a very good friend."

"I'd bet you'd be upset if something happened to her, right?"

"Is that a threat?" asked Morrigan angrily.

Angelique ignored her. "Don't underestimate my power, child. I may not be able to do much to you other than hold you, but I can make others suffer."

Famine got it. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach and he was gripped with deep fear. He wondered what she intended to do but didn't want to chance finding out. Losing Morrigan as soon as he found her would be too terrible to even contemplate. He looked down at the ground, his voice sounding defeated.

"It _would_ upset me if something happened to her."

Morrigan sneered at Angelique. "Don't listen to this bitch, Famine. She can't do anything. If she did, my mother had her ass on the wall. Besides, I'm a ghost. She can't hurt me. I'm already dead."

"I can crush both you and your mother, little girl. You're women of the water, don't forget. I control that element and therefore I can do with it what I desire. You see what I can do with mere mud. Imagine what else I can do."

Morrigan backed down and gave Famine a worried look. He nodded and returned his attention back to Angelique. "Please don't hurt anyone."

"Then I suggest that you take me up on my offer. I don't give them to just anyone. You should consider yourself lucky. Many people I deal with end up in a watery grave. I'd hate to see your lovely friend in that situation."

"My family is never going to go for this, you know. Do you really want to mess with the Reaper?"

Angelique laughed and pulled Famine's hood down. She brushed a lock of hair from his face and stroked his cheek. He recoiled.

"I'm not afraid of any of them. I don't see why you're defending them anyway. What have they done for you? Tell me, wasn't coming to get your license today your attempt to gain some independence?"

"Yes but that has nothing to do with--"

Angelique cut him off with a raised hand. "If you're like any teenager, I imagine that you were trying to get the freedom they never gave, correct?"

Famine said nothing. He stared ahead with an expressionless face. She was right. He had spent a long time wanting to get out more but The Reaper held fast in holding him in the confines of the graveyard. Getting out with Ankou had helped tremendously but there was something missing. Hunting wasn't the same as exploring. It lacked the adventure of seeing the world through unsupervised eyes. Angelique was still talking as he brought himself out of his thoughts.

"I take that as a yes. I'm offering you the greatest freedom you can imagine. I'm giving you the chance to see the world in a way they never will. You'll be able to truly be yourself without any boundaries...any rules. Let me show you how. Leave them and become the most formidable being in all of The Deadlands _and_ the Borderlands."

It was damned tempting. But a strong stirring in his gut brought him back. He thought about the family dinners and the times spent with his uncle. Perhaps these times weren't times when he was setting the world on fire, but they reminded him of his human side. He turned to Angelique and spoke with defiance. "But they care for me. I won't give that up for power no matter how good it sounds."

Angelique stood up and stared down at him. Her tone took a spiteful and angry tone. "They're not your _real_ family. They just took you in. To them you're no better than a stray dog. Do you really think they have any loyalty to save you? They'd cast you off if it meant they'd be saved."

"How do you know any of this any of this?"

"Please, child, _everyone_ knows about you and your family. Your story is well known in the Borderlands."

Famine knew she was trying to get to him. He had to be a better person and persevere. Angelique sat back on the stone and crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was smug and proud as she watched him struggle with his thoughts.

Morrigan had managed to pull herself closer to the cart. She was trying to pull up and get out. "Don't listen to her. Your family cares about you. They want you around and they would miss you if you were gone. She can't give you anything. She's nothing."

"Really? If they cared so much why did they keep you captive for so long? They just wanted you around to take care of the house and be a good little boy. And do you _really_ approve your being the way you are? It's not exactly a natural thing. I imagine they're disgusted. What sort of traditional family wants _your kind_. Now, what do you say? Do you accept?"

Her words stung deeply. Some of it had a grain of truth and that was what bothered him so much. The poor imprisoned boy was who he was. There was no denying that. They openly accepted his Other Nature. Could they _really_ hate it? Were they just pretending to save face? He had to fight it, though, he had to win. Summoning all his inner strength, Famine pulled against the tendrils and shook his fist at Angelique. "Take your offer and shove it up your ass! I'd never go with you!'

Angelique's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She stood up, her hands once again on her hips. She spoke with venom and spite. "I'll ask you one last time. You know what will happen if you refuse."

Famine turned his head up and his face away from Angelique. "You heard me, woman, go to Hell and kiss my narrow ass on the way! I'll never leave my family and I'll never help you hurt others."

In his mind, he reached out towards the Reaper. The bond was something he had hated. It meant that the Reaper knew what he was doing. It meant there was no trust between the two. Despite that, Famine called anyway. The Reaper's mind was cold and dark and it was very hard to reach out to because he had such a wall around it. _Please come. I need help._ Famine kept repeating the words over and over. He hoped the Reaper would answer.

Angelique was still taking in the answer Famine had given her. She didn't see that his eyes were closed and that he was talking under his breath. Morrigan noticed, however. She regarded her friend with curiosity. She wanted to reach out and see what was wrong but she knew that something was going on. Given the events of the night, she wasn't about to interfere with whatever he was planning. Angelique finally snapped out of her shock and saw what Famine was doing. She smiled and laughed in a mocking manner.

"Praying are you, boy? That won't do you any good. No one's around to hear it. It's a waste of valuable mental energy and strength. _We're_ the ones that exist outside of the mortal realm. How can you call yourself for help?"

Angelique stood up and raised her arms over her head. She looked down at her two captives and shook her head. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. I was hoping your friend would have come around and helped me. But his selfishness will cost you your life, girl. I hope you enjoy your bath. I hear it does wonders for your skin."

"Shut up. If you're going to do something to me then do it," Morrigan spat out, "I'm tired of listening to your voice. If you're going to kill me, go ahead. At least I'd be spared any more of your bullshit."

The sludge around Morrigan began to stir again. A sheet of water detached itself from the mire and wrapped itself around her legs and slowly started creeping up her body. It behaved like some sort of smothering blanket; Angelique would drown her on dry land. Morrigan took in a deep breath and looked over at Famine. His eyes were still shut, his muttering becoming a chant. The water had now made its way up to her waist and was getting closer. The end was near. Suddenly, a stern male voice came from behind.

"Pick on someone your own intellectual level...that is, if you can find another person that stupid."

Angelique whipped her head towards the voice's owner. She let out a small gasp. There was The Reaper. He stood with his right hand cupped around his chin, his eye sockets softly burning in a golden light. Famine's eyes opened and a smile spread over his face. The call had worked. Angelique took the sight in a few seconds more and laughed mockingly. She turned her attention back to Famine and Morrigan and spoke with icy hatred.

"Look who stopped by, kids. The ugliest man in town."

The Reaper sighed and stepped forward cracking his knuckles. "Ordinarily, I'd be happy with such a reunion but I'm...as humans say...pissed... right now, not that you can tell it by my face. So I suggest you take your leave, Angelique."

Angelique threw back her head and laughed dismissively. "Idle threats. I hardly think you're going to do anything to endanger the brats, my old friend. One move and I'll smother them both."

The Reaper fell back. Famine's face had lost the rigidity it had a few seconds ago. He was smiling broadly at the sight of the skeletal man standing in the road. The water had stopped just under Morrigan's neck and had stayed there. She breathed a sigh of relief. The Reaper then addressed Angelique. "Fine, I'll step back. Just tell me what you want."

Angelique sighed with frustration. Why must she always be the one to put up with all the brainless ones? It was infuriating. "Do I have to go through this again? How many times can a I gloat about my grand schemes before it gets old?"

"But I've only just tuned in, so to speak. You'll have to fill me in." The Reaper explained.

Before she could answer, Famine shouted out, "She wants my Dead Light!"

"That's right. I want the boy to come with me. _I'm_ playing the body snatcher this time, Reaper, and there's nothing you can do about it! Your child refused a very gracious offer. No one refuses my offers and lives."

"Ok, ok. Just calm down." The Reaper said.

"This will be great payback," Angelique said smiling, "Ironic, isn't? I'm taking from you what you took from me?"

"What's that mean? What did we ever do to you?" asked Famine.

"I'd ask your old man about that, kid. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a teenage girl to dispatch. Your boy will miss her, I imagine."

"Leave her and take him. Please. Even if he did take you up on this phantom offer, you'd be getting a defective piece of merchandise. His Dead Light is worthless."

Angelique lowered her arms and whipped around to stare at The Reaper. He was now looking at the tips of his bony fingers, as if he were scrutinizing non-existent fingernails.

"What?" asked Angelique with surprise. The Reaper's tone was one of aloofness. "That's right, I said take him. You'll be doing me a favor."

Famine let out a loud gasp. When he managed to say something, he stammered through his words. "A favor? What the hell are you talking, old man?"

Morrigan nodded in agreement, her face one of disbelief. The Reaper remained calm and collected. Angelique turned from Famine and Morrigan and addressed The Reaper defiantly. "Yes, what are you talking about? I'm threatening to take your son and you stand there and encourage me?"

"He's a pain in my ass. Not that I have one but you get the point. Do you know what's it like to have a rude, disgusting, hideous teen-ager around your house _all_ day? Talk about drama. And he eats all the time...and he smells. Nasty. Now then, I was on my way to eat someone. I got interrupted, I hate that. So do what you want. Quickly."

"But he has great power within him. He's _of you._ "

Now the Reaper sounded surprised. He replied as if he were talking to someone very stupid. "Of me? Where'd you get a daft idea like that? Oh, no. He's not of me. He was just some teenager I felt sorry for and decided to spare. I mean, he died as a human, but he didn't have his soul taken away. He's more a high-end zombie."

"I can't believe this. You're lying."

"I'm not. He's about as powerful as a burned out light bulb...and just as useful. You won't be getting much."

Famine felt a deep pang of hurt go through his body like a lightning bolt. Angelique had been right. In his hour of need, the people he had come to trust most had abandoned him. The Reaper should've been there to help him, not to throw him to the wolves. He hadn't felt sorrow since he had come to The Deadlands. There was no need to. Now, in this cold mire, it had come back. It filled him with great despair and hopelessness. Everything that had given him the strength to strive and thrive in this realm had suddenly been taken away with just a few words. He was nothing. The Reaper, the most powerful being in The Deadlands, had said so himself. As far as he was concerned, he was just something to be discarded like yesterday's corpse. Angelique had been right. He couldn't bring himself to say anything. Next to him, Morrigan was crying a little. The gripping tendrils tightened as he let himself go limp. Angelique was still talking to the Reaper.

"You say this just to annoy me. It won't work. I'm still taking him."

"Stop talking and start taking then. The sooner you get this...stray dog...off my hands the better. I can convert his room into a nice orchid garden or classics library."

"He's not even gone yet, you bastard!" spat Morrigan.

Famine spoke, his voice was hollow. "It's okay. He's made his decision. Let him get rid of the trash."

"Now you've go the spirit, child," said the Reaper, "Go ahead and check his Dead Light level if you want, Angelique. You'll find him quite empty."

"I will!" she spat lowering her arms.

Angelique walked to Famine and put her hand on his head. There was a slight purple glow around her fingers. Famine remained silent, his stare downcast. No one said anything as the woman sensed what the boy had within him. A few seconds later, she removed her hand and stood up with a cry of anger and disgust. "He's as empty as your head, Reaper. He's of no good to me. I was wrong. I can't believe I ever considered his company."

"I told you. But you can still have him."

"Bah! No, thanks! Last thing I need is a nasty ass teenager. I'm much too classy for such a thing."

"Of course, class like yours should never be messed with."

"Mark my words, you sorry bunch of dead bastards. I will be back if I've found you've been lying or cheating. No one - but _no one_ makes me look bad. I will find the power to enslave you all and make this realm and all others mine. _When the time is right, I will emerge and become the ultimate ruler of all! I will become the god I was meant to become!"_

She laughed, gave them all a cunning smile, nodded, and raised her arms above her head. She said a few nonsensical sounding words and an array of multicolored lights surrounded her in a spinning cloud. When the lights dissipated, she was gone. The Reaper hovered over the cart and extended his hand to Morrigan. She gave him a wary look before taking it. He pulled her from the mud and sat her in the back of the cart before doing the same for Famine.

The Reaper then hovered back to the road, raised a single hand, and waved it in a circle. An orb of pulsing pink light came from the bony appendage and encircled the cart. Famine and Morrigan felt a warmth spread over them as the light lifted the carriage from the mud and carry it over to a solid piece of ground a few feet away. They were scraping the much from their clothes when the Reaper came over sat beside them. Famine didn't bother looking up. He couldn't bear to see the Reaper's face at the moment. Morrigan stopped cleaning herself and stared narrowed eyed at him. Her tone was sharp.

"Thank you for saving us, Mr. Reaper. I'm sorry if I sound insincere right now, but you said some nasty things to get that woman to go away. When you hurt Famine, you hurt me."

The Reaper sighed. "I'm glad I could get here before anything happened. I know that I may have seemed like an ass but I had my reasons, Miss Morrigan. How are you, Famine?"

Famine had crossed his arms across his chest and was regarding him with watery eyes. "I'm OK, not that _you_ care."

"Now, please don't be that way. You'll have to trust me on this. I'll explain everything in a bit," The Reaper said before turning to Morrigan, "Are you OK? Did she hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Reaper. I'm shaken up but I'm fine. I think I just want to go home and get cleaned before we go to the Blue Crypt."

"I think we should make arrangements to do dinner another night considering what just happened."

Morrigan had stopped cleaning the mud off her gown and was now attempting to put her hair back into a bun. When she realized it was useless, she gave up and threw the hairpin over her shoulder. She glanced over at Famine who had now begun twiddling his thumbs and humming the song from earlier in the evening. She touched his shoulder.

"Are you OK, sweetie? I should be getting home. I'll have to make up some excuse why we can't go out tonight. Hopefully my mother won't get too angry."

"Tell her to call me if she has any problems," The Reaper said.

Famine laid his hand on hers and nodded. "I'll be fine. You go..."

Morrigan leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to The Reaper. "You guys talk this over. Things need to be addressed."

"I just baked a blood cream pie. I'd be happy if you'd come over later. It won't make up for tonight but at least you can be with Famine."

Famine smiled and gave Morrigan a pat on the leg. "Please come, we'd love to have you."

"I'll see you guys later."

She stood up and gave herself a slight push. Famine and The Reaper watched as she floated up and away from the cart into the night. She turned and gave them a wave and a smile as she faded out of sight.

"You're probably wondering why I said what I did. You know that I didn't mean it," The Reaper said flatly.

The Reaper must be playing on his pity, thought Famine. This was even worse than the belittling words spoken earlier. He didn't need pity. "I guess."

The Reaper looked off into the distance, his voice keeping the same cadence. "I had to make you believe what I was saying. It took away your strength and power. Without any real grounding, you become unsure of yourself and end up confused. As long as you have faith and believe in yourself, you have an unmatched and unbeatable ferocity that beats any opponent. Tonight, with just a few words, you became weak. It was that weakness that turned the Rusalka away."

Famine was confused. He tried looking the Reaper in the face, but he kept his head turned away. For the moment, the hurt was forgotten. "Rusalka? What the hell is that?"

"It's a sort of angry water ghost," said the Reaper "that drags people into the depths to live with it. The one tonight was different. She wasn't around any bodies of water. That tells me she's more potent than others of her kind. I underestimated her abilities."

He leaned forward and patted the backs of the horses. He kept talking without facing Famine. The boy could sense something in the timbre of his tone that he had never heard before. It was serious and tender at the same time.

"But getting back to what I was saying...I took what I did tonight so that she would spare you. She will probably return once she finds out what really happened. But that doesn't matter. What matters here, young Famine, is that you keep the power alive within yourself. Never let anyone or anything else _ever_ take it away again. I brought you back because it was that energy that made you different than the others. It was like nothing I've ever seen. _That_ kind of energy will conquer even the vilest of attackers. Do you understand?"

Famine weakly nodded. "I think I do. Do you know her? That Rusalka?"

"I do. Let's just say that we've crossed paths. Some things really do come back to haunt you."

The Reaper finally turned around. He quickly wiped a tear from his eye socket and put his hand on Famine's shoulder. There was a faint light glowing within his skull cavity. The old man had changed somehow. Famine wasn't sure what had happened. He just knew The Reaper had a different look about him.

"Can I still call you Father?"

"Of course."

"Is Dead Light real? Is it this power that you're talking about?"

The Reaper took a deep breath and answered. "It's real. I should've mentioned it before, I'm sorry it had to come to this to make me say anything. And no, the power I was talking about helps you discover your Dead Light. Think of it as the strength you need to turn it on."

Famine nodded. "You talk about Dead Light like it was the strongest thing ever. Is it?"

The Reaper waited a few seconds before he spoke. He got serious again. "Sort of. It ties into something more powerful than even you and I. Something that even we must surrender to."

"What's that?"

"Eternity, son, eternity. Everything that was and is...will be again. It's a never-ending cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. We're at the center of that cycle. We're servants to the spirals of eternity. As long as these aspects exist, as long as is death is a part of it, we will exist. We may never rest."

Famine wasn't exactly sure what The Reaper had meant. It all seemed weird and strange. Reason and logic seemed even more blurred than ever. For even after death, nothing was ever answered in full. "Can we go home now?" he asked.

"We certainly can, child. I think things will look a lot better in the dark of a new night."

Famine sat suddenly sat upright. His voice took on a tone of wonder. "How did you know we were in trouble? And how in the hell did you find us?"

"They say parents have a sense about their children, that they're tied together in an unbreakable bond. Think of it like that. I just knew. Let's leave it at that."

With that, The Reaper took the reins of Ankou's cart and made an odd clicking sound from somewhere deep within his skull. The wagon became encased in a faint red light and lifted itself off the ground and the two Death Omens rode off into the rising sun. A feminine face suddenly appeared in one of the puddles of water. It pulsed and glowed in time to a sinister laughter that filled the still morning air.

# EPISODE FIVE:

REVELATIONS OF THE DEAD

The Blue Crypt, the swankiest restaurant in the Borderlands, was filled with its usual mix of customers: a few vampires, some werewolves, a mix of zombies, and a myriad of glowing ghosts. It was a giant oval-shaped room crammed with small cloth-covered tables; giant candelabra hung from the low-hanging ceiling to serve as central light. The Reaper and Llorona stepped into the lobby and surveyed these patrons with impatience.

"I hate coming to these places," Llorona said pulling her long white hooded coat around herself, "I can never get used to them. They're too fancy for my tastes."

The Reaper removed his formal black cloak. Beneath it, he wore a gray three-piece suit. He had shined his skull for the occasion and it cast a soft glow under the torch lights of the restaurant. A couple of the elegantly clad customers, a haggard-looking green witch and a young bald male vampire with pointed ears and dark gray skin, glanced over and regarded him with some fascination. "Oh this place isn't that bad. Let's try to enjoy the night," he said.

Much to Llorona's disgust, a small hunchbacked ghoul in a well-tailored black frock approached them to take their coats. The little thing was abhorrently skinny with mottled orange skin, a large oval head, and a face that resembled a rat. It took The Reaper's jacket and then reached over to get Llorona's. She let out a small cry and slightly pulled away.

"Give him your coat."

She nodded, pulled it off, and handed it to the little creature. It politely bowed and handed her a ticket before heading off into an adjoining room.

"You shouldn't treat him that way. He's just like Gus and you like _him_."

"Ghouls are crass and ill-mannered. Gus is different."

The Reaper ignored her remark and peered into the dining room. "Let's try to find the Banshee. She should be here by now."

A maître d', a mummy in decaying bandages and a black tuxedo, hobbled towards them with a smile and curtsey.

"Ah, Mr. Reaper and Mrs. Llorona, I've been expecting you. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you to your table."

Llorona sighed, smoothed out the wrinkles in her silver gown, and followed the mummy. The Reaper was behind her. He nodded and said hello to various monsters as headed to his table. It was nice to be famous.

The Reaper and Llorona were shown to a bulky square table in the rear. Famine and Morrigan had already arrived and were drinking bright orange drinks from tall chalices. They were seated with a willowy, chalky-skinned woman with large, dark round eyes, and long dark green hair. She wore a gown of tattered white gauze and billowy white silk. Sitting beside her was a bulky golden- skinned reptilian being with a horned round head and glowing beady yellow eyes. He was quietly talking with Famine while wildly gesturing with his clawed hands.

The woman looked up and acknowledged the arrival of her guests. She smiled broadly and spoke in an overly cheerful voice. "Reaper! Llorona! So glad you could make it. I believe you know my husband, Azazel," she said indicating the gold demon.

"Good evening," said Azazel turning from his talk with Famine and extending a claw.

The Reaper reached out and shook it. Llorona nodded and smiled at them both. Her voice was not as bright as her host's, but she tried.

"Glad we could finally come, Banshee. Now that our kids are friends, I thought we should try to get along."

She spoke through clenched teeth. Her voice was terse. "It's _Bonshay._ "

Llorona looked a little confused. She cocked her head slightly to one side. "What?"

"My name. It's pronounced _Bonshay_ , not _Banshee_."

Morrigan gave The Banshee a look that said ' _Please, mom, be quiet.'_ Famine weakly smiled, hoping his mother wouldn't react too harshly to the comment. Llorona nodded and attempted a meager grin, her voice a hollow apologetic tone. "I'm so sorry. It's always been Banshee as far as I knew. I didn't mean any offense."

The Banshee laughed. "It's quite okay, dearie. Please have a seat, the both of you."

The Reaper and Llorona pulled out their stone chairs and sat at the table. Morrigan smiled and reached over to pat Llorona on the shoulder. She kept her voice low so that The Banshee wouldn't hear. "It's good to see you again, Llorona! I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here, though."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Anything to help you kids out. You look nice tonight!"

Morrigan looked down at her long silky white gown and sparkling diamond pendant and smiled. "Thank you! Say, maybe next time we can come over to your home. I tried telling her it was just as good as this place but she didn't listen."

"I understand and it's okay, honey," said Llorona before looking at Famine, "How are you doing tonight?"

Famine cast his stare off past the Weeping Woman's head and answered flatly. He was dressed in a tight fitting beige suit with a short silk-lined cape. His hair was pulled into a ponytail. He answered flatly. "I'm okay. Everything is fine."

Llorona looked at him with doubt. She knew the kid too well to take that statement as fact. The incident on that road in the Borderlands had worried and concerned _her_ ; she couldn't imagine what Famine must be feeling. She took comfort that Morrigan had been there for support the last few days.

"I hope it really is, child. You know where to come if you need to talk."

The boy picked up his drink and took a swig without acknowledging her comment. Morrigan saw the exchange and whispered to the worried woman. "I'll talk to him if you want me too."

"That would be great," she answered in the same hushed voice, "he'll listen to you."

The girl winked and started a conversation about the weather with the women at the table. They were talking about the unusual amount of rain that had fallen in the Borderlands lately and how much wetter things had become. He wasn't interested in talking about any of this. His last experience with water had been a bad one. Azazel leaned towards the Reaper, who had now picked up the bulky leatherbound menu and was looking through it.

"It's brilliant to finally meet you, mate."

The Reaper looked up from the menu. If he had eyes with which to look surprised, they would have been full of it. Instead, he had to _sound_ astonished. It worked most of the time. "Really? Most everyone else hates to meet me. Something about dying upsets them."

"Ah, mortals, that's how they are," answered Azazel, "they hate me, too. I'm not always out to take them to the netherworld. There're times when I just want to chat it up a bit."

"Right, right. Who else is going to know more about the living realm? I like to keep up with the latest trends and news and they're the ones who know what's going on. There've been many times when I tapped someone on the shoulder to inquire about the latest goings on and guess what happens?"

"They run and scream!"

"Yes! It's downright frustrating at times, I tell you..."

A bat-faced goblin waiter came to the table with a towel draped over his winged arm. He stood straight, his head in the air, and spoke pompously: "Excuse me, sirs, welcome to the Blue Crypt. I am Something Unpronounceable by Your Tongue and I will be your servant tonight. May I start you off with a drink?"

"Might you have a Tarantula Tequila?" asked Llorona.

"Yes, ma'am, a very potent variety."

"Bring me a glass of that, please."

The waiter turned to The Reaper, who had again resumed looking at the menu. "And for you, sir?"

The Reaper answered without glancing up. "A Blood Chardonnay thanks."

"Very well, sir."

The waiter bowed and left with the same indignant attitude with which he had arrived. Morrigan rose from the table and threw her cloth napkin to the chair. She thought it was time to make good on the promise she had made Llorona, and a clever excuse to get away from the adults would provide her a chance to do it.

"I'm going to go outside for a few minutes. It's too stuffy in here and I need some air. Just order me a soul soufflé when that little guy gets back. You want to come with me, Famine?"

He got up to follow her. "I think I will."

"What shall we order for you?" asked The Reaper.

Famine thought about it for a few seconds before answering. "Some hemlock and deadly nightshade salad with tortured spirit dressing. I'm in the mood for something light."

"Will do," said Llorona. The kids left the dining room and she turned her attention to the Banshee. "So, what have you been up to? Still haunting the same stretch of moors?"

The Banshee laughed, tilted her head a bit, and put her hand through her hair. "Oh, no. I took up residence on those roads you left. _Someone_ had to work them, after all."

"Yeah, well, sometimes things come up and you have to take a different route."

"We all have our crosses to bear, honey."

Llorona opened her mouth to speak then shut it. When she spoke, her voice had the same forced politeness it had had when she'd first arrived at the table. "I don't see my choice as an arduous task. I'm quite content with where I am."

The Banshee had picked up her goblet of green liquid. She removed the eyeball that served as an olive and took a drink before she replied. "That's great, honey. Glad to see that we're all so happy here."

Llorona gave her a quick smile and picked up the menu. The Reaper had seen a few items that appealed to him and was now asking Azazel about the cuisine. It wasn't too often that he got the chance to taste the wares of other chefs. He liked to compare himself to them and take pride in being better than any of them. "How is this Tortured Soul Casserole? I don't do sweets that often."

The horned demon shook head, his eyes dancing in excitement. "It's actually pretty good. It can be a bit gamy, depending on whom they give you. But not a bad choice at all, mate."

"You've sold me. Anyway, I'm famished. Been working all day and didn't have time to eat. Think I'll get an appetizer to tide me over, though."

A moment later, the drinks arrived and appetizers had been ordered. Llorona stopped sipping from her opaque goblet, took off the dead tarantula clinging to its rim, and glanced towards the door behind her. She wondered if air was really the reason the kids had left. She hoped Morrigan was getting to the root of Famine's silence.

*

Famine and Morrigan sat on a long low-lying stone bench just outside the main entrance. The patrons coming and going gave them inquisitive looks and whispered to one another as they entered or exited the restaurant. Morrigan imagined they were saying things about The Banshee or something to do with high society matters. It made her sick, but not sick as seeing Famine keep so sullen. He had hardly spoken a word since they had arrived with The Banshee half an hour ago. It wasn't like him to be so withdrawn. He was looking down at his feet when she spoke and jumped a little at the sudden noise.

"Honey, what's wrong? Don't tell me nothing because I know there is."

Famine kept his gaze downward. "You sound like Llorona now. There's nothing wrong. Just get over it."

"Bollocks! You've been too damned quiet lately and that's not you. Either you tell me now or I go to The Reaper and make something up."

That got Famine's attention. His head snapped up and he looked at her with surprise. "You wouldn't do anything like that!"

"Just watch me. You can't go on like this. I have to take drastic measures to get you to talk. Don't mess with me, honey, I've been in a nasty mood since we dealt with that flying bitch."

"Fine," he said, "I'll talk. Just don't go thinking this is something you have to take care of. Okay?"

Morrigan grunted in agreement as he went on. "It's about that woman in the Borderlands. I don't know what to think about what she said."

"Honey, she was just saying stuff to make you join her. It was all a bunch of shit. Forget what she said. I might be pissed but I took something from it. You need to, also"

Famine got up and walked to the edge of the porch on which the bench sat. He peered off into the swirling mists of the night. He could hear the chirping of crickets and the bellows of frogs somewhere within them. Strange shapes would appear in the fog then materialize seconds later as a Blue Crypt patron. He took a breath and continued.

"I wish I could. It's just so unsettling."

"Of course it is. It was scary as hell. And did you see that nasty ass suit? Anyway keep talking to me, I'm listening."

Famine was quiet for a few seconds. He finally spoke in a hurried fashion.

"The Reaper said some bad things, didn't he? He wouldn't have said them if there wasn't some truth in the words."

Morrigan rose and joined her friend. She wrapped her arm around his narrow waist. "You told me he said all that stuff to make her go away. He was looking out for you. It worked. She left you."

"She was right saying he wasn't my real family. How can I really believe anyone who isn't real to me?"

Morrigan let go and pulled her coat around herself. She thought she felt the wind's chill but it just couldn't be. She was dead and dead things don't get cold. It was probably just her imagination. She never knew real cold and therefore couldn't know what it felt like. She sighed and gave a quick nod 'hello' to a pair of water-logged ghosts in bride and groom outfits as they walked past her and into the Blue Crypt. She waited until the door shut before she spoke again. The last thing she wanted was her word being drowned in the collective murmurs of the diners.

"Family means a lot of different things to different people. I know you don't remember your human family but that's not the important thing now. You're in The Deadlands with Deadlanders and they're the ones who're real. They're the ones who've taken you in as one of their own. They _are_ your family."

"That doesn't mean that they care. They didn't even say much about my run-in with that Angelique woman. I'd have thought they would've been more supportive. They weren't."

"Maybe they thought you needed time to yourself. You went through a lot. It takes a while to put these things into perspective. Self-reflection isn't easy. Sometimes you see things you don't want to."

Famine threw up his hands, made a sound that sounded like 'bah" and sat back down on the bench. A slimy rotting zombie in a top hat and tails ambled out of the Blue Crypt picking his teeth with a finger bone. He gave Famine a smile as he passed and curtsied to Morrigan. The girl curtsied back and the thing was off into the night. Morrigan leaned against one the pillars supporting the building and folded her arms across her chest.

"You have to learn to trust your family more. You've been with The Reaper and Llorona for over two hundred years. He hasn't done anything before to make you doubt him. What makes you think he's starting now?"

"I don't fit in with the group. He and Llorona are both soul collectors. They're the embodiments of death. I'm not a ghost or zombie. I don't what the hell I am. How am I supposed to be part of a family when I'm not like anyone in the family? I'm different."

Morrigan regarded him with a sympathetic eye. She sighed and joined him on the bench again.

"I guess that's what happens when you're taken so young. You're just in the middle of finding yourself when you're suddenly thrust into something totally different. You don't have time to discover who you are because you're too busy trying to adjust to a new environment."

He knew Morrigan was right. But part of him also wanted to wallow in his own melodramatic pity; it was part of his teen fabric. Opting to placate his friend, he echoed her optimism. "I know I need to trust them. I know that they've done right by me so far. I guess I just have that little kernel of doubt wedged so far into my head that it's stopping me from thinking about anything else."

"Take your time with this, sweetie. Let it sink it. Now, is there anything else?"

Famine frowned. "Should there be?" he asked.

"You can't fool me. There's more on your mind."

He leaned over and gave her a hug. "Yes, there is but I got to discuss it with Uncle Ankou. It's something I'm dreading talking about."

"Aren't you going to the Dead Fair with him tomorrow? Talk to him then."

"I think I will. It'll be good place to talk."

Morrigan glanced down at her watch and quickly jumped up. "Oh, no! We've been gone longer than I thought! Let's get back in before my mother sends a posse after us."

As Famine and Morrigan went back into the dining room, The Reaper was talking enthusiastically about his hobbies and Azazel listened with keen interest. The former had his hand on a tray of darkened twisted human hearts. A steady flow of green light flowed from the organs, up his arm and ended in tiny pools in his eye sockets.

"...that's when I got into model ship building. I saw the detail that went into the tiniest things and it just amazed me. It takes patience and time to create such things, Azazel, my good man. It's a great way to unwind after a long day's work."

"So ships are the only things you build?"

The Reaper finished his heart appetizer, took a sip of his wine, and shook his head. "No, I make my own wine."

Azazel rubbed his chin, narrowed his eyes, and stared off past the Reaper's shoulder. He then reached a claw into a cracked open skull in front of him and pulled out a glob of thick back ichor. A few seconds of vigorous chewing later, he had swallowed the gelatinous mass and was talking again. "I should get into something creative, too. Working in Hell can be hell...need to unwind. I can be a right pain in the arse if I've had a bad day. I'm sure you have a lot of those."

"More than I can count. Sometimes I'll take a book with me and that helps. It's usually something funny like _Antigone._ Nothing like a good tragedy to make me laugh."

"What's happier than an ending where everyone dies?" Azazel asked.

"Exactly!"

Famine and Morrigan quietly took their seats. It looked like the adults were getting on just fine. They gave one another a sly grin. Morrigan stuck a fork in her soul soufflé and frowned. The twisted face on it fell. She whispered 'It's flat' to Famine before eating its gooey green and black contents. Llorona had managed to block out the sounds of the mens' conversation going on beside her and concentrate on what The Banshee was saying. Unfortunately, this was a mistake. Like any other time she and the woman talked, the tide always turned to petty and self-centered tirades. The Banshee had set her drink aside and was speaking about something as boring as the molecular composition of fence posts.

"I think haunting has gotten a little too easy to get into. I mean anyone can do it now. I remember when it used to be a profession of nobility and glamour. All I see in it now are two-bit ghosts and poltergeists with all the class of a stein of stale ale. Don't you just hate that?"

Llorona feebly shook her head in vague agreement. Won't someone please just bring me back to life now? she thought. Anything is better than this.

"Luckily, the roads I haunt are of the best class. Even your old stomping grounds have gotten a bit ritzier. I'm glad they built those mansions in the area. I would much rather scare a duke or count than some peasant."

Morrigan suddenly stopped eating her soufflé and gave her mother an embarrassed look. It was lost within the woman's glorified vanity. Llorona took the last drink from her goblet, put it firmly down, and looked up at The Banshee with a degree of disgust. The woman was getting on her last good nerve.

"Really? Is that all you care about? Where's the thrill of the haunt gone? I used to love the looks of fear I got from people and it was even better when they screamed. _That_ made the night worth getting out. Listen to me, I sound like Ankou now."

The Banshee bit her lip. "I suppose that's okay if you're in it just to do a good job."

"Pardon me if I care more about the craft than being seen."

"If you cared so much about it, why did you leave? You could still be out there being scary but you're in some dank crypt now."Llorona took a deep breath and paused. She was thinking seriously about smacking the Banshee but she stifled the desire. Morrigan had resumed eating but stared at her mother suspiciously, as she was expecting The Banshee to suddenly break out a horned helmet and start singing an aria.

Llorona went on. "It's a mausoleum, not a crypt. And for your information I always thought there was more to death than hanging around on dark roads at night being regal and stuck-up."

"Were you right? Was there more? Is being a Hausfrau all it promised to be?"

"Mother!" shouted Morrigan. That little protest drew Famine's attention. He also stopped consuming his meal to see what was going on. The men were oblivious as they continued their talking.

"I'm _not_ a Hausfrau. Yes, I help out, but I'm mainly there for Famine. It feels good to be there for someone else. I think I've learned a great deal from The Reaper and Ankou. They've been great after-life teachers. I think my light has grown since I've met them."

"I guess that's _something_." The Banshee said in a mocking manner.

"I think it is." Llorona answered not reacting to the tone of the Banshee's question, "The Deadlands can give as many lessons as the living one did. You just have take the time to find them. You don't have to have prestige to do it."

The Banshee gave a non-interested nod and looked at the ring on her left hand. Her tone was distant. "I can see your point. Anyway, what else have you been doing? Do you still draw your little pictures?"

"Yes, I still paint. It's hard to give up something that meant so much when I was alive...really alive."

"Well, that's good. We all need distractions no matter how small they are."

"Mother would you stop? Leave Ms. Llorona alone! You're embarrassing me!" said Morrigan through clenched teeth.

Llorona laughed slightly. "That's okay, sweetheart. I can take care of this."

It was Famine's turn to protest. He threw down his napkin and hissed. "No. Don't care of _anything_. Just let it go. There are people around for death's sake."

Llorona ignored him. She slid the goblet over, put her elbows on the table, and leaned in towards The Banshee. Time had come for the nice-guy - make that nice- _lady_ \- routine to end. It was apparent that this Death Omen had to be told a thing or two, and Llorona hadn't had the chance to be a bitch in a very long time.

"You know, _Banshee,_ I was glad when I was able to get back to something that resembled a life. It meant that I could enjoy being myself. It meant that I didn't have to be anything artificial, you know?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come now, everyone knows you've had vocal cord enhancement. No one's is that big. Amazing what a large pair will get you, huh?"

Famine and Morrigan both gasped and stared wide-eyed at their mothers. The Banshee pointed a finger at Llorona. Her eyes blazed and her face contorted with rage. How very dare this little specter of a woman say such scandalous things! "Just you take that back, you Spanish harridan! They're real!"

Llorona wasn't backing down. The gauntlet had been thrown. "No, I won't! No one likes a nasty bitch, Banshee, especially a fake one like you."

The Banshee waited a second, narrowed her eyes, and leaned in to meet Llorona's gaze. "At least I didn't kill my own child!"

The last remark was delivered with spite and venom; Llorona fell silent and sat back into her seat. She spoke with an air of defeat. "What?"

By now The Reaper and Azazel had fallen quiet. Both had stopped eating and were focused on the words now being exchanged. Azazel's wings fluttered slightly. The Reaper put out a skeletal hand and touched Llorona on her shoulder. A few other Blue Crypt patrons were looking at the table, whispered words floating between them like flitting insects.

An old grey-skinned vampire pointed at them and said something to one of the ghoul waiters who was pouring a red liquid into his glass. Azazel shot him a nasty look and the undead being looked away quickly. Famine sat staring angrily at The Banshee. He dare not get involved. This was between the two adults and he didn't want to hurt Morrigan by saying anything nasty towards her mother.

"That's right. You drowned your child, you evil bitch. How someone could kill their own flesh and blood is beyond me. It's sickening," said The Banshee.

Llorona swallowed. "That wasn't what really happened."

The Banshee didn't let up her inquest. She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. It was now she who could be triumphant in her attack of words. "Then why the hell did people say otherwise? It's got to be true!"

Azazel crinkled his forehead in thought as he gave his opinion. "Sometimes people say things to hurt other people..."

The Banshee gave him a menacing glance. Her tone was spiteful and condescending. "Oh shut-up. No one asked for your thoughts, you stupid demon."

He fell back and began picking at the skull entrée's teeth, his head and eyes downcast.

"Yes," Llorona sorrowfully answered, "he did drown but I wasn't the one who did it. _No one_ did it."

"What the hell does that mean? No one did it? Would you care to tell me what happened then?" asked The Banshee mockingly.

Llorona sighed and looked down at the table. She spoke in a weary, heavy voice. "I told him not to play down by the river. I told him a lot. But you know how kids are...they don't listen. They'll do whatever they want to do. Whenever I found him there, I always had drag him home. One day....one day...he didn't come when I called. I knew where he was. When I went down to the river, I saw my son struggling in the water."

Her voice was becoming heavier with sadness as she went on. Words became distantly spoken. "He was screaming and kicking. I dove in. You just don't think when something like that happens. I struggled to make it before it was too late. But I kept going under. I couldn't swim well but I wasn't going to let him drown."

A lone tear rolled down her pale cheek. But now her voice was forlorn and soft. "I finally made it to my son. He was cold...very cold. He wasn't breathing. I tried swimming back but he was heavy and I was tired. I kept going under. Damn it, I fought, but I kept going under. I couldn't help it. About ten feet away from shore, I went under for the last time..."

No one said a word. Even the monsters at the tables around the, were silent. A few of them wiped away a tear or two with their cloth napkins. Llorona had struggled to keep a cascade of tears back but now that she had finished her tale, she let go. The Reaper leaned over and put his arm around her. Famine glared at The Banshee.

"See what you've done! Why can't you keep your mouth shut? Foul whore!"

The Banshee gasped in shock, "Are you going to let him talk to me that way, Morrigan?"

The girl shook her head, "He's right, mother, you never know when to shut the hell up. All you do run your mouth and talk about other people. Have you ever stopped to think about what your words do to people?"

The Banshee was about to protest again when the grey-skinned vampire spoke up. His voice was suave and smooth. "You're a downright bitch! No one here cares for you much. We all hate to see you come into places like this. I'd rather have silver rods rammed up my ass than to sit there next to you. But hunger outweighs hate."

Somewhere near the entrance, a tall, lanky witch with pink hair and violet skin raised her arm. She wore tight fitting leather garments and her face was heavily done up in black make-up. "I second that. When I walked in and saw you sitting there, my first thought was to go back out. But I'm not letting some fancy rich society bitch like you ruin my evening."

The Reaper pushed his tray of hearts aside and turned his attention to The Banshee. "You don't know what the loss of a child does to you until you've been through it yourself. It changes you on the deepest levels. You can't begin to imagine Llorona's pain. Yet here you sit making your decisions about her based on hearsay and gossip. You should be ashamed."

"Don't lecture me! I don't have to know her personal history to know what kind of woman she is. That's apparent without any questions being asked."

"So, you don't think you'd be changed if anything happened to Morrigan?" asked The Reaper pointing at the girl.

"Nothing's ever going to happen to her! She's _my_ daughter. She's safe."

Morrigan shrunk back in her chair looking scared. "Please don't, Mr. Reaper." she said.The Reaper shook his head. "I'm sorry, dear, but she needs to be told. Maybe then she'll change."

The Banshee crinkled her forehead as she spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Famine patted Morrigan's shoulder as The Reaper talked. "Last week Morrigan was captured by a Rusalka here in the Borderlands. The damned thing nearly killed her. If I hadn't come along we'd not be sitting here having this stupid dinner."

Azazel sat up and looked at The Reaper with a serious face. The Banshee stammered in her confusion. " _What_?" she asked with a hushed tone.

"Last week when she was with Famine getting his license, a Rusalka attacked them. She had the kids trapped. She was going to kill your daughter. I intervened and helped. I sent her running Now I suggest you stop being so arrogant and start worrying about your own damn family."

The Banshee was silent for several seconds before she turned to look at Morrigan. "Is this true?" she asked.

Morrigan sighed. "Yes. I didn't want you to know because I'd know you'd make a huge deal out of it. You're a drama queen. I can't stand it. Anyway I'm safe now and that's all that matters."

"I don't know what to say. This is just so unexpected."

"That's how things are, Mother. They don't always go your way."

Azazel wrapped a wing around his daughter. "We were right bastards. Downright dicks."

Morrigan had never heard the demon say such words until tonight. She didn't think he even knew they existed. The evenings were full of surprises.

The Banshee sat silently. She looked down at the napkin on her lap and spoke softly. "What am I supposed to say? That I'm a bad mother? That I should've been there for you?"

Morrigan answered matter of factly. "I don't know. How am I supposed to answer? It's all up to you, mother. You can change your ways or you can continue to miss out on my life. I've given up on you a while back. I knew all this fancy rich shit was all that mattered."

"That's not true. I care about a lot of things. You just don't see it."

"Start showing it. It won't hurt. You'd be shocked at what it can do."

Azazel patted Morrigan's shoulder. "It's hard for us, we've never had to show emotions. Demons and ghosts are supposed to be unfeeling creatures of darkness. Just give us a chance."

"He's right. Being in polite society meant we could be cold. Never thought it could be any other way. Besides, it was easy to do," the Banshee said looking Morrigan directly in the eye.

"Well try being different," Morrigan said, "Take your time. Loosen up, too. Now you said some nasty things. You owe Llorona an apology. Let that be your first try at showing feelings."

Hearing these things from others meant nothing because their opinions meant nothing. When they came from Morrigan's mouth, they carried the weight of The Deadlands. Opening the heart and mind meant being venerable and that equaled weakness. So if saving her family meant being seen as weak, then that was the way it had to be. The Banshee nodded. She cast her eyes down and spoke softly and apologetically. "I'm sorry I said that. I was out of line."

"That's fine. I accept your apology. I was a bit bitchy, too."

The Banshee relaxed, smiled, and offered her hand. Llorona lightly shook it and smiled back. Her tone was soft now. "Anyway, it's in the past. As long as we know where we came from, we can guide our lives in the right direction. That's the most important thing. We're always changing. That's the beauty of being more than substance."

The Reaper and Azazel went back to eating. The uneasy truce seemed to quiet things down and the attention of the Blue Crypt's patrons went back to their dinners. Llorona reached over and grabbed a couple of hearts from The Reaper's plate.

"Say, we should go out sometime. If you'd like, I could show you some of the parts of the Borderlands you haven't seen," The Banshee said.

Llorona absorbed the last bit of energy in the heart she was consuming. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. I do get tired of being stuck in the mausoleum all day. I don't think I've been out to have any fun in over a hundred years. I'm just not sure how to act in real fancy places."

"I wouldn't worry. I'll be there with you. Anyone who doesn't like it can just kiss my—"

The Reaper clanged a fork against his wine glass to get everyone's attention. When they had all turned to face him, he spoke. "I'd like to buy everyone here a round of drinks. This is a good time. We've overcome our differences and I'd say that deserves rewarding."

Azazel slapped The Reaper on the back and chuckled. "I won't argue with that, mate! I'll buy dinner."

"You really don't have to," said The Reaper.

"I insist! We might as well start off on a good foot if we're going to make this work, wouldn't you say?"

"I think we can all safely say that the family bonds are stronger. Let's make the same be said of new friendships," The Reaper agreed.

The Reaper motioned the waiter over to get the drink orders. Famine stood up, wiped his mouth, and threw his napkin on the table, "I'm sorry to run. I want to get ready for the Dead Fair tomorrow. It's been a long week and I need the rest."

Morrigan stood, too, and joined him. "I'll go with you. Thank you for a lovely night, Mr. Reaper and Ms Llorona."

"You're very welcome, dear," said Llorona, "I hope to see you again soon."

"You will. Good night everyone."

Famine nodded his good-byes as the adults bid Morrigan adieu. He stepped out into the night and waited. Seconds later, Morrigan came out smiling. She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek.

"See there. I told you things would be okay. Everyone's getting along. If that didn't say anything about family, nothing else would. Do you feel any better?"

Famine shrugged. "I guess. I just hope it stays this way."

"What makes you think it won't?"

Famine looked back into the restaurant through the window. The Reaper, Llorona, The Banshee, and Azazel were all talking, laughing, and drinking. One of them must have just told a good joke as the laughter was uproarious. The feeling he had in his gut from a week prior was sill there. He didn't feel like anything was as truthful as it had been. Everything seemed somehow forced and false. He sighed and turned back to Morrigan.

"Things have a way of going wrong real quick in my experience. I just hope this time they don't. I don't think I could deal with any more shocks or surprises."

He extended his arm to Morrigan. She smiled, took it, and the two walked off. While doubt lingered in his mind about the adults, he had faith in her friendship and devotion. Lately it was what kept him going. He thought about the next day and leaned in to whisper to her. "So do you know anything about this Dead Fair?"

"It's fun...it's a carnival of dead things. You might have more fun than you'd expect. I haven't been in years."

"Sounds intriguing," the boy replied looking up into the night sky, "doesn't sound like anything bad could come out of that."

# EPISODE SIX:

DEAD FAIR

The sky looked as if it were melting; the hanging dreary black clouds dripped pendulously over small gatherings of figures as they toiled about a dense cluster of circus tents, kiosks, and concession vendors. All around, there was a vast stretch of barren, empty wasteland; nothing grew and nothing lived amid the boggy expanse. Croppings of gnarled trees and jagged peaks of strangely shaped hills loomed in the background. From a short distance, the two figures headed in the direction of the fanfare could hear an odd mix of sickly garbled carnival music, taunting shouts of boisterous barkers, and the excited murmurings of a crowd. The tallest of the approaching pair looked up to the heavens and pointed to the swatches of swirling purples and dull grays of the night. The other nodded.

Moments later, they had come to the front gate of the fair. One was the Ankou. Tonight he was dressed uncharacteristically in a Hawaiian shirt and baggy emerald green pants. His dead, mottled gray skin clung taut to his skeletal frame in a way that made the shirt look more voluminous that it actually was. The lights from the booths and tents illuminated his gaunt facial features like demented dancing pixies.

His companion, Famine, had come attired in far different clothing than he normally wore. Instead of his usual shroud, he had donned a dark blue tank top and khaki shorts. Just like the Ankou, the clothes looked comically odd on the youth. The shirt hung loosely on his pale torso and the shorts were cinched tightly with a length of frayed rope. He tugged at the rope and pulled up the waist.

"When I said to be casual, I didn't know you'd take it this far," he said indicating his uncle's wildly flowered shirt.

Ankou looked down at his garb and smiled. "I've had this for years and have never had the chance to wear it. I think it's nice. It says something. It says 'Here's a real fun guy.'"

"No, it says, 'That man's fashion sense is as dead as the corpses he collects.' I'd expect better from you, Uncle."

Ankou shrugged and threw up his hands. "Expectations are like the people you finally meet in person after you've met them online. Sometimes they're just not who you thought they were."

The duo approached the ticket booth. Behind the glass sat a tall but hunchbacked witch with a forest green complexion. She put down her magazine, sat up, and acknowledged her customers. She had one of those grating warbled voices that Ankou hated.

"Welcome to the Dead Fair, honey, where _everything_ is foul. What kind and how many tickets?"

"Just two standard, miss," answered Ankou taking out a burlap change purse from his emerald green pants.

"That'll be sixteen and half Spirit Wisps, please."

Ankou reached in, pulled out a handful of white cloud-like material and handed them to the witch. Every now and then, a face would appear and then disappear back into the mass. They cried and bellowed in misery as they were exchanged between the two night creatures. The witch deposited them into an open metal box behind her and gave Ankou a couple of decaying black paper tickets. "Those'll get ya into all the exhibits and most of the rides," The Witch said flatly as she picked her magazine back up and began to read again.

Ankou nodded, gave Famine a ticket, and started toward the tollbooth where an anxious looking purple goblin in a silver vest waited. He could smell the burned popcorn, rancid hot dogs, and sweet soul-nectar from the many vendors inside the fairgrounds. This had been the first time he had gone to the Dead Fair in ages. It used to be loads of fun to come and see the procession of skeletons and spirits during the mini parades, toss balls at the zombies in the dunking booths, and eat some human flesh flavored cotton candy. If he had come at the right time he would dress up in the skins of fresh corpses and take part in a grotesque Shakespearean tragedy. It took him away from the stress of collecting and often offered him the only chance to get away with his brother, the Grim Reaper, to just goof off for a while.

The Reaper had been called away to a train wreck and couldn't come tonight. In the time he had the boy with him, Ankou had grown to see his existence as more than mere existing. He had learned to look at things in a slightly more relaxed manner while still keeping a level head. Tonight the chance to bond with his nephew at the Dead Fair was something he couldn't refuse.

"Just so you know, you're not getting my ass on any of those rides. The last thing I need is bits of my face flying off into the air. I look old enough as it is."

Famine laughed and pulled his hair back out of his eyes. "That's alright, Uncle. I'm not crazy about those things, either. I'm more in the mood for just taking in the sights and sounds."

"And people call _me_ the old one!" Ankou replied with a raspy laugh.

The pair handed their tickets to the goblin. It snatched them away, tore them in half with its plump claws, and roughly handed the remaining bits back. It mumbled something about having fun, then continued to look annoyed.

As Ankou and Famine stepped onto the main thoroughfare, they saw that the Dead Fair had a lot to offer. There were many kiosks lining either side. Some offered food, others entertainment. Near them was an axe throwing game. A man in a plain white mask handed the weapons to waiting patrons who then threw them at the screaming humans at the other end of the booth. A muscle bound werewolf had just hit a man square in the head. Blood and chunks of brain rose into the air like a geyser before splattering to the ground below. When the werewolf was offered a toy for his victory he refused and pointed to the dead man. The masked vender nodded and brought down the corpse. The beast took a huge bite from its shoulder, smiled, and walked off into the crowd. Ankou saw a smiling female ghost in a large straw hat, flowery shirt, and lei handing out the rotting hot dogs they had gotten a whiff of earlier. A couple of small wispy gray figures received them with excitement. The sign on her creaky wooden booth read _Helen's Rot Dogs: Guaranteed to be Putrid Every Time!_ He was surprised Helen was still serving the festering food after so many years. She was one of the few ghosts he liked. It was good to see that some things never changed.

There were tents of every size and color intermingled with the other stands. Some were large striped numbers with tall spiky spires while others were tiny monochrome enclosures with hand painted signs of canvas on their sides. They were all in a state of decay, some more than others. The material sported jagged tooth-like holes, patches of moldering black spoilage, and a very thin crust of grayish-green mildew. The vendors kept to the same theme: their cubicles were in various stages of deterioration and ruin.

The variety of the visitors to the Dead Fair was mixed. In addition to the ghosts and specters walking about, Ankou saw a multitude of multicolored witches, werewolves of every size and fur color, very many voluptuous vampires, a few gangly ghouls, and an occasional demented-looking demon or two. He hated seeing so many monsters. While he appreciated the fact they were spending their money there. Their presence somehow diminished the unusual flair that once dominated the place. There had been a time when the Dead Fair was beings of Death not every two-bit thing that was _dead_ or monstrous _._

He had started to call to Famine to ask where he wanted to go first. The boy was looking at a tall, pale dark-haired young male vampire getting a blood soda. He wasn't dressed the way the usual vamps did this day and age did; instead of chic Goth or highbrow aristocratic garb, he wore a well-tailored blue suit with a black striped tie and crimson carnation in the lapel. Ankou knew the look Famine was giving this alluring stranger. He thought it better not to ask. Famine would tell him anything if and when he got ready. While he wished the kid would be eyeing another Death Omen, Ankou wanted Famine to know that he had his full support. But that time wasn't now. With a clearing of his throat, the soul collector spoke as if he hadn't seen anything.

"Ahem. What do you think we should do first?"

Famine turned his attention to him with a slightly startled manner. "What's that, then?"

"I asked where you wanted to go first, child. I'm not in any particular mood to go anywhere specific. Just where ever you want."

Famine thought for a second. He thrust his hands in his shorts pockets and started walking towards the middle of the fairgrounds, hoping Ankou didn't notice his inattention. The fair was supposed to serve a purpose other than entertainment, however, he just didn't want the old man to know that at the moment. "Let's just walk for a bit and see what they have."

Ankou followed his nephew, arms behind his back. The ground beneath their feet was squishy and rank. The tall leather boot-like shoes both of them wore offered protection against the stinging mud. Yes, they looked weird with the clothes they wore, but being practical didn't always mean looking like you just stepped off the fashion runway, as Llorona often said.

They walked slowly, taking in the sights of the carnival. It was pretty much the same as it had been at the beginning. It was interesting to see all the different attractions and offerings, though. There were booths where you could smash he skulls of humans whose heads were poking through a garishly colored box full of holes, partake of such food as Ectoplasmic Ices and Decayed Flesh Cakes, and see the various shows put on by any one of many of the side show performers.

Famine was staring off to his right. He took a deep breath and turned to Ankou. Getting the words straight in his head was easy but speaking them was another problem. _Just do it kid_ , he thought to himself. "You know I enjoy our hunts together, right, Uncle Ankou?"

"Sure, child, I do. I have as much fun as you do."

"Yeah, we've had some damn good times together, haven't we?"

"That we have," Ankou agreed.

They both chuckled. Famine didn't say anything for a few seconds. Speaking just those few words had taken a lot out of him. Ankou noticed this, and suddenly got a strange feeling in his gut. It was as if he had just eaten something that was good for him. He thought it best to come out and ask why the boy had brought this up. "What's going on, child? Are you tired of our trips?"

Famine answered quickly. This wasn't the impression he was going for. "No! Not at all!"

"Then why do I get the feeling you're dumping me like leftover guts?"

"I'm not doing that. Not at all." Famine said. He bit his bottom lip and continued. "You remember Morrigan, right? Well, she's asked me to go out haunting with her. You know, just hang out and scare people for the hell of it. Nothing fancy. Just on the moors or maybe in a castle."

Ankou suddenly felt the gnawing in his stomach stop. Was that it? Just being out with his friend? The boy was acting as if there were dire problems that would prevent the nightly hunts from continuing. He wanted to make sure, though. "So you just want to hang about with your best mate?"

"That's about it. I'm just not sure how often I'd be going out with you."

Famine cast his stare downwards at his feet sinking in and out of the boggy mire. It seemed like it was taking Ankou an eternity to say something back. He could hear the ichors flowing loudly through his ears, it was almost deafening. Hopefully, he sounded convincing enough. Coming right out saying that the "how often" would probably be "almost never" wasn't something he wanted to say. His uncle's reply was almost lost in the noise.

"Hell, child, why did you scare me like that? I don't care. You _need_ mates your own age to be with. We can't expect you to hang around with us geezers all the time."

The answer took away the roaring in his head. Famine's head snapped up, his eyes lighting up with a glowing yellow. It looked like he was convincing. "Really? You're not upset? I mean, we're still going hunting together."

"Of course we are! We still haven't gone out collecting during the day yet."

"I'm looking forward to that."

Ankou chuckled again, looking off into the distance. A topless young pale yellow witch with a shock of black hair ran by screaming, " _Throw me something, mister!"_ She had obviously taken too many sips from the cauldron by the looks of it. Famine couldn't figure out why someone would want to purposely alter their cognitive functioning. He enjoyed being in control of himself at all times. Being like that witch just wasn't something he wanted to do. To his right, a slender reptilian being with fierce yellow eyes and a thick long tail was trying to get people into his tent to see what he purported to be the enticing and exotic females of his species. He was dressed in a cheap-looking gray tuxedo that had seen better days; much of it was stained and torn. Famine wondered why he was there. No one here wanted to see things that were alive. He was wasting his time. Ankou leaned and whispered into his ear.

"They're dead, you know. There are some folks who like zombie lizard women. Takes all kinds, I guess."

Odd how the old man sometimes knew what he was thinking. Could the soul taker have the same psychic tie to him as The Reaper? That was something he'd have to figure out later.

" _That_ 's what I've been looking for!" Ankou said enthusiastically pointing towards a booth serving iced scream cones. The vendor was a tall skeletal figure decked out in a flowing blue robe that had more frills and lace than Ankou had ever seen on one garment. Only one spectral being in The Deadlands wore such things, his friend Charon. Normally he patrolled the river Styx but when it came time for the fair, he got his cousin to take over for a few days. Getting away from the grind of ferrying always seemed to put him back into the right frame of mind. He saw Ankou approaching and hurried serving a spherical green ghost with a single glowing red eye and tentacles.

"Ankou! How have you been?" he asked wiping his hands on a dingy white rag.

"Pretty good, Charon, pretty good. Thanks for asking. What about you?"

"Good, too. Glad to be away from the other job."

Ankou was reading the choices of flavors from a menu posted on the front of the booth. Charon didn't have Raw Flesh or Necrotic Tissue this time. Pity, those were his favorites. Famine was studying the list, too. Nothing really stuck out at him.

"Well, it's only once a year you get away. I can only imagine that it feels good," Ankou said.

"I have my neighbor's kid running the place this time. That good for nothing bum I usually use is away in the Paris catacombs. Says he's visiting some relatives. I don't buy that. He's probably just sitting on his ass at home."

"Sorry to hear that." He suddenly remembered Famine standing there and motioned towards the boy with his hand. "This is my nephew, Famine. He's just joined me in the hunting games."

Charon reached out and shook his hand. "Glad to meet you. I knew the Reaper had a kid, just didn't know how old he was."

"I'm two hundred fifty...give or take a few years. It's been a long time since I was mortal. It makes time go by in a strange way."

"You're better for it, kid. Being alive isn't what it's cracked up to be. There's too much stuff to worry about. Being dead is a lot easier if you ask me."

Famine liked this guy. He was easygoing and friendly. Not all the denizens of the supernatural world were so nice. There had been that nasty Rusalka that had given him a lot of trouble recently. The entire experience had been a bit traumatic. It ate at his quest for freedom and expression. His thoughts vanished when his uncle spoke.

"You don't have what I like."

"Yeah, the warehouse was out of a lot of stuff this time. The Graveyard Dirt flavor is good. So is the Putrefied Slime."

Ankou pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll try the Slime. What will you have, child?"He really didn't give it much thought. Iced scream was too cold, rich, and creamy for his liking. If he was to have soul sweetened, he preferred it candied. Still, he was with his uncle and wanted to humor him. "I think I'll take Festering Corpse."

Charon slammed his fist on the booth counter with relish and smiled as best a skeleton could smile. "Coming up!"

While he was preparing the treats, Ankou turned around to see the sights around him. Opposite the iced soul booth was a large black triangular tent with gray stripes. The weather-beaten banner on the outside read _The Great M. Morte._ That name seemed strangely familiar. He had heard it someplace before, he just couldn't remember where. Famine saw the concern.

"What's wrong, Uncle?"

"I have this odd feeling. There's something about that tent..."

Famine looked over. Nothing struck him as odd. "It's just another carnival sideshow. Probably some weirdo in a feathered turban."

Ankou said nothing. He lingered on the sign for a few more seconds then turned back to Charon, who now had the iced scream cones. The duo took them and began to lick the heaping scoops of frozen milk and life force before they melted. The faces of agonized souls trapped within the frozen treat were already beginning to distort in the heat of the night. The Slime was pretty good. It had just the right amount of rancidness to it. This might just take the place of Gangrene Tissue as a second favorite. Famine seemed to be enjoying his as well. "How is it, child?"

Famine gave the thumbs up and winked. Ankou got out his change purse and set it on the counter.

"How much do I owe you?"

Charon waved dismissively. "Not a damned thing. If I can't share with friends then I'm not any good. As long as you guys like everything I'm fine."

"At least take something for mine..."

"Keep your money in that little woman purse of yours, Ankou. I insist."

Ankou nodded. "Thank you very much, Charon.

"Yeah, thanks mister," agreed Famine as he ate his treat.

"Think nothing of it...and please call me Charon. That mister stuff is too uptight."

Ankou beamed with excitement. He waved a pointed finger towards the sky. "Ha! That's just what I say!"

The three had a nice laugh. Ankou and Charon made small talk while Famine finished his treat. The murmuring of the crowd and the smell of decay, oil, and ozone put him in a comforting place. Then and there, all worries had faded. The events of the last week seemed long ago, but still haunted him. He just couldn't get rid of it.

"Say," Ankou asked as he finished his last bite of cone, "who works in that tent over there?"

Charon peered across the way. "Oh, that's Monsieur Morte. He's some sort of fortuneteller or seer. Keeps to himself a lot."

"What is he?"

"I can't tell. He might be a zombie. He might be a ghost. Hell, he might even be a vampire. It's just hard to place him."

Ankou's interest was piqued. "Oh really? Does he seem a bit...uhm...scholarly? Use big words when there's no need? A bit pompous?"

"Yeah! He's really uptight, too. I guess that's why he seems so weird. Not exactly behavior becoming one of us."

"Thanks again for the treat, my friend. I think I'm going to pay this man a visit. I just need to confirm something."

"Don't fall for any of his bullshit."

"No, no. It's just a social call. Famine you can come with me or walk around on your own."

Famine wasn't in the mood to be wandering the place alone. As comforting as the ambiance was, it was still alien. "Coming with you."

Ankou shook Charon's hand. His face was lined with delight as he bid his friend goodbye. "Take care, buddy. I'll have to come by and see you soon."

"Please do. It will be nice to have a companion on the boat."

Ankou gave his friend a last nod then motioned for Famine to follow him. The boy waved at Charon and followed his uncle to the tent's entrance. There was no one there to greet them. He couldn't hear any sounds coming from within the darkness within. It appeared there was no one home."He might be out getting something to eat?" asked Famine.

Ankou ignored him and walked inside without a word. The interior was dimly lit and quite somber. Three tall candelabras stood at strategic points so that their light converged on a single silk draped table in the center of the room. A large crystal ball sat in the middle and an array of dried flowers lay scattered across its surface. The scent of incense filled Famine's nostrils with a pungent odor. There was a closed flap on the wall directly behind the table. Famine assumed that the Great Monsieur Morte was somewhere beyond that point doing whatever undead seers did in their spare time.

"Oi! Is there anyone here?" Ankou shouted out. "You've customers out here, mate!"

Leave it to Ankou to make an entrance like that. He had once barged in on a village celebration unannounced and quite inebriated. The intention was to ask for directions but he ended up taking them all away in his cart. There was some rule about having to take away any soul that he met while on duty. Unfortunately for those people, he _had_ been on duty. The Reaper was very angry with that. All Famine remembered was a lot of swearing between the two.

There was no reply to Ankou's shouting, so he tried again. "Customers! Out! Here! Oi!"

"No one's here, Uncle. Let's just get the hell out."

"Bah! The wanker's just hiding."

"Or in the loo."

Ankou let out his characteristic raspy laugh. "Don't be daft, child, non functional bodies don't need the toilet!"

A new voice came from somewhere in the room. To Famine, it was as his uncle described it: somewhat high and arrogant. "Just where would a tent have such facilities, anyway, child?"

The flap opened and a figure came into the room. It was a lean, towering man with a narrow bony face, light blue skin, thin black lips, and a mane of snow-white hair. His yellow eyes burned from beneath a large sequined turban. He wore an equally sequined turquoise robe and a pair of navy blue gloves. Ankou's face lit up as best a dead face could. "They'll let anyone open one of these things, won't they?" he asked indicating the tent around him.

The man pulled off his gloves and threw them on the table. "Ankou, you are dressed like a damned fool. What the hell are you wearing?"

Ankou looked down at his tropical-inspired attire and snickered. He pointed towards his friend's robe. "I wouldn't talk. Looks like you should have a show in Vegas."

"Your humor is still as rotten as the grave I see. Some people never alter their personal trajectory."

Ankou smiled and warmly shook the man's hand. He turned to Famine. "This is Pytho...or Monsieur Morte as he likes to be called. He's an old friend of mine. We go back a long way, don't we?"

Pytho sat at the table, pushed the crystal ball aside, and took off his turban. He sat it in one of the high backed wooden chairs and motioned to his guests. "Please have a seat." Ankou and Famine sat directly opposite Pytho, who had now unbuttoned his robe. Beneath it he wore a simple black long sleeved shirt and pants. "What brings you and your nephew out tonight?"

Famine wondered how this man knew who he was. It was creepy how much strangers knew about him at times. Famine just assumed for now that his name had been mentioned to the seer at some point in the past. Any questions would have to wait, though. It looked as if his uncle and Pytho were having a good time catching up. It was times like these that he hated being so young. He didn't quite fit into the world of the so-called adults, and yet he was no longer a child. The bond of long time friendship wasn't something he was familiar with. Morrigan was very new to him and they hadn't had time to form that sort of partnership. His mind was lost in a mire of thought when a voice cut through the muck.

"What troubles you, son?" Pytho asked.

Famine didn't know how to answer. He wasn't expecting the question. "What? Nothing's wrong."

It was an honest answer. Well, as honest as he was willing to be in front of a stranger. He could feel Ankou's eyes on him. A quick glance revealed slight worry on the cart driver's face. Guilt suddenly came on him like a vulture to rank carrion. Did his earlier admission really not fool him? There was more to say but he didn't want to get into now. The place and time was wrong. He hated being put on the spot like this. If Pytho weren't his uncle's friend, a quick spray of obscenities would be in order. He couldn't do that. "Really, I'm fine. I'm not sure why you're even asking."

"I sense a cloud of worry about you," Pytho said.

Famine wanted to put the man off as quickly and tactfully was he could. "I'm supposed to be worried, right? I'm a two hundred fifty year old teenager. We're that way."

Pytho narrowed his eyes and nodded. "I'll take that as an honest reply."

Famine was relieved. It had worked. Ankou still looked a little concerned. That bridge would have to be crossed when the time was right. Pytho rose, picked up his gloves and turban, and did a slight bow to the both of them.

"If you'll pardon me, I'll extricate myself for a few moments to put these items into repose." With that he went out of the room closing the flap behind him.

Ankou turned to Famine. There were a thousand questions coming, he just knew it. "Ok, child, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I've already told you that."

"That's bollocks. Pytho is a bit of a telepath. He can't read your mind right out, but he gets vibrations from people. He got some from you or he wouldn't have said anything."

Great. First people were after his energies. Now they were looking into his head. Staying in the last week would've been better. If he didn't answer, Ankou would keep talking. If that didn't work, then he'd have to deal with the Reaper or Llorona. His uncle was better. There was a bit of levity that could be had with the man and that helped. This is as good time as any to tell him everything. It would also help the guilt of not being truthful.

"Fine, I'll tell you. All that stuff about going out with Morrigan was a lie. I just don't want to go hunting anymore. I was going to go away by myself. Eventually I'd tell you I was too busy to go out with you anymore. "

"I see. When were you going to tell me the truth? How long were you going to keep me strung along? I thought you were more grown up than that, child."

Ankou's voice was sullen. His sadness looked pitiful against his garish dress. Famine had to say something. The sight of his uncle in this state made him very guilty.

"Please, Uncle, don't be that way. You know me better than that now. I am grown up."

"Why? At least tell me why. I think I deserve to know that much."

Famine turned to face his uncle. This was hard. Still, he had come this far. Why not take it the rest of the way? He felt voice shake and quiver with fear, sadness, and excitement all at the same time.

"Because I'm scared. I don't know what to think anymore. I thought getting out and having some freedom would be fun. I thought I'd get the chance to be myself. It just exposed me to a bunch of crazy bastards. Being out there isn't all it's cracked up to be. Things were easier when I was just hanging around the cemetery. All I had to worry about was when to be in for dinner. Now, I have to watch my ass every time I go out. That's no way to be free."

Ankou waited. Was he expecting more? Did he think Famine would talk for an hour before shutting up? He spoke at last, his voice matter-of-fact.

"You're going to give up? Being a quitter isn't very Reaper-like."

Famine went from having mixed emotions to just being angry. "Quitter! How can you say that? That's just mean!"

Ankou stayed stoic. Damn the man. What happened to the fun-loving guy that came with me, thought Famine. There's just some tight-ass here now. A very mean tight-ass.

"You bitch and moan about not being treated like an adult and being held down. We let you go and do what you wanted and now you sit there and say it's not what you'd though it'd be. It's too scary you say. That's pretty much wimp talk."

Famine's anger grew white hot inside him. He could barely keep himself in control.

"In case you didn't know, I had some crazy bitch try and kidnap me! Pardon me if that makes me a quitter! I don't like being threatened! Morrigan almost died for death's sake! _That's_ cause for fear! It's just too much! I don't want to go out and be scared anymore! I'd rather be safe and chained rather than free and afraid!"

Ankou waited for Famine to calm down. The boy's eyes seemed less fierce and he sat back a little more in his chair. He looked at the teen for several seconds with emotionless eyes before speaking. Thus time his voice was animated and tinged with enthusiasm.

"Famine, our realms are full of bad things. That's the way of things. You have to have bad to counteract the good. Keeps everything in harmony. At least that's what they say in books I've seen...and in fortune cookies. I know it's scary, but you need to keep headstrong. The Reaper chose you for a reason. He wouldn't have picked any ordinary asshole to be his son. I would say all this is part of growing up, but you've been dead a while. Since there is no real growing up to do, I'll just say that it's all part of gaining wisdom through experience. Does any of this make any sense or is it all just a load of old shit?"

Famine stared ahead into space. He let Ankou's words sink in. After a few seconds of thought he turned to his uncle. The old bastard was right. "It makes sense. I just didn't expect it. I thought you would have said something."

"If I warned you of all the dangers out there, when would you see and experience them for yourself? You wouldn't. You'd just have the words of an old man, and that won't get you very far. You'd be free in body but captive in mind. That's not what I want you to be like, child. I want you to be as strong as death itself."

"But it's hard. It's frightening and I don't know if I can do it anymore."

"At least try! You can't be a pussy! You'll never make it!"

"So you want me to go out there and be a tough guy?"

Ankou's face contorted with confusion. A hint of a smile crept across his face. While he trusted the words of The Reaper and his friend, those same words coming from the man with whom he had spent the last month riding sounded louder. They weren't laced with the ambiguity. Ankou was straightforward if anything. That meant a great deal. Famine shifted in his chair then turned to face the tent wall.

"In a sense I do. But be a tough guy in both a physical and metaphysical way. Fear will always hold you down. You have to beat it overcome it. You think I'm immune to fear, child? Hell, there have been plenty of times I was scared. It happens to us all. We just have to kick fear square in the area."

The area! Famine let out a quick laugh. He had to give Ankou credit for trying as hard as he was. "Area, huh uncle? You said pussy just a second ago. Now it's area? Be consistent. Anyway I know you're right. It's just not easy to do."

"No one can ever say they've been where you've been or do what you're doing, child. It's all new territory out there and you're the first explorer. That's never an easy thing. Keep your eye on the trail you're blazing and amazing things can come. Get out there and hunt like no one's ever hunted and make yourself proud."

All the anger and fear had gone. His quest for freedom and self expression was renewed. Coming to the fair had proven to be both an excursion of fun and one of realization. He wished Pytho would get back soon. Ankou would keep talking. "I'll still go with you, Uncle Ankou. Just let me kick the ass of whomever threatens me next time. I'll keep a pair of steel-toed boots in the cart for the occasion."

Ankou laughed and slapped his knees. "That's the way I like to hear you talk. You can kick _my_ ass if I forget."

Famine smiled. The light had come back into his uncle's face again. Pytho walked through the door flap. He had put on a long brown shroud and combed his hair back. "I ascertain you worked over your internal strife?" he asked.

Ankou looked at Famine and winked. "I think we got things settled, thanks."

Pytho sat. His face was grave. Famine had thought him serious before he left, but now he was even more serious. He looked from Ankou to Famine then brought the crystal ball up to his face.

"Now that these matters of yours have properly managed, I need to get onto more dour and urgent business. "

"You're not going to tell our fortunes are you?" asked Ankou.

"I need to give you warning of imminent calamity. It came to me as I left the room. I speak this in all seriousness. So I implore you to give my words your utmost attention."

Ankou's face darkened. He pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in. Famine knew this look in his uncle's face. He had seen it when they met The Hunter.

"What is it, Pytho? What do you see?"

The seer put the crystal ball in Ankou's face. It began to turn colors. First it was red, then blue, then green. The pattern repeated as fine wisps of smoke floated within the sphere.

"There's a storm coming, Ankou. I see great turmoil and upheaval ahead. Young Famine will face danger. You must be prepared. You must be ready to protect everything you know and care for. Things are not always what they seem. You have to remember that."

The dancing light played odd patterns on Ankou's face. Famine also leaned in to watch the globe. He saw nothing but vague swirling mist, and he knew it meant something, even if he couldn't figure it out.

"The clouds have begun to gather. Stay on your watch and trust those are distrustful, " Pytho finished. He put the crystal ball down. It had stopped its strange swirling actions. Famine looked up at Ankou, who was now sitting back in his chair.

"What's this all mean, Uncle?"

Ankou shrugged. His face was full of uncertainty and worry. "I don't know, child. But if Pytho thinks enough to warn us then we need to watch ourselves."

Famine turned to Pytho, who was now leaning against the table on his arms. "When's this shit going to happen, man?"

Pytho looked offended by Famine's choice of words. He spoke with a forced tone.

"I can't be sure. I see visions of things not as actual events but as vague shapes and meanings. You may think that daft, but that's how I prophesize."

Ankou got up from the table and reached over to shake Pytho's hand. He glanced down at Famine with urgency. That was all he needed to get up himself."Pytho, old man, it's been jolly good to see you. I hate to rush out like this, but I want to show the boy some more sights of the fair. I'm sure you understand."

Pytho nodded and shook Ankou's hand. He didn't rise as his guests moved towards the door. Famine didn't say anything to the seer. He thought he should have, but the way Ankou was rushing them out made him nervous. It was best just to get out and ask questions when they were outside. As they were leaving, Pytho spoke one last time.

"Enjoy the fair."

Famine wasn't sure how that should be taken. Was it some sort of warning or was it jus a polite comment? As he and Ankou were out on the midway again, the sights and sounds of the carnival engulfed them in a dizzying sensory cascade. It was better out here than in that tent. The boy now knew why there were no customers in there: it was just too depressing...even for dead things. You came here to have fun, not to listen to someone predicting dire futures. That was just a downer.

There was a tumult of movement coming towards them. The fair-goers were noisily forming lines on either side of the midway. Famine could hear the sounds of brass instruments blaring jazz music coming from that direction, too.

"Ah, the parade is coming," Ankou said enthusiastically rubbing his hands together. His eyes glinted with excitement and wonder.

"Parade?'

"Yes, the Dead Beat Parade. All the best and most unusual dead things take part in it. It's always fun. Shows that Deadlings are good for something."

The events in Pytho's tent were still heavy in Famine's mind. He wanted to ask Ankou what was going to happen, but he was moving towards a clear spot up from where they were standing. Famine sighed and hurried after him. "Stop going so fast!"

Ankou chuckled. Kids these days were supposed to be untiring and energetic. "Can't keep up with an old man, child?"

They stopped a few feet from Charon's stand. He was still handing out iced scream to a crowd of ghostly children. Ankou peered down the midway towards the approaching parade with squinted eyes. His voice was distant.

"So when are you coming to work with me again? I wanted to take you out to the waters."

"Whenever. The sooner I get back out the better I'll feel."

"That's the kid I know!"

With that, Ankou turned back to the midway as the parade was now passing them. The leaders were a dancing trio of skeletal figures in various states of decay. One of them had a face that reminded Famine of the mummies he had seen in books The Reaper kept in his library: an oddly shaped nose (which suggested that where his brain had been pulled out with a hook), a bizarre lipless grimace, gray flaky skin, and dark hollow orbits. They were all dressed in elaborate gauzy hooded robes and shiny golden rings and pendants. The audience applauded and cheered as the dancers did fancy flourishes to call attention to the bizarre creatures walking and doing their own little jigs behind them.

There was a line of oozing and putrefied zombies decked out in fancy black suits and hats playing Dixieland Jazz on a variety of brass musical instruments. _That's where the music was coming from_ Famine thought. Alongside them danced a few other garishly attired undead things twirling parasols and umbrellas embroidered with beads and garland. Their garments of purple, gold, and green looked strange against the rotting blackness of their skin and bones. One wore a bright silver theatrical-style mask. Ankou thought about Greek tragedies being performed in open arenas when he saw it.

Behind them came the living dead animals: bears, lions, horses, and an elephant all came lumbering along on festering limbs and paws. A couple of nearly transparent female ghosts came next pulling a large rectangular cage that contained an undead chimera. Its body was ragged spoilage but it still snarled and roared at the audience as it went by them. The snake-headed tail poked out from between the bars to add further dramatic flair. A group of phantom clowns frolicked behind the cage. Their painted angry faces glowed greenish blue to match the light of their outlandishly frilled and loopy costumes. There was no use for polka dots here. Famine saw that skulls and tombstones were the choice decoration for these jesters. A fat one carrying a bucket marched up to the audience on the opposite side and threw gooey ectoplasmic entrails on them. That got Famine in the gut; he laughed and pointed with delight at the sight.

Ankou turned around and smiled. A motley crew of wraiths, specters, and other zombies passed them doing a variety of amusing tricks. Some did somersaults, others juggled meaty skulls, and the remaining did a hodgepodge of gruesome, almost anatomically impossible twirls. The highlight was a car carrying The Raging Draculs, a vampire punk band that was very popular in The Deadlands. Famine had their posters on his walls in the family mausoleum. He fancied the lead singer, Nosferatu Jackson, handsome British guy with short yellow hair and a set of piercing blue eyes. Minutes later, as the parade was winding down, Ankou stepped back to join his nephew. He was wiping his brow with a lacy red handkerchief and nodding towards the entrance of the fair.

"Call me old, but I'm getting tired. Are you about ready to head back? Your father is supposed to be cooking some fancy ass dinner. As much as I hate that hoity toity stuff, anything he'd make would be good now. I'm famished."

Famine was tired, too. It seemed like it had been hours since they had arrived at the fair. He was ready to get home, eat, and crawl into his coffin. He'd talk to Morrigan soon enough. She was off on some society gathering with the Banshee and Azazel anyway. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants and began to walk towards where Ankou had pointed. "Yeah, let's get out of here. I've had enough excitement for one night."

"You and me both, child."

The parade finished behind them. Some of the marchers were talking to and intermingling with the fair-goers. The Jazz Zombies were a crowd favorite, smiling graciously as their pictures were taken. The silver-masked dancer made his way stealthily among the throng, stopping only momentarily to nod "hello" or to shake a hand. His eyes were following Ankou and Famine.

By now the duo had made their way half to the exit. "So, are you coming out next time? I just want to know what to plan."

Famine thought about it for a second. "Sure. I'll try to get Morrigan along, too."

The masked figure had now broken away from his admirers and was walking a few feet behind his quarry. He made sure he kept enough distance to avoid detection while still hearing what the two were saying. They were still on about future plans.

"It'll have to be in a couple of nights, though. The Reaper's having his card game tomorrow. Going to have to get someone to cover our shifts. I'll call those demons at the temp agency. They do good work," Ankou said thoughtfully.

Famine's voice became laced with excitement when he heard that. In all his years with The Reaper, he had never been allowed to be part of the big game night. Since things had changed so much over the last few weeks, he thought he'd test the waters with a question to his uncle. "You'd think I could be in the game?"

Ankou came to a standstill and stared off into the night sky. Famine had no idea what the old man was doing. Had he suddenly gone completely dead in the head? The stalker quickly walked to a nearby tent and pressed himself against the fabric fold of a wall to avoid being seen. "I'll put in a good word for you. You're a working guy now so I don't see why he wouldn't let you in," Ankou said at last, "I think he'd be happy you'd want to be there."

He started walking again. This caught Famine off guard and he quickly caught up. Ankou's momentary lapse was forgotten in the answer he had given.

"You think so?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"This is _great!_ "

Famine's face lit up with excitement. He picked up his pace a little to match the feeling of exhilaration he felt on the inside. Ankou tittered and caught up with his nephew. The masked stalker detached himself from the tent and began to walk away into the quickly thinning crowd.

# EPISODE SEVEN:

FURY OF THE HUNT

Famine sat a plate of dried barbeque flavored flesh chips and pus dip down on the family dining table. Behind him, Morrigan brought out a fondue pot with hot blood and rye bread.

"Do you want this on the table, too?" she asked. Morrigan wore faded jeans and a simple blue t-shirt that read _Keep Calm and Stay Dead_. This was a change from her usual formal gowns and billowy silken dresses. Her mother, the Banshee, had lightened up a lot since the events at the Borderlands road and it hadn't been a moment sooner.

"No," answered Famine pointing at the chips, "just put it beside the dip. These guys don't believe in moving around much once the game gets started."

Famine didn't bother conforming to any dress code. He pretty much wore what he wanted and no one have him grief. Since everyone else was going to be relaxed this evening, he decided to go with the flow. Instead of leather, he opted for a black tank top, gray jacket, and a pair of loose fitting khakis. Morrigan nodded and sat the pot alongside the bowl of dip. Famine pulled up two more high-backed wooden chairs from against the wall and placed them at the table. As he got them just where he wanted them, he snapped his fingers and almost shouted as a thought came to mind. _"Ah! Tablecloth! I need to put out the tablecloth! Those guys are a bunch of slobs!"_

With that, he hurriedly left the room. Morrigan went back into the kitchen where the Reaper was preparing the rest of the snacks for his monthly card game. He was pulling slime covered pizza from the oven as she came in. There were bowls and plates laden with a variety of sickly looking fluids, decaying body parts, and bloody organs lying all about the countertops. The Omen of Death wiped his skeletal hands on his frilly apron as he sighed. He threw an empty pan into the sink where it landed with a loud clang.

"I didn't think you actually ate anything, Mr. Reaper," Morrigan said as she sat on a barstool near the kitchen island.

The Reaper uncorked two large green bottles and set them near the pizza. He turned to face Morrigan as he untied his apron and let the top of it fall around his waist, exposing his ribcage. Had the girl not known him she would've sworn he was topless now.

"I don't, but my friends do. They're pigs."

"Some way to talk about friends."

The Reaper shrugged. "If I can't insult them, what use is there to call them friends?"

Morrigan plucked an eyeball from one of the small bowls and quickly gobbled it. "Who's coming over? I've never met any of the other Horsemen."

The Reaper was taking wine glasses from a nearby cupboard and placing them on a small tray with the bottles he had just opened. He dipped his finger in a gravy boat filled with green ichor and gave it a taste before answering. "War and Pestilence are coming tonight. The real Famine has a charity banquet to attend. He's one if the guest speakers."

"Really?" asked Morrigan.

The Reaper picked up a vial of white powder and sprinkled it over the gravy boat, gave the contents a stir, and tasted it again. He nodded. "Yeah, something to do with helping end hunger. The rest of the fellas are always making themselves available for events like this. I just don't have time."

"That's too bad. I was hoping to meet him."

"There'll be other times, Morrigan."

Llorona and the Banshee came into the kitchen laughing and talking just as Morrigan was about to ask another question. The two women were draped in long silver and black dresses with matching clutch purses. They looked like Greek goddesses. The Reaper gave Llorona a quick glance and went to working on a tray of rotting vegetable appetizers.

"Going to the Parthenon tonight?" he asked mockingly.

Llorona shot him an angry look. "The Banshee is taking me shopping if you must know."

"I'm taking her to the Luxurious Ghoul and Witchington's. I thought an evening of refinement would be fun."

"Besides, it's not like me to go out like this. Just wanted to do something different. I've spent the last fifty years playing cards with you and your buddies, anyway."

The Reaper grabbed the appetizer tray and the eyeball bowl, turned around, and headed towards the dining room. "The guys are going to miss you."

"Well at least they get to keep their money this month," Llorona said smiling.

Morrigan grabbed a few more of the Reaper's food dishes and followed him out. He was setting them in various spots on the table, stepping back every few seconds to make sure their placement was just right. Llorona and the Banshee came out of the kitchen nibbling on human-finger sandwiches. Morrigan turned to them with a wide grin.

"You ladies headed out now?" she asked.

"Yes, I want to get the Witchington's to have a quick bite before we start," answered The Banshee. "The Reaper's food is good but they have a nice little pastry shop that I think Llorona might like."

"I love a good blood red velvet cake."

"You two have fun. We'll have a great time with the Horsemen I'm sure," said Morrigan heading back into the kitchen.

Llorona tapped The Reaper on the shoulder. He whipped around to face her. "Yes?"

"We'll be back before sunrise. Don't let Famine have anything alcoholic to drink, okay? I know this is his first game with you guys, but I don't want him getting sick. I want it to be fun for him. Not that getting drunk isn't amusing..."

"Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"I'm hoping that you can make it to the Dance of the Dead in two nights," The Banshee said to The Reaper, "I've gone all out this year."

"I'll have to see. I may have to send intermediaries."

"As long as someone's there, that's all that matters." She paused and looked at her daughter. I'll see you at home later, sweetie."

Morrigan grunted in response and with that Llorona and the Banshee walked through the threshold into the family room. A few seconds later, The Reaper heard the door of the mausoleum open and slam shut. Famine came walking into the room with two folded red tarps under his arm. He looked around and then nodded towards the front door with his head. "The ladies are gone now?"

"Yeah. I never imagined Llorona going off shopping with The Banshee. If you had told me that two weeks ago, I would've said you were crazy."

"That's good, though. I want you guys to get along."

Morrigan reappeared with her arms and hands laden with dishes. The Reaper rushed over to grab a couple of bowls from her. "Thanks so much, dear," he said putting them down a few seconds later.

Famine unfolded one of the tarps and laid it down over a small section of the table without any food upon it. He put the other on the chair directly near the first tarp. Morrigan put the remaining plates down and leaned against the wall near the kitchen doorway. She eyed the tarps suspiciously. "Are they _that_ messy?" she asked.

The Reaper sat down and crossed his leg over his knee, exposing his bare skeletal foot. "It's just Pestilence. He's always dripping and oozing all over the place. His little puddles stain and stink the place up if we don't put something down."

"Yeah," said Famine taking a seat near The Reaper, "we even keep a mop nearby in case he's really festering. He doesn't mean it, though. It's just how he is."

"Sounds like you have some interesting friends," Morrigan said.

"You could say that." The Reaper replied.

There was a loud hollow knocking on the front door; everyone jumped up in surprise. Morrigan let out a small yelp. The Reaper rose from his seat and headed towards the entrance. "Speak of the devils..." he said.

Famine and Morrigan gave one another a quizzical look and followed The Reaper. He was just opening the door as they came into the room. Standing on the other side of the door was a stout figure dressed in metallic gray clothes that resembled armor more than cloth. He had a shiny black rock-like face with heavy features and a long mane of equally black hair. His eyes blazed yellow from beneath his brow. He reached out his hand and shook The Reaper's. Famine was shocked to hear the voice coming from the being. It was incredibly soft and whisper quiet.

"Death, my good man! Good to see you as always!"

The Reaper responded jovially. "Wouldn't be the same without you, buddy. Come on in! How have you been?"

"You know how humans are, they're always fighting so it keeps me busy. I've been looking forward to tonight. It's always so peaceful and quiet here. Say, will Llorona be with us tonight?"

"No. She's gone out shopping with the Banshee if you can believe that."

War shook his head. "The universe is full of surprises."

Right behind the soft-spoken thing was a tall, lean figure covered in a stained rotting shroud. It noisily ambled inside the room, leaving a slight trail of slime-like material behind. The skin on the monster was an array of different textures; some of it was mottled and pock-marked, some was dotted with oozing open sores. The overall color was greenish-yellow except the areas that were lividly diseased. Those parts were purple and black. It slapped The Reaper on the shoulder with a sickening squish and spoke in a heavy Southern accent. The constantly dripping face and lips made the words sound like he was speaking through water.

"How ya'll are, Mistah Reapah?"

The Reaper pulled slightly away but kept his tone friendly. "I'm doing just fine, thanks for asking. How about you, friend?"

"Oh, I can't complain none. I'm sick but bein' sick is all I know."

Famine and Morrigan stepped into the room more prominently. They wanted to be part of this weird but joyous reunion as well. The Reaper closed the door and was walking with his friends towards the dining room as he gestured towards the teenagers, "Guys, this is my boy, Famine, and his friend Miss Morrigan."

The stout being stepped forward and briskly shook Famine's hand. "Pleased to finally meet you. I'm War. Your Old Man talks about you a lot."

Famine didn't know what to make of this little man. This wasn't the type of person he was expecting. He forced a smile as War let go of his hand. "All good stuff, I hope?"

"Of course!"

"I'm Pestilence," said the dripping thing coming forward with an extended hand, "I'm told my reputation precedes me but I think it's just mah smell."Famine recoiled a bit but lightly shook Pestilence's gruesome hand. "Could be worse. You could have no reputation."

Pestilence shook his head in agreement. "Never thought of it that way. Better to be known for somethin' rather than nothin'."

The Reaper walked into the dining room calling over his shoulder. "Come on, guys. I have a lot of food already laid out. I hope you're hungry."

After exchanging excited looks, War and Pestilence walked through the stone archway and into the dining room. Their loud voices echoed through the mausoleum as they started their feast. Famine took a seat on the nearby sofa and sighed. Morrigan came up behind him and patted him on the shoulders.

"Not getting nervous are you?" she asked.

"Not really. I just hope I don't make a fool of myself in front of pop's friends."

"I'm sure everything will be fine, honey. It's going to be a fun evening."

Famine sat for a few more seconds before rising. "You're right! Let's just get in there and act like one of the guys."

The pair had just started for the dining room when another knock came. They spun around and regarded the door curiously. The Reaper hadn't mentioned anyone else coming tonight so who could it be? There were never any visitors other than Ankou, so the identity of the knocker seemed even more mysterious. Famine gave Morrigan a quick glance and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll see who it is," he said approaching and opening the door, "Can't imagine who it'd be."

Standing on the landing was an extremely tall man in a long black trench coat and fedora. His face was slightly hidden under the brim of the hat and a pair of dark goggles but from what Famine could make out, it was ashen and gaunt. He reached out to Famine with a gloved hand and spoke in a dignified manner.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Jäger. I'm a friend of Llorona's and I'm here for the game."

Famine shook hands for the third time that night. He looked at the new man through narrowed eyes. "I see. She didn't say anything about another guest."

"Oh, she invited me a few days ago and tonight was the first night I could get away. She said The Reaper was always looking for new players. May I come in?"

Famine nodded. "I'm sorry. Of course you may."

Mr. Jäger stepped into the living room and looked around as he pursed his lips. The place was lofty with high stone ceilings. Masses of cobwebs were strung like a canopy from archways, and burning torches hung on the walls. An empty fireplace sat on the left side of the room, sitting on the mantle were a ship in a glass bottle and a small wood box with gold engraving. There were a few pieces of dusty and moldy over-stuffed furniture and dry-rotted tables spread throughout the place. It all looked incredibly ancient.

"Nice place you have here. It's very cozy," Mr. Jäger said.

Famine shut the door and walked up behind him. "Thank you. It's a mishmash of styles Llorona and The Reaper have put together. They seem to like it, though."

Mr. Jäger pointed to a large rectangular painting hanging over the fireplace. On it were four blurry human-shaped figures standing in front of the mausoleum. "That's very nice; a family portrait?"

Famine regarded the comment with curiosity before answering. "Yes, Llorona painted it. It's a hobby of hers. May I take your coat?"

"No!" the man screamed clutching his garment.

Famine and Morrigan looked at him in shock and surprise, each taking a step back. He saw their faces and forced himself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I have a medical condition. I'm always cold. The coat keeps me warm. I'd like to keep it on."

Famine nodded. "That's fine. Everyone is in the dining room if you want to go in."

"Do you mind if I use your restroom first?"

Famine looked at him as if he had six heads and was speaking Swahili. "My what?"

Mr. Jäger was taken back. He waited a second before replying. "Oh, that's right! You guys are dead and don't go to the restroom. It's hard to shake the old way I used to live."

" _What_ are you, Mr. Jäger?" asked Morrigan walking up next to Famine. She stood straighter and held her head slightly higher. Famine knew that pose. She was suspicious, and this was her strong woman pose.

"I'm a spirit of fear...a sort of ghost."

Morrigan gave him a look of uncertainty. "I see. How long have you known Llorona? I mean did you know her when she was a human?"

"When she was human...yes. But that was a long time ago and it's hard to remember everything. Now, may please have a moment to collect myself before I go in?"

Morrigan touched Famine's arm. "Sure. We'll go on in. You can follow us whenever you get ready."

"It's through that doorway," Famine added indicating the archway, "Just take a seat and enjoy yourself. I'll let the other guys know you're here."

Mr. Jäger jumped forward and grabbed Famine's hand. "No! I want my visit to be a surprise!"

"Alright, keep your pants on," answered Famine.

"Why would I take off my pants, young man?" he asked.

Famine started to explain but stopped himself. "We'll be waiting for you."

Famine and Morrigan gave the man one last suspicious look before they walked away and disappeared into the next room. Mr. Jäger smiled broadly to himself and let out a small chuckle. He reached into one of the pockets on his coat and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Laughing a little harder, he swished the contents of the vial around and watched them change colors: from blue to red then from red to purple. He repocketed the bottle, had a seat on a nearby antique chair, and looked up at the family portrait with malice and spite. "You'll soon get what's coming to you. Just you wait."

A burst of laughter caught Mr. Jäger off guard. He gasped and clutched his chest and turned to see who had made the noise. War and Pestilence were coming into the room with smiles on their faces. It looked as if they had just shared a joke and were enjoying the punch line. They stopped both walking and laughing when they saw the new guest.

"Why hello there. I'm War and this is my friend, Pestilence," said War extending a hand.

Mr. Jäger smiled cordially and returned War's handshake. "Hello, I'm an old friend of Llorona. Name's Jäger.

"Is that name German?" asked Pestilence.

"It is of European origins, I believe. Say, is Ankou here?"

"No," answered War shaking his head, "He was going to be but had an emergency at the last moment. It's shame because he's such a bad card player. It's always fun playing with him."

He looked disappointedly at War. "Yes, that is a shame. I was hoping to see him tonight. There was something I wanted to give him."

"There's always other game night. I wouldn't fret. We were just going out to the cemetery for a breath of dead air. Would you care to join us?" asked War.

"No thanks. I think I'll just go in."

Pestilence broke away from War and opened the front door. "We'll see you back in the dinin' room. I look forward to talkin' to you."

War smiled and followed his friend out into the cemetery. After the door had slammed shut, Mr. Jäger went into the dining room. The Reaper was sitting in a chair in the middle of the table while Famine and Morrigan sat on the end nearest the kitchen thumbing through a large weathered leather bound book. The Reaper was shuffling a deck of cards. He looked up and waved.

"Hello. How are you, my good man? Please take a seat."

The new guest took the seat closet to him. "Thanks very much. I'm Jäger. I'm a friend of Llorona."

The Reaper stopped shuffling the cards and stared at him. "Really? I've never heard her mention you."

"We go way back. I think she'd forgotten me until we bumped into each other a few days ago."

Famine set the book to the side and leaned with his arms on the table. "Where was that? Where did you see her again?"

Mr. Jäger fidgeted with a napkin that sat directly in front of him. He didn't look back up at Famine, keeping his voice neutral. "I was haunting a stretch of land in the Borderlands when she happened to be floating by. I think she said she was on her way to see The Banshee."

"That would have been last week, I think," said Morrigan reaching out to take a piece of dried brain from a bowl, "it was right after the dinner at the Blue Crypt."

"Yes, I think she mentioned that. I hope I'm not intruding. I'm not used to being interrogated like this. I will leave if you want me to." Mr. Jäger said.

The Reaper cut the deck of cards and sat them near himself. "No, don't be daft. You can stay. I'm sure Famine and young Miss Morrigan have more than enough information now. This is a time for fun after all."

"Thank you very much."

"No problem. Help yourself to some food. There's plenty of it." said The Reaper.

"I think I will, thanks."

Mr. Jäger looked over the selection of appetizers carefully. He picked out a few pieces of moldy bread coated in pus and a slice of pizza. He took a bite from the pizza and gave a thumbs up to The Reaper. "Very good!"

The Reaper nodded. "Thanks kindly. I like to think of myself as a budding gourmet. I'm glad it shows in what I cook."

War and Pestilence came into the room talking and took seats on either side of the Reaper. War scooped up some dried flesh chips and began munching on them with delight. He waited until he had chewed them before speaking to the new guest. "Say, Jäger, what line of business are you in?"

Jäger finished his last bite of pizza and dabbed his lips with the napkin with which he had fidgeted earlier. "I guess you can I say I am in the haunting trade. I used to be a collector of sorts myself until an unfortunate incident took place. Sort of ruined that sort of work for me."

Pestilence wiped a stringy piece of slime from the side of his face and wiped it on the tarp. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you can get back to your old line of work one day. Nothin's worse than doin' a job you hate. I think you have to like what you do. Makes doin' it easier."

"Thank you for your concern. I'm planning on making a come back very soon."

"Glad to hear that, old man. Now do you all want to eat a little more before we start a game?" asked The Reaper.

"Let's eat first. Hate playing on an empty stomach," said War.

War and Pestilence filled little saucers with various rotting and oozing appetizers. Morrigan had piled her plate with black seaweed covered with little dead fish. Famine reached over to a plate of twisted decaying human hearts, took a couple, and handed the rest to The Reaper.

"So, what's new with you, Famine? I'm told you keep pretty busy doing things. Something nice and quiet, I hope?" asked War.

Famine had his hand over one of the hearts; a steady stream of bright blue light flowed from the organ to his palm. "I go out with Uncle Ankou. He's taught me a lot about soul collecting. I never knew it was so involved. We haven't been in the last couple of nights, though. He's been occupied. But that's okay, I think I need a little rest."

"Tired already, son? Can't wear yourself out too soon," Pestilence said.

"It's not that. I just need some time to myself for a bit. Need to get my thoughts together. I'm not any good to Ankou if I'm a mess."

"Spoken like a true teenager...all angst and hormones," said The Reaper jokingly as he finished one heart and went to another.

Famine smiled uneasily and glanced at Morrigan. She was in the middle of chewing her salad but managed to give him a friendly grin. She patted him on his shoulder. Pestilence swallowed a dried flesh chip and began coughing. After a few seconds he looked at The Reaper and spoke in a raspy voice.

"Are you going to let us have something to drink or do we need to start growing our damned grapes for a glass of wine?"

"Yeah, Pop," said Famine in a mocking matter-of-fact tone, "Don't let the guests thirst to death."

The Reaper got up and started towards the kitchen laughing. "And here I was going to let everyone shrivel up into dust. You're just too smart for me, guys."

Mr. Jäger rose and met The Reaper half-way. "Please sit down. Just tell me what to get and I'll bring it out. Let me show some hospitality, too."

The Reaper stopped and looked at Mr. Jäger curiously. "I couldn't ask my own guest to get the punch from the kitchen. That's not very host-like."

"I'll get it, Pop" said Famine walking past them both.

"I'll go with you, young man," offered Jäger.

Famine walked into the kitchen without acknowledging him. A large glass punch bowl filled with a bright red liquid sat on the counter. Next to it were several small matching cups. Famine had just picked the bowl up when Mr. Jäger came up behind him and pointed out the window directly in front of them,

"Look! It's The Jazz Zombies!"

Famine automatically peered out of the window with narrowed eyes. While he was occupied searching for the undead musicians, Mr. Jäger quickly unpocketed the vial and poured the contents into the punch bowl. He had just brought his arm back when Famine turned to him with an angry look on his face. Mr. Jäger quickly hid the vial under his sleeve. "I don't see anything out there, mister."

"Oh," said Jäger looking out of the widow, "I must have been mistaken. I think it was the tombstones I saw."

"You thought the tombstones were zombies? Do you need glasses or are you just stupid?"

Mr. Jäger laughed. Famine pointed to the cups and spoke quickly. "Just get those cups and bring them out."

He walked out of the kitchen while Mr. Jäger grabbed the cups. As the two joined the others in the dining room, The Reaper was just finishing a story of some type. Everyone had their full attention on him.

"And that's about the time the old ghoul boys found out the corpse was really a dummy. They were _furious_!"

Everyone chuckled as Famine sat the bowl in the center of the table. Mr. Jäger sat the cups near the bowl and the two returned to their seats.

"I can't stand humans, plastic or otherwise. What's their charm?" asked War stroking his hair.

Pestilence looked perplexeded. A glop of pus and slime fell from his mouth as he smiled. "I know! They're just so...plain."

"They have a certain charm. Don't forget my boy used be human," said The Reaper ladling up some of the punch from the bowl

"I think you're, Mr. Reaper. Humans are actually quite nice. You just need to look close enough," said Morrigan reaching for a cup.

The Reaper took a swig of the punch. "I did that once already, dear. While I'm glad that I took the boy, I don't think I could stand more than one of them in the house. No offense, son."

Famine shrugged. "Whatever, Pop. How is the punch?"

"It's actually pretty good. Everyone please take some."

Morrigan was about to fill her cup when War protested. "Do you really think a young woman your age should partake of such a strong substance?"

Morrigan gave the man a "how dare you" look. She then sat the cup down and forced a smile. "Of course, Mr. War, you're right. I'm much too young for a cocktail."

War filled his cup and it drank it all down in one gulp. "Mighty fine drink, my good man. Mighty fine drink. What's in it?'

"It's a take on the blood Chardonnay I usually bottle. I've added some spinal fluid, scorpion venom, and a bit of bile into the mix."

"Scorpion venom! That's what I taste," exclaimed Pestilence as he downed his cup, "I love punch with a bite...or sting. Not quite a refreshing as blood julep, but tasty just the same."

The Reaper just finished his second cup. He slammed it down on the table with relish. "Thank _you_! Thank you very much!"

Famine and Morrigan regarded The Reaper with curiosity. Morrigan leaned in and whispered into Famine's ear. "I think there's a little more than scorpion venom in there if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, he does seem a bit different."

Mr. Jäger sat back with his arms folded and observed the other guests filling and refilling their cups with the liquid from the bowl. When War offered him some, he just waved his hand dismissively. Pestilence stood up, turned to The Reaper, and shook his cup for emphasis. As he talked, pieces of putrefied flesh and gangrenous tissue flew from his hand and arm.

"I do declare, Mistah Reapah! Ya'll is about the best friend a man could get! Ya'll are always sayin' nice things to me and showin' me kindness. A lot of folks don't like me. They say I make a mess wherever I go. But you let me your house and have supper with your family. That's a good man!"

War stood and walked unsteadily to Pestilence's side. His speech was a bit louder than it had been minutes before. Famine could swear he was slurring his words. "He's right, man. You're the glue that holds this operation together. Without you, we'd be just a lot of skinny, diseased warmongers! Too bad Famine isn't here. He's missing out on some good times!"

"Yeah! Screw him!" Pestilence agreed.

The Reaper moved his chair between his two friends and patted them on the backs. "No, _you're_ the best friends a man could have! You're always there for me! You're pals and buddies in every sense of the word! You're such nice friends, I'm going to show you how to make wine like this!"

Famine faced Morrigan. His face was a mask of concern. "Okay, now I know there's something wrong. He never offers to show anyone his wine-making secrets."

Morrigan nodded in agreement. "I wonder how powerful he made that stuff. He was fine until he drank some."

Famine was about to say something but stopped when he saw The Reaper, War, and Pestilence stand together with their arms around one another's shoulders. They began to sway back and forth as they sang.

"Past time with good company

I love, and shall until I die

Grudge who will, but none deny.

So God be pleased, thus live will I.

For my pastance:

Hunt, sing, and dance,

My heart is set!

All goodly sport

For my comfort,

Who shall me met?"

Famine and Morrigan stared in awe at the singing trio for a few more seconds. They went into a second verse, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Morrigan stood up and leaned over to pick up the bowl. "Okay, they've had enough. I can't take the sight of this. Grown death beings shouldn't be singing like that!"

Just as she put her hands out, a raspy whispered voice caught her by surprise and she jumped. "Get your hands off the bowl, you little wench!"

She and Famine turned their attention to the other side of the table. It was Mr. Jäger who had spoken. He was still leaning back in his seat and smiling. Something in the voice struck Famine deep within his heart. He had heard it before. He just couldn't make himself believe it was what he thought it was. Morrigan put her hands on her hips and looked down at Mr. Jäger, her face contorted in anger.

" _What_ did you call me?"

Mr. Jäger laughed manically as he stood up. His form began to change. The clothes, and even the goggles, he wore began to shimmer and swirl like mist. His face was undergoing a similar transformation. The features melted into a flat, elongated and gray tattered mask. Famine gasped. The thing that began to materialize before his eyes was a familiar as the new voice it had. Within seconds, the man that had been there before was gone. Standing in his place was a tall thin being made up of a whitish, opaque, cloud-like material. His body flickered from within with a low light, illuminating the faint traces of the foxhunting uniform it wore. Morrigan let out a small scream and stepped back. Famine eyed the ghostly intruder with maliciousness.

"YOU!" he shouted.

The ghost smiled and hovered above the table. It folded its arms again and looked down at Famine with spite. "Yes, it's me, boy. I bet you're surprised."

"Who is this ass, Famine?" asked Morrigan thumbing in the direction of the being.

"This, Morrigan, is The Hunter. He's the leader of the Wild Hunt. Uncle Ankou and I met him on our first night out. He was after our stuff but we made an ass of him."

"You make it sound like I was doing something bad. You need to tell all sides of the story. It isn't fair. The young lady here might get the wrong impression."

Morrigan shouted up at The Hunter. "You just called me a wench, buddy! That made a good enough impression already!"

The Reaper, War, and Pestilence started singing a new song. They didn't notice any of the activity going on a few feet away. Famine regarded them with annoyance before turning his attention back to The Hunter. "What did you do here, Cloud Boy? Looks like you made them drunk!"

The Hunter floated down and near the singing trio. He glanced at them, and then returned his gaze to Famine. "Drunk is a human word, but use it if you must. I've incapacitated them. I've made them useless and unable to serve their purposes. I was hoping to get Ankou into this, but that's fine. I have The Reaper and that's all that matters. He's the most important."

"I guess it's obvious what my next question is," said Famine sarcastically.

"Is it?" asked The Hunter settling floating around the dining room. He stopped every few seconds to admire a piece of furniture or décor.

"You're stupider than I remembered. Why did you do this?'

Something was now different. Famine looked at The Reaper, War, and Pestilence. They had now become quiet and they settled into their seats. Within a few seconds, they were snoring. Morrigan floated over and checked them. "They're fine. I think they're just asleep."

The Hunter was turning over a large ceramic vase that resembled a tree trunk covered in winding vines. "They're down for the count, as the saying goes. But getting back to the question at hand, young man, the reason I did this is for revenge. I thought you would have guessed that by now."

Morrigan had joined Famine and the two followed The Hunter as he continued to go around the room. Famine's patience was wearing thin. "That's too simple, you transparent jack-ass. You're still mad about the stunt with Uncle Ankou? You lost that bet fair and square. How did you find out about the game anyway?"

"I was at the Dead Fair. I saw you and that unbearably dull uncle of yours and followed you around. I was one of the masked dancers in the parade. That made it easier to spy."

"What did he want?" asked Morrigan stepping closer to Famine.

"He was after all the souls and corpses in The Deadlands. He made a bet with Uncle Ankou and lost because he didn't listen closely enough to the terms. I guess he's still upset because we made him feel bad."

The Hunter threw the vase he was holding to the ground and it shattered. He dove at Famine and stopped short a few inches from the boy's face. His voice was raspier and more forceful. "It was more than that! It was about my honor!"

"What honor? You're just the leader of a bunch of horse-riding pansies. What did they do? Make you ride at the back?" asked Famine.

The Hunter pulled away and began floating around the room again. "When I came back empty-handed, I was disgraced in front of my men. They laughed at me and said that I was no longer able to be a good leader. I was stripped of my position and banished from the hunting party. The Rider who was with me told stories about the encounter between me and Ankou. He made me sound like an empty-headed fool. What good is a fool for a leader?"

Famine wasn't backing down. He remained steadfast in his questioning. "They threw you out because of that? Hardly seems likely."

"It was the last mistake they would take. I had messed up before and they distrusted me. I thought that taking over The Deadlands would have taken care of that and they'd see me differently. Instead, they used my defeat as the catalyst for my ousting. What last bit of honor I had was taken from me."

Morrigan now took the chance to question The Hunter. "I don't get it. Why is honor so important? Sounds like some shit my mother would talk about."

"A leader is not good without things like dignity, respect, and honor, dear girl. My past captures earned me the esteem of my men and put me in the greatest position of the Hunt. No one questioned me. No one thought ill of me. I would go down in history as one of the best Hunters of all time. Instead, I became a dancer in a two-bit carnival. It was all I could do."

Famine walked over to the Reaper and examined his face. The great Omen of Death remained still and snored the loudest of the Horsemen. The boy was quiet. His face went from one of relative calm to one of outright rage. He had never _felt_ such deep seated rage.

"How _dare_ you do this! I don't give a damn how much you lost! You don't come into my home and do this kind of thing! I don't have much but I love what I _do_ have and _you_ can't waltz in here and take it away!"

The Hunter stood behind Famine gloating. "But I _did_ and there's nothing you can do about it. The effect is permanent. They'll stay like this forever."

Morrigan marched up to him. Her anger matched that of Famine. "Now what, buddy? Huh? I guess that leaves you free to do whatever the hell you want!"

"That's right. Without these idiots, I'm free to take all the souls I desire. Ankou is nothing without his big brother here, so I'm not worried about him. Once I have control over the dead, my honor will be regained. Those fools of the Hunt will pay for getting rid of me! I'll be the greatest soul collector to ever exist. Humans will grow to fear _me_!'

Famine turned to The Hunter. The boy's face was growing paler and paler. A fierce, steady glow came from his eyes. His body shook and he was finding it hard to keep his voice steady. "You haven't earned to right to even be alongside the likes of The Reaper! He's the ultimate face of death, not some reject jockey like you!"

"Insults will do no good. I have conquered this ultimate as you call it. I will now be your father."

That was it. Famine screamed and rushed towards The Hunter with his fists flying. Fiery wisps and trails of bright white light came from his whole body. Morrigan gasped at the sight of her friend having just turned into a sort of human comet. His voice echoed throughout the house and shook the walls and ceiling. This must be Dead Light she thought. It was spectacular and frightening at the same time. The Hunter wasn't solid and the beating Famine attempted to lay upon him was useless. The boy's hands simply went through him. Famine ended up punching holes in the wall behind The Hunter. He turned around, his body glowing and heaving with emotion. His eyes still glowed and there didn't seem to be any direction in which they faced.

Morrigan grabbed one of the torches hanging on the wall. She thrust it through The Hunter's wispy body. He screamed and turned to strike her. She thrust the flames at him again and he stepped back.

Famine shuddered. His fists fell and his eyes returned to normal. The burning that had seemingly come from deep within his body had disappeared. After a few seconds, he stood up, regained his composure and joined Morrigan. She stared at him in awe. That was a sight to say the least...one she had no explanation for. The Hunter had retreated to the kitchen doorway.

"Fire?" asked Famine breathlessly.

"Yeah, I remembered how the sun burns off the clouds. Old Misty over there is a cloud...thought maybe the heat would burn _him_ off."

Famine looked impressed as he patted Morrigan's back. "Good thinking!"

The Hunter scowled. "Playing dirty is common amongst you dead things, I see."

"That's just how we deal with people who piss us off." Morrigan said as she put the torch back.

"It doesn't matter. I'm in control now. There is no more death. There's only The Hunter!"

Famine held Morrigan's hand and the two stood closer together. The Hunter withdrew from the protection of the doorway and bent over the sleeping Horsemen. He took a ghostly pen from his ghostly clothes and began drawing ghostly moustaches on them. He gave The Reaper a large handlebar one. Morrigan let go of Famine's hand and floated up to him. She was about to let the man have it when Famine spoke. His voice had become calm.

"So, you're the only one left, right," he asked.

The Hunter finished putting a beard on War. "That's right. I thought I made that clear."

Famine started chuckling. The Hunter's head snapped up and he glared at the boy. "What's so funny?"

"Answer me this, you soggy son of a bitch. If there is no Death, how can anything die?"

The Hunter was silent. Morrigan started smiling. She joined Famine at his side. "Yeah. You've sort of cut off your own bollocks on this one, Hunter."

The Hunter threw his pen down. His face was still a mask of confusion. "What are you two getting at? I don't understand."

"You say that you can now collect all the souls and take over The Deadlands," Famine said striding up to The Hunter proudly, "But if there is no Death, nothing can die. That being the case, there won't be any souls to collect! _Everyone lives!"_

The Hunter glared at Famine for a long moment. Morrigan shifted her gaze back and forth between the two. At last The Hunter clenched his fists and screamed. "DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!"

Famine stepped back, pleased with himself, and smiled at Morrigan. "That's right, buddy, you can't do a thing. Without your greatest foe, you're useless. What do you do now?'

The Hunter anxiously floated back and forth from one end of the room to another. He was pacing, ghost style, Morrigan thought. At last he stopped. "I have to bring them back. I hate to, but I have no function without them. I don't want to go back to dancing with skeletons and zombies, it's just too degrading."

Famine grabbed a slim black umbrella from a stand inside the entry to the dining room and sat. He leaned forward on it and rested his chin on the question mark shaped handle. "You've proven your stupidity yet again, Hunter. What's this now? Zero and two?'

"I thought you said you couldn't bring them back." Morrigan said.

The Hunter stopped and looked at her as were a small child. "Don't be silly, of course I can reverse it. I was just being dramatic. It was just a simple potion I got from a witch in the Borderlands. I studied it and made my own version. Hers uses swamp water, mine uses zombie blood. The body absorbs it quicker."

"Which witch?" asked Morrigan pulling a cell phone from under her shirt.

Both Famine and The Hunter looked at her, stupefied. They had never seen anything like it: the object was black, rectangular, and thin with a gaudy flowered patterned case. "What is _that_?" asked Famine pointing to it.

Morrigan shrugged. "It's called a cellular telephone. The mortals use it to communicate. I got it off someone mother killed last week. Azazel rigged it to get reception to and from all the realms. Now which witch did you use?"

"Baba Yaga," answered The Hunter still giving the phone a quizzical look.

Morrigan quickly punched in a phone number and waited. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and talked over it. "I know all the local witches. Baba Yaga is a close friend of the family anyway."

Famine and The Hunter just exchanged confused looks. After a few seconds Morrigan talked into the phone. "Yaga? Hey! It's Morrigan! How are you? Oh, she's fine. He's fine, too. Hey, listen, I have a question. I need to knowhow to reverse a sleeping potion of yours. No, wait, I'll ask."

Morrigan once again covered the mouthpiece. She addressed The Hunter. "Hey you, what color was it?"

"Well, it turned different colors but I think it was blue to begin with."

"Okay," said Morrigan getting back to the phone, "It was blue. Okay. I see. Okay, we can do that. Okay, hey, thanks Yaga. I'll see you at the next Grand Ball. Good bye." She put the phone back with the same composure that used used to remove it.

Morrigan looked at Famine. "She says we can use some cemetery water. That should bring them back."

Famine breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, good."

The Hunter was wringing his hands. "So that's it?"

Famine straightened up and pointed the umbrella at The Hunter. "That's right. Now I suggest you take your ass as far from here as possible, mate. I wouldn't want to be here when The Reaper wakes up if I were you."

The Hunter stopped wringing his hands and stared at Famine with cold eyes. "This is the last time you'll humiliate me, kid. You think you're so smart but you're not. I'll show you one day."

Famine lowered the umbrella and thought for a bit. "I hardly think that'll happen."

The Hunter floated to Famine and looked down on him with malice. "I'm not one to run from a fight."

Famine pushed him away. "Fine, fine. Now I asked you to leave, so kindly do so. If I do ever see you, I promise it won't be good."

The Hunter stood up and nodded in Famine's direction. He put up his right arm, closed his eyes, and disappeared upwards in a streak of bright mist."We better get to making the antidote," suggested Morrigan.

"Oh, I'd let them sleep a bit longer. They never get any rest. Besides, think about it. For right now, no one or nothing is dying, fighting, or sick. I'll give the mortals a gift. I think they deserve it."

That was a gesture Morrigan hadn't expected. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn the kid was showing a human trait. Instead of pursuing it, she walked into the family room, leaving her friend to ponder further. She returned a minute later with an armful of dusty black blankets.

"That's a good idea," Famine said coming out of his thought cloud.

"Yeah, I remembered seeing these in the corner earlier."

She began covering up the three sleeping Horsemen.

"You're a wonderful friend, Morrigan," said the boy, helping cover up War, "I'm glad that I have you."

She turned to Famine. "It's quite okay, that's what I'm here for. That should take care of them," Morrigan said, indicating the sleeping Horsemen with a thumb. "Let's go upstairs and pick out some clothes. You're going to have to look good for the dance."

# EPISODE EIGHT:

BALLO DEI MORTI

Ankou examined himself in the full-length mirror with an air of confidence he rarely had. Going to a fancy dress event was something new and he wanted to be sure he made a good impression. He wore a long-skirted black single-breasted frock coat with white coutil trousers, black patent leather shoes, a dark blue bow tie, and an elegant stovepipe hat. He slipped on his white gloves, grabbed his walking stick and gave himself one last go over in the mirror before walking away.

Famine was sitting in the living room of the family mausoleum when Ankou walked in. The boy always complained that the name of the room should be changed since no one actually did any living in it. Like Ankou, Famine was also dressed in Edwardian style clothing but his had a unique quality. His was very similar in layout but was made completely from dark brown and white leather instead of the refined material of Ankou's. He had also opted for a bowler hat instead of a stovepipe, and had with no gloves or walking stick.

"Famine my boy, you look very dapper," Ankou said taking a seat next to Famine.

He gave the man a quick once over. "Thanks. So do you, Uncle. I'm always surprised to see you dressed up. Guess I'm just used you wearing that same outfit."

"Those are my work clothes. I have to keep up appearances if I want to scare people. No one's going to be frightened of a dandy."

Famine shrugged. "Guess you're right. Dressing fancy just doesn't scream darkness and death."

Ankou put his walking stick on his lap and looked at the ancient grandfather clock on the opposite wall. A small skeleton swung from side to side from its neck within the clock's body. This pendulum was much better than the original, thought Ankou. He was glad he replaced it before giving the clock to his brother as a gift.

Famine sat silently. The last time Ankou remembered Famine being that quiet was at the Dead Fair.

"Say, child, what's wrong? This shindig that the Banshee's throwing is supposed to be fun. You can't walk in there looking like that. You'll spoil the mood."

Famine sighed. "I was just thinking about all that stuff with The Hunter. "

"I see. You defeated him. I don't see what the problem is."

"I guess I'm just shocked at myself. I didn't think I could do that sort of thing. I'm just a bit shaken. My Dead Light coming out scared me."

"Hell, child, is that all? You should be proud of what you did. You defeated him without anyone's help. That says something. Besides, you outwitted him rather than falling back on Dead Light. Don't let it scare you too much. The time will come it will come out and you can use it like you want."

Famine pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just need to get my mind off of things."

Ankou stood up, adjusted the lapels on his jacket, and brushed some stray dust from his pants. He turned and looked down at Famine. "That's the spirit! I suggest we get our asses going. Miss Morrigan's waiting on us. I'd hate to keep that sweet girl waiting...and so should you."

Famine got up and smiled at his uncle in anticipation. "Can I drive the cart??"

Ankou rubbed his chin in thought for a moment. "Sure. Not your fault you didn't get you license. Just be careful."

"I'm always careful, Uncle. Trust me."

Ankou patted Famine on the back and laughed raspily. "I always do, I always do."

The two of them picked up their informal shrouds, which had been lying across the back of the sofa, and left. They had made a deal with one another: as soon as the dance is done, they get into more comfortable clothing.

*

The Banshee had rented out the best dance hall in all of the Borderlands, The Scream Garden. Its 18th century French façade was two stories of muted white limestone walls and ornately designed wrought iron. Huge stone steps with pillar-like rails led up to the main door. Anjou and Famine marveled at the majestic sight. There was no such grand design and splendor in The Deadlands.

They walked through the doors into the main hall and were struck by the grand architecture inside as well. Huge golden chandeliers hung from the low vaulted ceilings with what seemed like grace and elegance. Their candles burned with a similarly striking glow. The walls were painted white with elegant and elaborate golden designs around the windows and doors; the floor was tiled in rich shades of brown and black. The pair glanced around with stupefied wonder. They felt out of place in such a building. The room was filled with a myriad of dancing ghosts and vampires, all attired in dress reminiscent of the same period of the building: the men in colorful satiny jackets, breeches, equally garish ascots, and powdered wigs; the women were clad in richly embroidered silken dresses with flared skirts and ruffled sleeves.

At the moment, the women were all dancing the gavotte to Lully's Tragedie Lyrique. The men stood aside and watched with pompous delight. Ghostly waiters in formal wear floated about with trays of wine glasses filled with various shades of liquid. The Baroque music that the guests danced to played loudly from somewhere within the capering flock. There had to be a band there somewhere thought Famine. He hated this type of music and wished it were something else. Even The Jazz Zombies would be better.

"I don't think we belong here, Uncle. We're not fancy enough."

Ankou scanned the room anxiously. "I don't think they'll pay us too much attention. They're too caught up in their own little world to care. Now where is Miss Morrigan?"

As if by magic, Morrigan appeared through the throng of dancing figures and approached them. She was dressed in a bright white gown with narrow sleeves, a low pointed waist, and a huge billowing bell-shaped bottom. Unlike the other women at the dance, she had gone for the powdered wig. She smiled and opened her arms to greet her guests.

"I'm so happy to see you guys! Thanks for coming!"

Famine hugged his friend. "No problem. We just feel a little weird here is all."

"Oh, honey, don't worry about that. You're a lot more interesting and genuine than any of these things. Ankou, how are you? You look great!""Thank you, Miss Morrigan. I've never had to dress this way before. I had to do some reading up on the subject before I even thought about coming. I hope I did a good job."

Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. "You _both_ look wonderful, don't worry. Would you care for anything to drink? I think we have some non-alcoholic stuff."

"What's the fun in drinking if you can't get a little tipsy?" Ankou said with a laugh.

"I think we can find something for you!" she replied.

Morrigan motioned to a passing glowing white ghost who looked at Ankou and Famine with a degree of disgust. Famine started to say something but she spoke to the waiter first. "Be a good man and fetch Mr. Ankou a glass of our best wine. What would you like, Famine?"

"If you have some soul juice that'll be fine."

"And one glass of freshly squeezed soul juice for my good friend.'" The waiter bowed and floated away muttering under his breath.

"Where's The Banshee?" asked Ankou.

"I think she might be talking to the chef. That's where she was headed last time I saw her.""As soon as that ghost gets back with my drink, I'll go find her and let her know we're here."

Within a few seconds, the waiter had returned with the refreshments. Ankou took his wine and gave Famine and Morrigan a smile. "You kids have some fun now. If you need me, I'll be with The Banshee."

"I think we'll be fine, Uncle. Thanks"

With that he walked away, a few of the guests giving him quizzical looks as he parted the crowd.

Ankou found The Banshee in the middle of a small crowd of vampires. She was dressed much like Morrigan save her black gown. Her green hair was made up in the style of wigs everyone else wore. As he approached her, she smiled and slightly bowed to the thin black-eyed, gray-skinned vampires. She then broke away from them and came up to the cart driver with her hand extended.

"Mr. Ankou! I am very pleased to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you from everyone."

Ankou looked perplexed at The Banshee's hand. His eyes suddenly flashed and he bent to lightly kiss it. It seemed pointless as she was wearing elbow length white gloves. "Same here, my dear woman. I hope all you heard was good?"

The Banshee leaned in and cupped her ear as if to hear what he was saying. The music seemed to have gotten louder as a new dance began. It sounded like something from Bach. "What's that?" she asked.

Ankou raised his voice a little "I said, I hope you heard good things about me!"

"Yes, they were. You're very well loved"

"What," he asked, "I can't hear you!"

"Of course not ," shouted the Banshee as she began to walk away, "Please follow me. There's a quieter place to talk on the terrace."

Ankou took a drink from his glass and did as he was asked. The Banshee had made it to the terrace quickly. She shooed away a few ghosts that had congregated there with the classiness that only she possessed. Ankou had a weird feeling about her. Was she trying to be flirtatious? He didn't go for her type, and besides she was married. He'd just have to be firm. Just as he was about to say something along those lines, she spoke.

"Now that's much better. I can actually hear now. I'm sorry that The Reaper couldn't make it. I think he would've had a good time."

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me. He felt bad about not being able to come. Plus, Famine wanted to come and see Miss Morrigan. How could I refuse?"

"Indeed, Mr. Ankou, how could you?"

Ankou quickly glanced inside the ballroom and then down at his own clothing. He leaned in to whisper to The Banshee. "Tell me, why is everyone dressed differently? I thought this was an Edwardian dance."

She giggled. "No, it's a _French Nobility_ style dance. A few years difference in the two, I'm afraid."

Ankou looked crestfallen. He took the last drink from his glass and sighed. "Sorry. I didn't realize."

"It's quite okay. I changed the dress style at the last minute. I honestly don't care what any of these folks think anyway."

"Really? Then why even host such a thing? Seems a little pointless."

The Banshee gave Ankou a serious look. She slightly lifted the skirt of her dress and walked to the end of the terrace. Ankou put his empty glass down and followed her. She was gazing off into the empty night meadow. Low-lying fog swirled on the ground in a moving blanket. Dark shapes moved within it.

"You know sometimes things happen to you that make you look at life in a new way. A few weeks ago I would be in there laughing it up and kissing the cold dead asses of those high society snobs. I would be trying my best to _be_ like them because that's what I thought I should be doing. When I found out that that Rusalka had taken Morrigan, I saw that I had been wasting my time. I have spent far too much time in the company of those who could care less about me and not enough time with those that do. I will admit that I still enjoy shopping and some of the finer things in life, though. It's hard to give that up."

Ankou cleared his throat and tried his best not to sound too abrading. "You have to enjoy death, Mrs. Banshee. You can't go around being serious all the time. It makes you old. Before you know it, you're just some dried up soul collector who's seen better days. That Famine boy taught me to get out and enjoy things. There's no harm in that."

"I know. Azazel has pointed that out many times. But to answer your question, though I may not care about what these people think anymore, I have to let them believe that I do. It's about keeping up appearances. I have to go on letting them think I have this high status. It's the only way I keep their respect."

"I'm sorry. I still don't understand."

The Banshee turned to face him. "Look at them, Mr. Ankou. They're a bunch of Deadlings...ghosts...vampires...and zombies...plus anything else out there in the Borderlands. _We're_ the ones with the true power and prestige. _We're_ the symbols and embodiments of death. They should fear us. They should know that we're the ones who rule over them. I can't let them see a side of me that's weak. It'll throw everything out of balance. Do you see what I mean? We have to keep up appearances to keep them where we want them."

Ankou shook his head in agreement. "You're right. We can't have them thinking they're better or even equal to us. Death keeps with death."

"Exactly. Let the Borderlands minions keep in the Borderlands. The Deadlands is ours."

Ankou leaned towards The Banshee and whispered. "Did you know that Llorona started fighting for them? Not physically fighting...but fighting as in trying to give them equality?"

The Banshee looked taken aback. She spoke as if someone told her the gown she wore was ugly. "Where did she get such ideas to do that?"

"Who knows? All she said was that it wasn't fair they were treated. She said it was distasteful to be so bigoted. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate or dislike them. I just think they should stay in the Borderlands. Death is the ultimate...with those guys in The Deadlands we'd be nothing."

"Try to talk some sense into her. I like Llorona. I don't want to see her get involved with things that might hurt her or our world."

Ankou patted The Banshee's shoulder. She gave him a surprised look. "I'll try. Now, I think you should be getting back to you party. You don't want them to think you're too good to talk to them."

The Banshee smiled even wider. "Thank you for coming tonight. Give my regards to Llorona and The Reaper. You go enjoy the festivities, Mr. Ankou. I'm sure Famine and Morrigan are."

She curtsied and walked back into the room. Ankou sighed, took off his hat, and rubbed his head. He stood on the terrace for a few seconds longer before putting the hat on again and joining the party.

*

Famine and Morrigan had detached themselves from the main room and sat on a small sofa in an adjoining space. They watched the myriad of fancily dressed party guests pass by. Morrigan was always surprised by how pretentious these beings were. She smiled and acknowledged them as they went by but she had no idea who any of them were.

"I'll be glad when this is all over. I hate being fake like this."

Famine glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. "How much longer anyway?"

"It's supposed to be over by midnight."

"That's so incredibly ordinary for supernatural beings. Why not three or four in the morning?"

A tall zombie with an almost purely skeletal face passed by, tipping his hat to Morrigan. She nodded at it. "Because these things like sticking to tradition. For some reason they think midnight is the best time to end any social gathering. They say it leaves time to do other stuff. I suppose they have a point."

Famine stood up and stretched. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. I really just want to go home."

"Please, don't even worry. I think just showing up counts for something."

A well-built young male ghost floated by Famine and smiled at him. The spirit's vestiges of his former human form remained strong through his flickering green glow. He had short chocolate brown hair that hung loosely around his face, features that were so delicate that they bordered on effeminate, and a pair of deep blue eyes that radiated warmth and kindness. His voice was soft. "Hello there."

Famine was completely taken aback by the ghost's beauty and grace. He weakly nodded and managed to reply in his strongest masculine voice. "Hi."The specter continued on into the ballroom and became lost in the crowd. Famine hurriedly went back to sit next to Morrigan. He was smiling broadly and looking past her shoulder onto the dance floor. She glanced back to where he was looking and then at him again, her grin was almost as big as his.

"Did you see something you liked?"

Famine finally looked back at Morrigan. He was still smiling. "I think I did. I didn't know you knew such nice people."

"Honey, I don't know who that was. I told you everyone here was a stranger. Why don't you go and talk to him?"

He was genuinely shocked and stammered at first. "Me talk to him? I don't think so. Besides, he's a ghost."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well...I don't know. Anyway, what do I have to offer?"

"Did you really notice how he said hello?"

Famine folded his arms and defiantly stared forward. "No. I won't make a fool of myself. I wouldn't know what to say."

Morrigan put her arm around his shoulder and leaned in. "What are you afraid of? Really? You beat some sad delusional asshole just a couple of days ago. He could've put The Reaper out for good if it weren't for you. Now you're going to let a boy stop you from continuing a winning streak? Talking to him is nothing compared to what you've done before."

Famine said nothing. He kept his eyes forward as he if didn't hear his friend. He knew she was right. He had accomplished a lot lately and had had felt proud of himself. Nothing could stop him from doing even better. It just took a little more nerve. Besides, the mere presence of the young ghost made him feel different. It wasn't like the crush he had on the lead singer of the Raging Draculs. His body felt like it had been dipped in a vat of warm water. His insides felt as if they were melting and his mind was taken off into the clouds. He hated leaving Morrigan like this but she was right. The chance had to be taken. He quickly stood up and held his head high in the air.

"You're right! I'm going to see him""That's what I like hearing, sweetie..."

Famine bent over and hugged his friend. "Thank you so much Morrigan. You've been such a wonderful friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Well thank you," she said laughing, "but if I were you, I'd go before it gets too late."

Famine broke away from Morrigan and hurried into the main ball room. Buxtetude had replaced Bach as the party goers had broken into two groups, one on each side of the room. As soon as the new music started playing, the revelers began the Passacaille. He couldn't see the dashing young man anywhere. Another door sat directly behind the parted crowd. Famine saw what looked like a garden beyond it. He ran across the dance floor past the revelers. Some of them scowled and some of them uttered curses. That didn't matter now. He was past the doorway and in the garden within seconds.

He stood in a large greenhouse-styled room; it was completely encased in glass and was filled with a great many types of lush green foliage. A couple of benches stood in the center of the room near a small fountain. He walked into the room, looking around and calling out.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone here?"

No one answered. He could only hear the constant trickling of the fountain. Walking a little further into the room, Famine turned a corner and found himself in a smaller section of the room. At first he saw nothing. Just as he was about to call out again, he heard someone's voice.

"Help me!! Please!"

He knew the owner immediately. It was the ghost for whom he was looking. A suddenly movement caught his eye. The young man bolted out from beneath a canopy of green branches with a look of terror on his face. A trio of huge zombies ambled out from behind him with their arms outstretched. He saw Famine and ran towards him with great speed.

"Help me!" he screamed.

Famine stepped forward and met the ghost. "Get behind me."

Just as he got around him, the zombies approached and stopped a few feet from them. "Don't worry. I'll take care of these rotting bastards."

All three zombies were dressed in Edwardian attire and seemed to have been dead a short while. Perhaps they hadn't gotten the update on how to dress either, thought Famine. While they still had most of their flesh, what remained was bluish-gray and covered in slime and mold. They looked to be fairly young as well. The tallest of the zombies stepped forward and waved a fist at him. His voice sounded as if he were talking through dirt and gravel.

"This isn't any of your business, kid, get out of way!"

Famine spoke defiantly to the attackers. "That's not going to happen, I suggest you away and leave this guy alone."

"Or what?" asked another one of the zombies.

"Or else I'll kick your rotten asses," Famine answered.

The trio of the dead laughed and pointed at Famine as if he were the village idiot. The ghost whispered into his ear. "Just scare them if you can. I don't expect you to fight."

"I have this," he replied, "Don't worry."

The tall zombie spoke again. "I'm not going to ask you again, buddy. Get back and let us do our business."

"You really think I'm afraid of you? Please. I'd defeat you all with both arms tied behind my back. You lot are nothing but a bunch of nothings. Three of you against one of him? That's not manly at all."

"We're stronger than we look. We can take you both and then some," said the zombie who had been silent until now.

"Then come on. I want to see what you have!" Famine shouted.

The tall zombie looked back at his friends and motioned at Famine with his thumb. "Can you believe this guy?"

"Let's just get him!" shouted another.

Famine stepped closer to the group. "Come on then!"

The tall zombie growled. "Don't say we didn't warn you!"

The trio suddenly lunged forward. Famine put out his arms out to defend the ghost. The tall zombie reached them first, trying to fling him off his ward and into the fountain. Famine resisted and held strong, throwing his attacker into a nearby group of small potted trees. The other two zombies had gotten hold of the ghost's arms and were pulling him in opposite directions. One of them said something about making a wish and the other laughed. Famine was about to take them when he was grabbed from behind and tossed to the ground with a great force. His body was wracked with sudden sharp pain. A burning sensation began in his chest and began to spread outwards.

The tall zombie looked down at him with a sneer and kicked him in the stomach. He gasped and grabbed his abdomen. The burning now spread through his arms, down his waist, and into his legs. His mind was filled with a loud buzzing and he saw nothing but a binding white light. He felt the tall zombie kick him again but the pain wasn't as sharp. A sudden rage gripped Famine's mind and he wanted nothing more than to hurt his attackers. He felt one last kick from the tall zombie before he grabbed the rotting thing's foot and twisted with all his strength. He heard the thing scream and curse. Famine felt renewed power and rage building up within him and he stood. He could barely see through the haze of light...it was like looking through gauze. The tall zombie was standing awkwardly in front of him swinging his fists. Famine's anger had grown to a crescendo. He took a shot at the zombie and sent the thing flying across the room. It hit a wall, fell to the floor with a thud, and didn't get up.

Now that the main perpetrator was dispatched, Famine turned his attention to the other two. They had stopped their attack on the ghost and were staring at him with disbelief. He found his voice. It was deeper and stronger than his usual voice.

"Get away."

They stepped away from their quarry and tried to escape through the door into the main ballroom. Famine quickly caught up with them, grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks, and bashed their heads together. They screamed in unison, much his delight. With a last bit of rage-fueled strength, he kicked one of the zombies square in the ass and whipped the other around to deliver a punch to its rotted face. Famine felt the burning begin to wane.

The buzzing in his ears and the light blinding him began to lessen. By now the tall zombie had gotten up and had collected his equally beaten up friends. It looked at Famine and shook its fist. Famine made a quick move like he was going for them again and the zombies flinched and ran off. He could hear the ghost trying to say something but he was still too far lost to make out what it was. Within seconds, however, the burning had stopped and his head and eyes were clear.

"You got them! You really got them!" said the ghost clutching his chest.

"I did?" asked Famine rubbing his head.

"Yes, you did! Thank you so much!"

The ghost walked over to him with his hand extended. "My name is Devon. Devon Wilshire. I'm new here in the Borderlands."

Famine brushed off his clothes, smiled, and reached out to shake Devon's hand. He reminded himself the kid was a ghost and he couldn't touch him...but he tried to anyway. Devon was a little more solid than he expected. Trying to hide his shock, he spoke in an overly friendly tone. "I'm Famine. It's nice to meet you, Devon. I'm glad that I could've helped you out."

Devon glanced back to the ballroom. "Those guys didn't like me much. They were out to get me from the moment they saw me."

"Really? Why?"

Devon bit his lip. "They didn't want someone of my nature to be here."

Famine didn't understand. He cocked his head to one side. "You mean a ghost?'

"No. I'm a gentleman who prefers the company of other gentlemen. I don't know the term humans use for it now...I'm sorry. But you know what I mean?"

Famine was dumbstruck. He had never met anyone else like that since he had come the other Realms. The feelings he had been having were ones he had never discussed with The Reaper, Llorona, or Ankou because he felt uncomfortable doing so. Telling Morrigan was easy because she didn't care. He had felt like he was the only one around like that and was utterly alone. Now here he stood looking at this incredibly handsome being with the same feelings.

"I do. Believe it or not, I'm the same way."

Devon's face registered total surprise. "Really? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No. I was coming to look for you so that I could talk to you. I was hoping that you were like me."

Devon's face went from surprised to happy almost instantly. He brushed a lock of ghostly hair from his face and pointed towards the bench in the center of the room. "Let's have a seat over there and talk."

The two of them sat and looked into the ballroom. No one spoke for a few seconds. Famine broke the silence.

"I was able to touch you. I haven't been able to do that with other ghosts before. Are you a real ghost?"

"Yes," Devon answered, "I am a relatively new one, though. From what I understand that helps."

Famine was intrigued. He turned and faced Devon. The glowing light from his face cast a warm glow that he found comforting. "How so?"

"Do you know _what_ we are? I mean do you know how being a ghost works?"

"Not really. We sort of keep to ourselves in The Deadlands."

"I see. Well, ghosts are sorts of stray energies. Instead of being consumed to feed and continue the survival of Death, we were able to get away for one reason or another. We need to be fresh to keep the process alive. Escaping sort of puts us past a 'best-by date' and Death loses interest. The collectors hate stale food. We're tangible for the first few years after dying but lose cohesion as time goes on. Our memories and personas waste away with it. Pretty soon we're noting more than mindless raw energy. We go on with a vague idea of what it was to be alive but we have no interest in pursuing it. We just exist."

Famine cast is eyes down. "That's so sad. Even though I'm dead, I know what it's like to be alive. I know that doesn't make any sense. I've been struggling with it it. I just can't figure out what I am."

Devon reached out and touched his shoulder. It was as warm as his glow. "I hope you can find an answer soon. It's hard to be caught up like that."

"It is. I just wish I had someone to talk to who knows what it's like. I have a great friend named Morrigan. She's helped me through some rough times but she doesn't know what it's like being like me. She's never had to worry about remembering where she came from."

Devon inched closer to Famine. "I would be glad to help you through whatever it is that you need...if you want."

He looked directly into Devon's glowing eyes and grinned. "I think that would be awesome."

"I'm glad I can be of help."

Devon locked his eyes onto Famine's and the two stayed that way for several seconds. Famine suddenly turned away and cast his gaze to his feet. "So yell me a little about yourself, Devon. How long have you been here?"

"Like I said, I am relatively new to this world. I don't remember an exact time but I don't think it's been any longer than a few weeks. I honestly lost track of how time passes since I got here. It's not the same as it is in the human realm. Anyway, I lived in Boston. My family was pretty wealthy and we lived in a rather large house. We had maids and butlers and all that sort of thing. It was nice because people treated us better."

Famine looked totally drawn into Devon's story. "That sounds like a nice life. I don't remember any of mine."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Why?"

"Because my maker took away my memories. He just says I'm better off without them. It just makes me sad, though. I wish I knew where I came from."

Devon leaned in closer. "Your maker?""Yeah, I was made by the Reaper...The Grim Reaper....Death itself."

"Really? Why did he do that?"

"I don't know that, either. He keeps all that information to himself."

"That's hardly fair. He should tell you these things. You have a right to know."

_You have a right to know._ Those words struck Famine deeply. Yes, he _did_ have a right to know his past. It would only be then that he could discover more about himself. That might take away some of the anxiety he found himself dealing with.

"Maybe so but, he's not going to tell me anything. Sorry my story's so dull. I'm just a dead boy without any idea of who or what he really is...or where he came from. How did you get here, Devon? How did you die? That is, if you want to tell me."

Devon glanced at the ballroom. A loud chorus of raucous voices came from the room. He chuckled and then turned his attention back to Famine. "Sounds like they're having fun in there. No, I don't mind telling you. I was past my time to meet my parents at a social function and trying to get there was fast as I could. I didn't think and took a back alley I shouldn't have. It was really late. There were certain...elements of society...around that part of town, you see. I didn't realize these sorts of people hung around alleys. I didn't them until it was too late. They killed me and took my money "

Famine's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry!"

Devon smiled and patted his leg. "It was my fault, honey. Like I said, I didn't use my head."

"That doesn't make it any less tragic. Dead is still dead."

"That's sweet sort of thinking. Anyway like you, Famine, I'm a rather lonely thing. I have no one in this realm to be with. I think I died too quickly and didn't have time to do much. Something about being young when you die makes it harder to make an easy transition. Do you know what I mean?'

Famine knew all too well and he had been told that very recently. Here he was hearing it from someone who knew firsthand what it was like. "I do," he replied.

"I'm rather glad I ran into you tonight. I think you saved me in more ways than one. I can't thank you enough."

"It was nothing, Devon. I don't know _how_ I did it but I'm glad that I did."

"Let's say you meet me tomorrow for a show. I know a delightful group of ghouls who do marvelous musical theatre of sorts."

Famine's mind was a jumble of emotions and thoughts. So much had changed so quickly and he was having a hard time taking it all in. It all seemed surreal. But here was a good-looking young man asking him out. What more was there to say? "I think I'd rather like that."

"Good! Then it's a date! Say, I—"

Devon's words were cut off by a familiar raspy voice. "Famine, child! Let's get out of here!"

Ankou was standing in the doorway with his stovepipe hat in his hands. He was turning it over and over again. "We've put in our appearance and it's time to leave! I want to get the hell out!"

Famine was beyond embarrassed. He stammered. "Uncle Ankou...I'm...not ready..."

Ankou gave him a curious look. "Not ready? What do you mean?"

Famine gestured towards Devon with his head. Ankou nodded and his tone softened. "I see. Well, I hate to break your conversation but we really need to go. Morrrigan's waiting for us in the cart."

Famine turned to his new paramour and grinned. "I'm sorry. It looks like I have to go now."

Devon leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "It's ok, I understand. Just come over to the Scream Queen Theatre tomorrow at nine. I'll be waiting for you."

"I'll be there."

He looked from Ankou to Devon and back to Ankou again before rising and walking to the doorway. He turned and waved at Devon, who smiled and waved back. Once they were out of the room, Ankou spoke again.

"Why were you talking to that ghost and why did he kiss you?"

"Uncle, please."

"I know what you are, Famine, and I don't mind. But I think you could find a better being in The Deadlands. Doesn't Morrigan know any nice young male things?"

Famine shook his head and sighed. "I don't care about that. Devon was nice and I liked him."

As they exited the house and went into the night, Ankou put his hat back on. The night sky had been clear when they came in. Now a few wispy purple clouds covered the moon. A few of them streaked the ebony canopy with an unnatural beauty. Ankou glanced up. "Looks like rain. Anyway, far be it from me to tell you how to live young man, but I just don't think you know much about their kind to get involved."

" _Their_ kind?"

"Ghosts! I don't trust them and neither should you."

"I'll take my chances, Uncle Ankou. Whatever happens, happens."

"I hope for your sake nothing happens and I'm wrong. The last thing you need is to have your heart broken."

Famine stepped into the cart and took a seat next to Morrigan. He pulled his jacket around himself. A cold wind had picked up and made the night chilly. While he tried to put his uncle's warning out of mind, he thought about the good parts of the night. He had met someone with whom he had a connection. As Ankou yanked the reins and drove the cart away, he hoped the rain would hold off. The last thing he needed to deal with was a storm.

# EPISODE NINE:

ONCE HUMAN (PART ONE)

Great clouds of dark blue, black, and purple churned angrily in the dawning sky above The Reaper's mausoleum. The new light of day tried vainly to penetrate the murkiness to no avail. A few bats, the last creatures out from the prior evening, flew to the safe recesses of the twisted branches of the dead trees in the cemetery. The Reaper stood on the front steps of the mausoleum and looked down the road with impatience and worry. He still wore the garish teal and pink bathrobe and floppy bunny slippers he had put on hours ago. If mortals saw him in this state, he knew that his reputation as the ultimate "end" would be compromised. Who'd be scared of such a foppishly attired thing?

The front door opened and Llorona, the Spanish Weeping Woman, stepped out with two large yellow ceramic mugs. She was dressed a little more conservatively than her counterpart: a plain flowing white housecoat and hair curlers. Her narrow, deathly pale face looked even more skeletal when she wore them. The Reaper had suggested she leave them in but she, like him, had an image to uphold. She touched The Reaper's shoulder with one of the mugs and he quickly spun around. "What? Did he call?" he asked.

"Uh, no," said Llorona handing him the mug, "I just thought you might want a hot blood latte."

The Reaper took a sip and tried smacking his lips. Since he had none, he gave up and raised the cup as if to salute Llorona. "Thanks. You made it strong like I like it. Is this the wicked roast or the saintly blend?"

"The wicked roast of coarse. You've been up too long to have the other stuff...it's too light."

"I wonder where the hell he is?" The Reaper asked turning to face the street again.

He surveyed every inch of the surrounding countryside with an eagle eye. Nothing moved. The last bits of low-lying fog were beginning to dissipate, uncovering the ancient monuments, soggy earth, and patches of briars in the yard. The Reaper half-expected Famine to be crouching there...ousted by the new day's light.

"I'm sure he's fine. We have to learn to trust him," said Llorona joining him. She took a long swig of her latte.

"Bah! Trust! He's been out all night without a word, Llorona. That doesn't say much about trust."

"I know but you have to remember that's he's still young. Isn't youth all about rebellion?"

"That's different coming from you."

"What can I say? I keep up with the times now."

The Reaper swished the latte around in his mug and stared down at the vortex it created. He thought himself to be a little more modern than most guardians he had known. Keeping people on short leashes, so to speak, was counterproductive. Famine had paid for his blunder and letting him go was for the best. At the moment, however, that seemed foolish. Maybe the boy should have been kept on his proverbial leash a little longer. At the least, the leash should have just been made a little longer.

A familiar sound broke the early morning silence. Llorona looked in the direction from which it came and saw a rickety wooden cart being driven towards the mausoleum. Ankou never at came this time of day, she thought. He must need something or there might be a problem. Given Famine's absence, she hoped that the former was the case. The Reaper seemed to echo her thoughts.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

They anxiously stepped off the stairs and onto the road to meet him. He stopped a few inches from the nightclothes-clad couple and smiled. "Did you two have a slumber party?"

Llorona didn't acknowledge his quip. Her voice was quick and even. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

Ankou jumped out of the cart and gave the closet horse a pat on the back. "No. I was passing by on my way home and saw you standing out here. I thought there might be something wrong."

Both The Reaper and Llorona breathed an audible sigh of relief. Ankou eyed them suspiciously, took off his wide brimmed hat, and moved closer. "Ok, what is it? You guys are usually resting this time of day."

The Reaper took the last swig of latte from his mug before speaking. "Famine's not home yet. We haven't heard from him since last night."

Ankou's face and voice both registered total surprise. "Really? That's not like him. Where did he go?"

"He went out with that ghost boy again," answered Llorona, "They supposedly went to have dinner then see another drag spook show."

" _Him?_ I told the boy that ghosts are bad company but he didn't listen. They can't be trusted...you can see right through them!"

"Ankou! I didn't know you felt that way!" said Llorona with wide eyes.

"What's the problem? Deadlings are all the same, child."

The Reaper put up a hand to silence what he knew would turn into an argument. "Now, let's not get into a fuss. The important thing is Famine's whereabouts. We can discuss his friends later."

Both Llorona and Ankou scowled. The Reaper began walking back towards the mausoleum entrance. "I'm going inside now. You two can come or stay here and fight. It doesn't matter to me."

The two soul collectors rolled their eyes at one another and followed the great symbol of death into the house. Once inside, The Reaper took off his slippers and headed upstairs. "I'm going to get dressed now. I can't be very forceful or authoritative wearing what I have on."

"You're right. No one was ever afraid of a teal bathrobe!" exclaimed Ankou.

Llorona took a seat on the sofa and put her mug on the nearby end table. She began pulling off her hair curlers and throwing them into a clear plastic box sitting near her feet. Ankou walked over to the fireplace and looked up at the painting hanging there. The family portrait had been replaced by one showcasing an urn of blackened and dead flowers. He enjoyed Llorona's still lives better than anything else. She always managed to capture the angst and dreariness of death better than any other artist he had ever seen. Sitting on the mantle near a model ship in a bottle was a small rectangular wooden box carved with intricate designs and laminated with gold leafing. A tiny padlock with the letter "R" etched into it held the container shut. He had never seen that before. The Reaper was always one guy to surprise. Had he now picked up antiquing as a hobby? He was about to ask Llorona about the box when the front door opened and Famine stumbled into the room. The boy was giggling and walking unsteadily on his feet. Llorona was already walking towards the boy when Ankou shouted up the stairs.

"Reaper! Reaper! He's home! He's here!"

By the time Ankou joined Llorona, he could see that Famine was not himself. A strong smell of alcohol came off him like a punch to the face. His clothing was disheveled, his words were slurred, his face flushed (odd to see, given his usually deathly pale complexion), and his eyes glowed a bit red.

"What're you two old fogies still doing up? Are you waiting for me?"

Ankou and the Weeping Woman exchanged confused looks. "Famine, are you drunk?" asked Llorona.

Famine laughed and hiccupped. "Drunk? Me? No....okay...maybe a little."

At first, neither adult knew what to say. They were both in total shock and denial. Ankou glanced at Llorona. The woman's face had gone a shade paler and she tried to say words but it seemed her mouth wouldn't let her.

"What the hell's gotten into you, child? Do you see what you've done to your poor mother here?"

"Aw, come on, Uncle, don't be a asshole. You've just forgotten what it's like to have fun!"

"Asshole?!" shouted Ankou. "If you think _I'm_ being an asshole wait until The Reaper gets down here."

Llorona finally found her voice. "Ye gods! You stink! Where have you been?"

Famine was trying his best to sound coherent and logical. "I was out with...Devon, you know that! After dinner...we went back to his house and had a little...a little...something to...drink."

"I told you that ghost was a bad influence! Now look at him!"

"Not now, Ankou," Llorona said in a cross voice, "This isn't the time for it. We need to get the boy to bed."

A strong booming voice came from behind, startling all three. "Not before I have a word with him. Get him to the dining room table and get him a cup of strong soul latte. He's going to need it."

Without a word, Ankou and Llorona got on either side of the teenager and led him to the dining room. When The Reaper gave a command, it was followed. Famine was still trying to talk but his words were incomprehensible. By the time he was seated at the table, he had quieted. The Reaper came and silently surveyed the situation. His brother was looking worriedly at him, but the boy obviously had no idea what was going on. Llorona had gone into the kitchen to the espresso machine to begin making the latte, she glanced into the room every few seconds to see what was going on.

"Do you want us to leave?" asked Ankou.

"No, you can stay, the both of you. He worried all of us and he's going to tell us all why he did this."

"Do you really think he's in the condition to do that, brother? Look at him."

The Reaper glanced down to see that the boy had now passed out. He was snoring loudly with his head and eyes rolled back and his straw-colored hair falling behind him like a limp mop.

"Forget the latte, Llorona. Let's just get him up to bed." The great harbinger of death said flatly.

Ankou scooped up the unconscious teenager from his chair and started out of the dining room. "I got him. You two need to rest, too. You've been awake a while. Besides, you're not going to be able to have a decent talk with him later if you're tired."

While The Reaper appreciated the gesture, he didn't really need rest. His job was a constant one that required most of the hours of the day. However, he _would_ do nothing for a while if he felt it was necessary. Llorona always said that getting one's batteries charged helped in making it through death without going crazy. Perhaps Ankou was right this time.

"You have a point. You can come back over later if you want."

"I'll do that. I want a word with the boy myself."

Ankou took his leave. The Reaper looked at Llorona; she wearily ambled back into the kitchen with the latte. It had been a long and stressful night. Hopefully things would be a little different in a few hours.

*

Later that evening, the living room was buzzing with activity. Morrigan had come over with Ankou and the two now sat near the fireplace and were looking through an ancient photo album. Llorona was going through a plastic tub of paint tubes, examining each one carefully before either tossing it into a garbage can or into another tub. The Reaper was bent over the coffee table carefully extracting pieces of a model ship from a small glass bottle.

Famine quietly came down the stairs seconds later. He had pulled on a tank top and a pair of plain black trousers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, heavily accenting his pale bony face. As soon as he walked into the living room, everyone else looked up without a word.

"Is there a party?" he asked nervously.

Morrigan smiled, got up, and gave him a tight hug. "We were worried about you, sweetie. When you didn't call, we didn't know what had happened."

"I'm so sorry..."

The three adults put down what they had been working on and turned their attention to the boy. Famine could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren't as happy to see him as Morrigan was. Their eyes were absolutely piercing. As soon as his friend let go, he took a seat on one of the chairs opposite Llorona. He cast his eyes downward and spoke softly. "I know I upset everyone by doing what I did. I just lost track of time."

"What's that to do with getting drunk, child?" asked Ankou sharply.

Famine faced his uncle and sighed. "Nothing. I went out with Devon like I said I was. After dinner, we went to this ghost club and we started drinking. I had never been in a place like that. It was so exciting...I just had to do what everyone else was doing."

"But you've never even drank before. How did you know it wouldn't do anything to you?" Llorona asked with a bit of concern.

"He didn't think about it. He just _had_ to follow the crowd."

"Ankou, please," said The Reaper tersely, "Let's hear what else he has to say before we get upset. Go on, tell us why you even went to a ghost club in the first place. You're not old enough to get in."

"It was Devon's idea—"

"Of course!" Ankou snapped.

Llorona shot him a nasty look and the old cart driver shut up. He pulled one of the chairs near the fireplace closer as Famine continued.

"Like I was saying, it was Devon's idea. He thought I should try something new. He thinks that I need to get back in touch with my human roots. He helped me get in. Once I got in and started dancing—"

"Dancing?" asked Morrigan with surprise.

"Yes...dancing. Once I started dancing with the other ghosts, I just lost control. I was having fun."

Famine looked from face to face but found no pity in any of them. He cast his gaze down again. "I don't expect any of you to understand."

The Reaper stood up, brushed off his shroud, and began pacing the room. "If this had been a first time, we could ignore it. But it wasn't. I had asked you to be back home at midnight the last two times you were out with that kid. You ignored me both times. I asked you several times to help me move some corpses from the graveyard into the small mausoleum for processing and you didn't. I could maybe look past that but you also stood Morrigan up. She's your friend, I thought you would've had better sense."

"That's okay, Mr. Reaper...it really is. It wasn't important."

"That's not the point, dear. He's continually broken promises because of this boy. He's also been very short with all of us. I don't know what's gotten into him. What's so special about him anyway?"

Famine looked The Reaper directly in the eye sockets with a defiant face. "Devon understands what I'm going through. He knows how lonely and confusing death can be. None of you guys know anything about that...about what it was like to be mortal..."

It was now Llorona's turn to be angry. She pointed at the teenager as she edged towards the edge of the sofa. " _I do!_ Don't forget, I used to be human, too, young man. I know full well how stressing it can be."

"But you're old! You don't know what it's like to be my age and in my place!"

"Maybe I don't, but that doesn't give you an excuse to behave this way. Besides, you know full well you can come talk to me any time you want."

"It's not the same. Devon makes me feel special and wanted. Not like any of you."

Llorona sat back, a look of hurt in her face. Ankou and Morrigan exchanged looks of similar emotion. Only The Reaper remained unphased. He marched up to Famine and looked down on him. "That was uncalled for."

"You just hate what I am!" spat Famine hatefully.

"No, that's not true. We really don't care about your other nature. We'd like anyone you brought home."

"Then why do you hate Devon so much?"

Ankou spoke up. "I may not like his type...ghosts...but I'd give him a chance if you had taken a different approach to dating him. Did you expect us to act any differently?"

Famine stood up fast and pointed at everyone in the room. He was livid. There was even some color returning to his face. " _His type?_ What nerve you have! You're all just jealous of what we have! He can give me what you all can't!"

Morrigan reached over and touched his shoulder. "Honey, please calm down. We're just trying to understand things. You have to give us a chance."

"I don't have to give you guys anything! You're just a bunch of bigoted fools! If you can't get me or Devon, then maybe I should leave!"

Famine pushed Morrigan out of the way and hurried past the Reaper. He gave everyone one last look of rage before he opened the front door and stormed out. No one said a word. Ankou walked over to Morrigan and talked gently.

"Would you go and try to calm him down?" asked The Reaper.

"Of course. I'll be back as soon as I can."

*

Morrigan found Famine sitting on a large tombstone in the yard. She looked up at the sky; the clouds had become much thicker since she had arrived earlier. A tiny drop of rain hit her face. Wiping off the water, she approached her friend. He stared off into the distance, a tear running down his cheek.

"Mind if I have a seat?" The boy waved a hand and said nothing. Morrigan squatted on the ground near the monument. "They mean well, you know."

"Oh, _do they_?"

" _Yes,_ they do. Three weeks ago, you would never have stayed out all night, much less get drunk. You've started disrespecting them, too. You're just so different. They're...I mean... _we're_ just worried about you."

"No one asked you to be, Morrigan. I can take care of myself."

"Is that a fact?"

Famine hopped off the tombstone and looked down at Morrigan. He had stopped crying. "Yeah, that's a fact. I don't have to be scared when I'm with Devon like I am when I'm with you or Uncle Ankou. He also makes me feel normal. I don't know how to act half of the time when I'm here. Everything's just better with him."

Morrigan stood up, looking at her friend with disbelief. "I've tried my damnedest to be the best friend I can for you. I've defied my mother when she said that you or your family wasn't good enough to associate with us, I overlooked the fact that you lied to me to be your friend in the first place, and I even had to endure an attack by some crazy bitch because I happened to be with you. Did I hold that last part against you? No. I stayed on and tried to help _you_ move on. Now you say some boy you've known for only a quarter of the time you've known me is a better friend?"

"No one asked you to stay. You could've walked anytime you wanted. I didn't force you to do anything."

Morrigan let out a small gasp, put up her hand, and turned to walk away. "No. I did it because I truly cared. Now I see what it really means to you."

"That's right," Famine said following her, "Go ahead and walk away because I'm not kissing your ass. Devon doesn't expect any thanks from me."

Morrigan stopped dead and spun around on her heels. Her face was glowing white with anger. "Then maybe you should go and be with your precious little boyfriend because my ass won't be around _to be_ kissed!"

"Maybe I should!"

"Then go!"

"I will!"

Famine gave her one last look of contempt, shot her a middle finger, and quickly floated off down the road. When he was out of sight, the girl sat on the soggy graveyard earth and began to softly cry.

*

Moments later, Famine found Devon in the center of the Borderlands coming from a run-down human spirit restaurant. He was picking his ghostly teeth with a ghostly toothpick when approached.

"I'm so glad to see you."

Devon threw the toothpick to the ground and put out his hand. "Hello, sweetie. I'm glad to see you, too. Are you okay? I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Famine took his paramour's hand and sighed. "No. I had a major fight with my family...and my friend. We all said some awful things to each other."

"Was it about last night?"

The two of them had gone down the street that the restaurant was on and turned around a corner to another. This road was filled with busy curio shops, bookstores, food markets, and produce stands run by a myriad of creatures. A ghoul with large bugged eyes, a half rotted face, and wild black hair was handing a human arm wrapped in butcher's paper to an anxiously waiting troll. Nearby a short purple goblin in a trench coat, fedora, gloves, and sunglasses was selling rotting oranges and apples to a cackling silver-haired female witch with a hook for a hand. A werewolf was putting out new issues of _Teen Creature_ on his rickety wooden newsstand, much to the delight of a squealing group of misshapen monsters. Nor far away, a refined looking mummy in clean neatly bound bandages had set up a pushcart with candied hearts and brains. Famine took a moment to think about buying something from him before answering.

"Yeah. They were pretty mad about me coming home drunk."

"Let them be mad. You're getting older now. You have to show your independence...do whatever you want. You don't need them to tell you what you can do."

"They still think of me as a little boy, I think. It wasn't that long ago that I got out of the cemetery."

Devon wrapped his arm around Famine's and leaned closer. "But you got out. That's the point. There's a whole new world to explore now. You said yourself you didn't know what you were. What better way to find out?"

"I tried telling them that. They just think you're a bad influence."

"Ha!" laughed the ghost. "That's what I'd expect. Leave it to them to bring that up. They like keeping you on a leash. They like keeping your mind closed to new things. That's not the way a real family behaves."

Famine let go of Devon and walked over to the mummy. The ancient thing tried smiling but ended up breaking off bits of his face in the process. When it spoke, dust flew from its mouth. "What'll you have, sonny?"

"One heart, please."

The mummy rummaged through his black striped pushcart and produced a human heart uncased in a bright red candied shell. It was on a white wooden stick. "That'll be six spirit wisps, please."

Famine thrust his hand in his pockets and came out with the right amount of currency: six swirling white ghost-like forms with agonized faces. They moaned and screamed as they were exchanged between the two unidentifiable and misshapen monsters. The mummy deposited them in a metal strongbox and gave him a nod of appreciation. "Thanks, sonny. Have a good day."

He waved at the vendor and turned back to Devon as he began licking the heart. It had just the right amount of rot and sweet taste to it. "No, they're really not like that."

"Who?"

"My family. Sorry, I was hungry for one of these," said Famine indicating the glistening heart.

"Really? If they were so enlightened, why are you here? You would've been with them having some silly lunch now if that they were so open minded."

Devon had a point there. Why did they react so violently? Why had they _all_ been so ready to rally against his new friend? Were they really just a bunch of talkers? Famine's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Part of him wanted to think there was still good in them all, but part of him thought that they were too controlling and narrow-minded. Real families were supportive, not destructive.

"You _really_ want to shock them?" asked Devon, nuzzling up to Famine.

"I don't know..."

"Come on, they made you leave didn't they?"

In reality, it was Famine himself who left; the family just goaded him along. But if they _hadn't_ done that, he would've stayed. So...yes...they did make him leave. They made him feel like an outsider in his own home. He answered blankly. "Yes..."

"Then get them back. Make them _really_ see how much of a rebel you are!"

"How?"

Devon got in front of Famine, held his hands, and looked directly into his eyes. "Steal your uncle's cart."

Everything around him suddenly stopped and went silent. It was only a world of quiet white. He had heard what Devon said: steal Ankou's cart. It was odd how that suggestion had cut him off from the rest of the world. The thought was both frightening and exciting. It spoke of outright defiance...and careless disgrace. It would speak volumes to his family. They would think him bold...and they would think him heartless. The temptation was great. Giving in to anger would sate his thirst for making them pay for their distrust but it would also put him in a much worse position. The world began to come into focus again. Devon stood staring at him with anticipation.

"Well, what do you say? Will you steal it?"

"I don't know...it's awfully risky."

"Of course it is! That's the point! Show them who's really in charge of your death!"

The more Devon talked, the more sense he made. Who were The Reaper and Ankou to say who he could talk with? What right did Morrigan have to throw her friendship in his face? No one knew him like they thought they did. Stealing the cart would take care of that. He took a couple more licks of the heart before actually biting down into its sickly sweet and sour core.

"Come on. Show me you're the guy I think you are. Show me what you're really made of."

That was it. He didn't have to prove himself to anyone except himself and Devon. Devon deserved it because he understood. No one else did. He took one more bite of the heart and swallowed hard. "I'll do it, " Famine answered defiantly looking back into his boyfriend's eyes, "I'll take that damned cart and I'll _show_ them."

Devon wrapped his arms around Famine and squeezed hard. "That's it! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

Famine knew he had sealed his fate with those words. He glanced up to the turbulent sky above. The black and purple clouds roiled and churned. Just as Devon let him go, the first drops of cold heavy rain hit his face. He threw the rest of the heart to the ground where it landed with a cracking sound. The street vendors began to pack up their wares and close up or leave the streets altogether. They two teenagers joined hands and walked towards the Borderlands as the rain began to fall harder. It didn't matter. Something had to be done...the rain be damned.

*

No one stirred as Famine and Devon reached the mausoleum. The storms here had been going on for a while. The road was slick and muddy as they approached the parked cart. It looked like Ankou had decided to keep his ass there, thought Famine, just like the lazy leech.

Devon hopped into the passenger's side of the wagon and called out in a low voice. "Come on! Get it and let's go!"

Famine looked cautiously around. He peered from the cart to the mausoleum and back to Devon. The rain was picking up pace. He wished he hadn't worn the tank top. The shirt was now plastered to his emaciated body like a second skin but fashion wasn't paramount in his mind at the moment. A more important peak had to be climbed and vanquished. The choice between duty to family and duty to self had to be made. With that choice, he would be able to scale any height. He gave the mausoleum one last look and went for the cart. Duty to self be praised.

"Let's ride," said Devon as Famine got in beside him.

Famine picked up the reins and clicked his tongue. The rickety cart started off down the mired lane with some difficulty. Perhaps this was the wrong day to suddenly start being rebellious...damned weather. Why had he let this beautiful young man charm him into doing something he would've never have done in a thousand years? At the moment, it wasn't important. Getting away was. Trudging through the thick mire, the two teenagers rode towards the Borderlands with delight.

*

The night had come by the time Famine drove the cart back in front of the mausoleum. The storm had abated some and the torrent had become a constant thick drizzle. Beside him, Devon giggled mischievously. Famine shot him a glaring look and the ghost stifled his laughter with his hand. A quick glance at the front windows showed figures frantically moving within. Every torch in the front windows burned brightly. Surely they must've noticed the missing vehicle by now...it was only a matter of going in to see of they had. If they hadn't then it seemed, to Famine, to have been a waste of time. Yes, the ride itself was fun, but he had taken the cart to prove a point, not for a joyride.

"Let's go in," he said getting out, "I want to see what they have to say."

Devon hopped off noiselessly and joined him as he walked up to the front door. "I think you did great! I can't wait to see their faces!"

Famine opened the door and walked in. The Reaper, Llorona, Ankou, and Morrigan all looked in his direction with looks of surprise and anger. Morrigan rushed up to him with a huge smile across her face.

"You're home!"

Her relief was short lived. When Devon stepped from behind Famine, her face fell and she sneered at the ghost.

"Yeah and as you can see, I brought company."

"Hello, Devon," she replied with an icy tone, "How are you?"

"I'm just dandy, thanks for asking."

Ankou approached them with a look of worry and concern. "Did you see the cart when you came in? It was stolen a few hours ago. We've called the Death Patrol but they haven't seen anything."

"Yeah, it's out there," remarked Devon off handedly.

Ankou, Morrigan, and The Reaper rushed to the door and threw it open. Much to their relief, the cart was sitting in the front yard. The horses looked in their direction and snorted in what seemed to be a greeting. Ankou ran out and began to inspect his carriage with meticulous care. The look on Llorona;s face was sullen, she looked down at the floor shaking her head. Morrigan turned her attention to Devon. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion and kept the same cold tone she had taken with him seconds ago.

"Odd how the cart showed up just as you two got home..."

"What are you suggesting?" asked he putting his arms across his chest.

The Reaper got behind Morrigan and laid his hands on her shoulders. Famine couldn't see the face from beneath the hood of the cloak but he knew the tone of voice too well. The old man was angry. "I think she's suggesting you took it, young man. Does she have any justification in that?"

"You're crazy. We were just out walking around," he answered.

"Walking in the rain? That might be OK for your friend, Famine, but not for you. Why aren't your clothes dirtier? You should be covered from head to toe in mud if that was the case."

"Just tell him, honey," said Devon giving both Morrigan and The Reaper a look of disgust.

"Yes, tell us, honey. We're living to know."

Famine turned away from everyone and walked towards the fireplace. "Yes! I stole the damned cart! Is that what you want to hear? I stole it and I'm glad I did!"

Llorona finally spoke. "Defiance can be dangerous. You never know who can get hurt."

"I don't care who gets hurt, mother. Nothing matters but me and Devon."

No one said a word. From outside, they could hear the softly falling rain and Ankou talking to himself. Devon joined Famine as he once again faced The Reaper and Morrigan. "Don't you feel better now? Getting that off your chest?" he asked.

The Reaper removed his hood. A bright red glow burned from within his eye sockets. He pointed a bony finger at the two teenagers who stood defiantly before him. "You're in a world of trouble. Do you realize what you've done? The Death Patrol was called!"

"I don't care! I don't care about any of this stupid crap!" shouted Famine.

"You better care. I don't think you realize the seriousness of your actions."

"Why," asked Morrigan standing alongside The Reaper, "did you do this? It's not like you."

"That's _exactly_ why I did it! You guys think you know me but you don't! You don't know me at all!"

"You treat him like a brainless child. He's so much more than that. No wonder he hates it here."

"You shut up, Devon. This is none of your business. You've done enough. Famine wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you," Morrigan spat back.

"Thank evilness for that! I'm his liberator. You're all just his jailers."

Llorona was now getting riled. "No, were are his family. That means something."

Devon spat and said coldly. "Shut-up, bitch. It means _nothing."_

The Reaper stepped up and glared down at the ghost. "I suggest you leave now before I get any angrier."

"What are you going to do? Huh? You can't do anything to me! You've missed that chance! I can go where ever I want!"

Just then Ankou walked in shaking the excess water from his hat. "Looks like everything's fine. I called the Death Patrol and let them know it was home."

As he surveyed the situation, his face went from relief back to worry. He didn't like the way everyone was looking at him. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Devon and Famine are the ones who stole your cart, Ankou," answered Morrigan.

The old soul collector shut the door and approached his nephew with disbelief. "Is that true, child?"

Famine nodded. "Yes, I took it."

"Why?"

"I'm not gong through that again! You just have to ask everyone else here."

"I'm guessing that Devon put him up to it," said Morrigan.

"That's right, I did. Want to make something of it, you nosey little wench?"

Morrigan gasped and took a step forward. "Are you going to let him talk to me that way, Famine? I thought we were friends."

"You thought wrong," he answered waving a hand at her, "I don't need friends like you. You like to keep me submissive, too. You're nothing more than a boring little spoiled rich girl with the personality of wet cardboard!"

Morrigan began to cry. She tried to defend herself but the tears came faster. She sat on the sofa, crying over one of its overstuffed dusty arms. Llorona sat beside her, offering comfort with a hug.

"That was uncalled for, child. You go apologize right now. That girl cares about you and you don't treat her that way," Ankou said.

"I can do whatever I want, _Uncle_. It's none of your business."

"Look here, I'm willing to forget about the cart. You were upset and weren't thinking when that little _ghost_ friend of yours talked you into it. You caused a great deal of trouble but no one or nothing got hurt in the process. However, I'll be damned to be alive if you stand there and disrespect your family and friends."

"Don't you lecture me. You're not my father and you can't tell me what to do."

The Reaper stepped forward and in front of Ankou, who was now crestfallen. "You're not going to stand in this house and talk to any of us that way. Do you understand?"

"Then maybe he shouldn't be in this house," Devon said boldly.

"I told you to stay out of this," The Reaper hissed.

"He's right. If I can't be what I want to be or do what I want to do, then I should go somewhere than I can."

"You're not going anywhere. Devon's going to leave and you're to stay in this mausoleum for the next fifty years."

Famine got right in The Reaper's skeletal face and looked at him with intense loathing. "You're not going to do anything of the sort. You've kept me prisoner for too long already. You tell me that you care about me but you don't. I'm just a prize for your collection. I'm just a freak that you took pity on. I'm no better than the dog Ankou brought home. You keep me around so that you can show off the freak to your friends. And on top of it all, I saved your bony ass from The Hunter! Some gratitude you show! Well...no more! I'm done with you and this whole nasty family! I'm leaving!"

Famine backed off. The Reaper's eyes began to lose their glow. "What do you mean 'saved my bony ass'?"

"As if I'd tell you now. Ask Morrigan."Devon took Famine's hand before any question could be asked. "Come on, let's go. You can stay with me. Forget these pathetic losers."

They pushed themselves past The Reaper and opened the front door. Ankou called after them. "Don't leave, child. Don't listen to that ghost. Stay...we can work through this."

Just as Famine was about to leave, he turned to his uncle. The rage had subsided. "I'm sorry, Uncle. I can't. I don't have anything against _you_. You've never hurt me. I'm sorry I have to hurt you."

Before Ankou could respond, Famine and Devon went out. The rain had started coming down heavy again. The cart driver ran to the door to see if he could see them, but they were lost in the downpour and darkness of the night. The Reaper came up behind Ankou. "I'm afraid of what he's going to do next, brother. I think I just made another horrible mistake."

"No, you did everything you could. We just have to wait and see what happens next."

Morrigan got up from the sofa wiping her face. Her eyes were puffy and red and she talked with a choked voice. "I'm going to follow them."

The Reaper and Ankou looked at her with shock. "That's not a good idea, honey. You don't know where they're going," said the cart driver."That's the whole point. I don't trust Devon. He could be taking Famine anywhere. I have to make sure he's safe.""I think she's right, brother," said The Reaper, "let her go. If he's leading the boy into any more trouble, we need to know."

Morrigan smiled at them. "Thank you, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Just as she was leaving, Ankou grabbed her shoulder. "Be careful, child. We'll call your mother and let her know what's going on."

"I will, Mr. Ankou."

With that, the girl was gone. Ankou walked towards the dining room. "I'll get a hold of The Banshee."

Llorona got up from the sofa and held The Reaper's hands. "I know you're blaming yourself now. But you can't do that. This was bound to happen no matter who was involved. We just have to see what happens."

The Reaper nodded, "I know but sometimes you just have to questions decisions you've made." He walked up to the fireplace and looked at the wooden box on the mantle. He rubbed its smooth surface and stroked his chin in thought.

*

The walk to the Borderlands was uneventful. Once they had passed the mist wall, Devon led them to the forest covered area of the realm. They veered off the beaten dirt path on which they had been traveling and into the actual woods themselves. All around them were great oaks with massive trunks, tall thin bladed grass, and various hedges of many shapes and sizes. Morrigan had followed them carefully. She kept hidden behind the trees, peeking out every now and then to keep them in her line of sight.

"Where do you live?" asked Famine gazing all around him.

"Not that much further."

They had gone just a few more yards when they went up a slight hill. When they reached the top, Devon pointed towards the bottom of the hill. Sitting there was a huge circular lake with brackish black waters; it was surrounded by skinny birch trees and tall gray boulders. "There. I live there."

"In the lake?"

Devon said nothing. He ran down the hill and Famine followed. On the outer side of one of the boulders was a tall upright rectangular opening. "Come on it's down here," he said going through. Shrugging, Famine followed. From behind a nearby shrub, Morrigan saw them going into what looked like a cave. She waited a few seconds before going in herself.

The light from the outside was enough to keep everyone safely on the path. The tunnel sloped slightly downwards a few yards before eventually evening out again. There was a faint light coming from another rectangular opening the end. Without a word, Devon ran through the opening. As Famine followed, an unexpected sight greeted him. He was now in a massive round room. The vaulted ceilings reached up to what seemed like a hundred feet, the walls were made from some sort of dark green and gray stone, the floor was soft earth, and there were arched doorways on the other three walls. The room was lit by several large candelabras and there were some chairs and tables made from carved birch and oak sitting about. Devon smiled as Famine took in the sights.

"What do you think? Nice, huh?"

"Yeah," Famine stammered, "do you stay here alone?"

"On no. I live with my mother. I want you to meet her."

"I'd love to."

Devon shouted. The sound reverberated in the huge room. "Mother! Mother! He's here!"

There was movement in one of the doorways, and Famine squinted to see who was coming through. The light from the candles cast an eerie glow on the figure now emerging. His heart stopped. What he was seeing just couldn't be. He gasped as the woman now stepped fully into the light and smiled.

Standing there in a long green velvety dress was Angelique. Her long red hair was down and combed neatly back and fastened with a large green clasp. She still had the same full beautiful face she had back at the ROT; she smiled at Famine with a malicious warmth.

"Well, hello dear. Welcome to our home."

# EPISODE TEN:

ONCE HUMAN (PART TWO)

A living nightmare stood smiling before Famine's eyes. He felt as of the world had suddenly disappeared and he was in the middle of a cold, formless void. His mind was numb...trying in vain to make sense of what he was seeing. Just seconds ago he had been in awe at the sight of the underwater home in which he stood and now he was staring at a person who, just weeks ago, had tried to kill his friend and steal his untapped powers. When he was finally able to find his voice, it was weak and soft.

"No. No, it _can't_ be you."

Angelique stepped under the light of the largest candelabra and regarded him with tenderness. "But it is, dear boy. I thought you'd be happier to see me."

"Why would you think that? You didn't exactly make that great an impression on me the first time."

"Oh that," she said turning and walking towards a chair and small round table in one of the corners of the room. "Perhaps I was a little out of line. It was an extraordinary situation...I acted on impulse."

"That's a bunch of crap. You knew full well what you were doing. What do you want from me?"

Angelique took a seat and grabbed a handheld mirror that was sitting on the table. After touching her face and admiring herself for a few seconds, she looked at Famine. "Want? I don't want anything. You're being here is as much a surprise to me as it is you."

Devon came up beside Famine and held his hand. "This is the boy, mother. Isn't he lovely?"

"Mother? Is she _really_ your mother?"

"We'll, she's like a mother to me. She kept me safe when I first came over. She's given me shelter and safety."

This was all too much. Within the last hour he had stolen Ankou's cart, had a major fight with The Reaper and Morrigan, run off with his boyfriend, and reunited with an enemy. It was as surreal as it was jarring and nightmarish.

Something in the back of his mind also suggested it all seemed a little too coincidental. How was it that he came to have a fallout out with his family on the same day he visited Devon's home for the first time? Why had Devon never mentioned Angelique? In the times that they had talked and shared with one another the subject of his living arrangements, it had never come up.

Devon talked about himself very little, actually...it had been Famine that had revealed the most about himself. That struck him as strange now, too. Pushing these thoughts away, Famine just blankly looked at Devon and nodded.

"I still don't trust you, lady. You tried to kill my friend the last time I saw you. That's not something I forgive."

Devon was surprised. "What? What friend?"

"Your mother over there," said Famine pointing at an offended-looking Angelique, "almost killed Morrigan."

"Morrigan? Isn't she the one who took your parents'side? I'd hardly call her a friend...she turned against you just like they did."

Angelique got up and began walking towards the boys. She spoke calmly, and with seeming concern. "Turned against you? What happened?'

"Like _you_ care!" Famine said taking a step back as she got closer.

"He had an awful fight with The Reaper and everyone else. They didn't approve of me...they practically threw him out," Devon answered.

Angelique stopped. "Is this true?"

Famine didn't know how to answer. It was true to a point. But in his mind, he was the one who had decided to leave. The Reaper had only provided a reason for doing so. "Yes," he said thinking on it a bit more, "we had a fight. I left. They gave me ultimatums...they wanted to keep me locked up again."

Angelique smiled and looked quite content with herself. Devon broke away from Famine and moved by her side. "I told you the truth, didn't I? I warned you they were that way but you didn't listen."

Those words hit hard. She was right. No matter how much The Reaper tried to smooth over it or how much Morrigan tried to reassure him, he had kept the doubt about his family deep inside. It had been Devon who opened his eyes to it even more. He looked at Angelique with new respect now. Yes, she had tried to kill Morrigan but she had also offered him the chance to break away from the broken family unit and live free. He had just been too stubborn to listen. Threatening Morrigan had been an extreme way to get him to agree.

"I didn't and I should've. These last few days have shown me how blind I was to it all. I can't believe I was so stupid."

Angelique motioned for Famine to join them. When he did, she put her arm around his neck and took on a matronly demeanor. "It's okay. I should apologize for acting the way I did, too. I was just trying to get you to a better place. It was selfish in asking for your Dead Light. I should have been content with just taking you away. In the end, I just wanted what was best for you."

It seemed like everyone wanted what was best for him. Why couldn't he decide what was best for himself? Her words were strangely comforting. And at least she had admitted she was wrong about her behavior.

"Can Famine stay here, Mother?" asked Devon anxiously.

"Of course he can. That is...if he wants to."

They looked at Famine with wide anticipatory eyes. He had no place to go. He couldn't go back home after the way he had acted. No...he couldn't go back home after the way _The Reaper_ acted. The man was being unreasonable. Here, he felt like he could do anything he wanted. He wouldn't be controlled or forced to stay in one place. Now he basically had the freedom that Angelique had offered him weeks before.

"Yes," Famine answered with determination and a grin, "I will stay. Thank you both very much."

Devon squealed and gave him a tight hug. Angelique patted his shoulder. "Devon and I don't have much but you're welcome to it. Stay as long as you wish."

When Devon had let go, Famine reached out and gave Angelique a hug. She acted startled at first but returned his embrace within a second.

"I was so wrong about you. You're the one I should've been with all along."

Angelique gently pushed him away but kept her warm smile. "All water under the bridge as the humans say. Now, why don't you go and get settled. Devon will show you to a spare room where you can stay."

"Just go through that door over there," Devon said as he pointed to one of the archways in the far corner, "it's the third door on the left. I'll be there in a few seconds."

Famine nodded and quickly went through the door. As soon as he was out of earshot, Devon turned to Angelique. His voice took on an angry impatient tone. "How much longer must we go on?"

"I don't think he suspects anything so let's not blow it by acting like a jack ass, OK? We've got him where we want him. It's just a matter of time and will. I don't think he'll think twice about giving me what I want this time."

"Giving _you_ what you want?"

"My apologies, dear," Angelique said with a giggle, "I meant to say it's only a matter of time before he gives us what _we_ want."

*

From her vantage point just outside the main door, Morrigan had seen and heard everything. She had done her best to keep her gasp of surprise at seeing Angelique as quiet as she could. Since no one had turned around to yell 'I see you!' or 'Get that wench!' to her, she assumed she had remained undetected. Getting back to the cemetery as fast as she could was paramount. Fighting the urge to go save Famine herself was strong but she knew deferring to others was the best. The Reaper and Ankou would know what to do and they were certainly stronger than she was.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, sweetie," Morrigan whispered.

When she came out of the tunnel that lead to Angelique's lair, the rain had become a lot heavier. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the sky. Taking a deep breath, the daughter of the Banshee flew over the wooded floors of the Borderlands with great haste. At least she wouldn't get wet...she didn't have solid form. Times like this made her glad she was a ghost.

*

When she arrived at the mausoleum, she saw that The Banshee's "horseless carriage" was parked outside. The woman had procured it a few days back from one of her captures and delighted in driving all around the Borderlands with great arrogance. It was a sleek silver vehicle of polished metal, huge black rubber wheels, and shiny glass windows and windshields. No one had ever seen anything quite like it. The vanity plate on the back read 'CRYNWOMN'.

The atmosphere inside the family home was tense. Llorona was nowhere to be seen. The Reaper and Ankou were pacing all around the living room while The Banshee talked frantically on her new communication device, what she called a 'wireless talker'. The woman was always coming up with fancy names for ordinary things but this time, Morrigan thought, she had had come up short. Why couldn't the woman just call it her phone as everyone else did? As soon as she ran breathlessly into the room, Banshee quit her conversation and tucked her phone into a large red sequined purse.

"Thank Deadness you're back! We're were worried!"

Morrigan ignored her. "Where's Llorona?" Before anyone could answer, she continued frantically talking, "You have to help! It's Angelique! She's back! She has Famine!"

Everyone's face became a mask of shock and horror. As The Banshee heavily plopped onto the sofa, Ankou and The Reaper rushed over to the girl with towels.

"She's out looking for Famine," answered The Banshee.

"What? Are you sure, child?" asked Ankou wiping her down.

"Yes, I'm sure! Devon led him to some lake in the Borderlands. He said he was going to let Famine meet his mother. But his mother is Angelique! They're planning something nasty and Famine doesn't know it yet! We have to help!"

By now The Banshee had regained her composure and had joined the other Death Omens. "Did they see you?"

"No," Morrigan answered taking the other towel from The Reaper, "I don't think so. We can surprise them."

"Did they give any indication to what they were planning?" asked Ankou.

"No. But they've convinced him to stay with them. He thinks they care more about him than we do. He wants to be with them."

"That doesn't sound like our boy," The Reaper said.

"Those bastards have brainwashed him. Damned Deadlings. They're always up to something," said the Banshee.

"We don't have time to worry about our prejudices now. We have to go out there and save the boy! I have some steel toed boots that are dying to meet some nice soft flesh!""

"Ankou's right! Let's get in my horseless carriage and kick some asses!"

Morrigan threw down her towels with anger. "Yeah! The four of us can take them!"

The three of them had riled themselves up and were headed towards the door when The Reaper put up a hand. Almost immediately, everyone became silent. "No. No we mustn't stoop to their level. We have to think about this."

"What the hell do you want us to do? Be diplomatic? I've done enough of that, brother. Famine would fight back. I'm taking a page from his book now. Outwitting enemies only gets you so far."

"Do you really think that's going to help? What do you all plan on doing to Angelique? Destroy her? What about the ghost? You can't go in and wantonly kill like that. It's out of anger and revenge. We're better than that."

Morrigan slammed the door that she had just opened and marched angrily towards The Reaper. "So what's _your_ plan, Mr. Reaper? If you have one, we'd all like to hear it!"

The Reaper sighed, walked to the fireplace, and picked up the wooden box on the mantle. He lifted it slightly above his chest and spoke solemnly. "Use this. It's the only way you can really succeed."

Everyone regarded the box with curiosity. Ankou pointed at it. "What, are we going to give them jewelry?"

"Nothing says 'we're going to kick your ass' like baubles and bangles!" Morrigan said sarcastically.

The Reaper shook his head. "No, it's not a jewelry box, you lot of morons. It's a memory box."

The curious looks deepened on the spectators' faces. The Banshee shrugged. "What's the difference? It's something you put crap in."

"This one's different. You see, when I call it a memory box...I mean it's a box where I've put actual memories. More to the point, it's where I put Famine's human memories."

No one said another word. They kept their eyes on The Reaper as he strode around the room talking. "When I took the boy that you all now know as Famine, I took away all his memories. Everything he knew about his mortal life...his biological family...his real home...his original name and identity...are all here in this box. I had my reasons for doing that but I'm not going into them here. Once he started questioning his past and his place in The Deadlands, I knew that I might have to give them back. I held out because I thought it would all blow over. But now that he thinks we're his enemies and Angelique is his friend, I know that that's not going to happen. I have no choice. I have to give them back."

"Why is that important, brother? How is it going to help?" asked Ankou wringing his gloved hands.

"I'm hoping that once he opens the box and finds out who he is and where he came from, he'll be able to make the right choices. I have a feeling that Angelique's after his Dead Light again. Knowing what's inside will help him in that battle. You just have to get him to open it."

"Hell, what are we waiting for," said Ankou impatiently, "let's go! We're wasting time!"

"What do you mean _you_?" asked Morrigan

The Reaper walked up to her and looked down into her eyes. "Miss Morrigan, you've been a very loyal and trustworthy friend to the boy. You put your neck out to help save him and you're willing to do so again. You've shown him the true meanings of Death and all its refinements. He's grown to better himself and others because of you. Despite what he may have said to, he trusts you."

He then went to Ankou and laid a bony hand on the man's shoulder. "And you brother. You've shown him much of the outside world. You've given him the chance to shine for himself...and more importantly...to think for himself. You've also let the boy open your tired old heart. In doing that, you two have become closer than he and I have ever been."

Breaking away from the old soul collector, who now had a single tear running down his gaunt green face, The Reaper opened the front door and looked out. The same storm that had been raging in the Borderlands had come to The Deadlands. Strong winds blew the gnarled and twisted trees in the graveyard. Sheets of heavy rain pummeled the tombstones and sides of the mausoleum with great force. Streaks of lightning lit up the daytime sky with blinding luminescence.

The hooded face of death looked out into the tempest. He held out the box. "He doesn't trust me now. He thinks I've kept him unfairly imprisoned and that I've not given him the chance to find out where he belongs. He's right. I've been blind and uptight. I've only been concerned with what I thought his world should be. In doing so, I've treated him like one of my model ships. The boy is more than a piece for show. He's a complex being with a heart and mind of his own. So, the only two he still trusts are you, Ankou and Morrigan. _You_ have to go to the Borderlands and have him open the box. If you ask him to, he will. The only hope he has in saving himself lies with the two who have shown him true love and compassion...the two who have given him the most freedom and the most confidence."

By now, copious tears ran down Ankou's face. He wiped them away and coughed. Morrigan used the frilly skirt of her damp dress to wipe her face. Even the stoic Banshee had shown emotion. She sniffled and blew her nose on a large sequined napkin that she pulled from her purse.

"So, will you go?" asked The Reaper.

"As if you have to ask. Let Llorona know where we're going," said Ankou with renewed determination. He marched up and took the box.

The Reaper nodded.

"Wait for me, Mr. Ankou," Morrigan shouted.

The two of them were just about outside when The Banshee ran to them. "Wait! You can't go out there like that! We'll take my car! We'll get there faster!"

"Your _what_?" asked Ankou.

"My horseless carriage, you great old git!"

"Ok, then, you drive that metal monstrosity."

"As if I'd ever _let_ you drive," The Banshee said pushing past her daughter and Ankou.

The three of them ran through the downpour and piled into the vehicle. The Reaper stood on the front steps. Ankou rolled down his window. "Don't worry, brother. You can trust us. He'll be fine."

"That's the same thing you said the first time you took him out."

"And was I right?"

The Reaper just nodded and cast his eyes towards the cemetery. Ankou called out Morrigan, who was sitting in the back seat. "How do you close this damned window? Oh, never mind! Let's get the hell out of here! Damned infernal contraption!"

The unearthly engine started and the wheels turned on mere air. A second later, the car sped away towards The Borderlands.

*

When Famine and Devon returned from setting up his new place, Angelique was standing in the middle of the great room next to a box draped with a blue cloth. She was smiling mischievously. "I take it everything's okay?"

Famine had changed from his wet clothes into a gleaming white hooded shroud that was cinched at the waist with a golden belt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely around his narrow face. "It is, thanks. You have quite the place here."

"Well, thank you."

Devon had put on a loose fitting green tunic and matching silk trousers. "What's in the box, mother?"

Angelique stepped away from the box and motioned for Famine to join her. "All will be revealed soon. Tell me, how have you been getting along with your Dead Light?"

He looked perplexed at the question. Didn't she just say she didn't care about it? "My Dead Light? I don't think it's ever shown itself. Not that I've noticed anyway. Why?"

"Genuine concern, my boy," she answered with a twinkling eye, "can't I be concerned with my son's new love?"

"Of course you can. I'm sorry if I sounded rude. I'm still trying to work through all of this."

Angelique led Famine to the chair on which she had sat earlier, and he took a seat. There was a crystal chalice sitting on the table filled with a sparkling purple liquid. She saw him eyeing the drink. "Go head, you can have it. I brought it out for you. Don't worry I didn't do anything to it."

He hurriedly picked up the glass and drank. It was cool, refreshing, and a bit intoxicating. It was the first thing he had to drink since last night and it hit the spot with its fizzy sweetness. It tasted as forbidding as the drinks he had had the night before. Angelique pulled up a chair near Famine as Devon stood by her. "Is it good?"

"Yes, thanks," Famine answered, "what is it?"

"It's carbonated scorpion ale...my favorite drink," answered Devon.

"It's quite tasty."

"I'm glad you like it. I'm having one of the servants prepare dinner now. It shouldn't be much longer. I hate to keep bothering you, dear, but I want to know more about your Dead Light."

Famine shrugged as he set the chalice down on the table. "I told you, there's nothing to talk about."

"I think you're wrong."

"What?"

Angelique turned so that she was now facing Famine. She spoke softly and held his hands. "You see, I think your Dead Light _has_ come through. How else would you have beaten The Hunter?"

The boy's reaction was one of total surprise. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "How did you know about that?"

"Word gets around fast here in the Borderlands...plus Devon told me all about it. Being able to defeat such an opponent shows great skill. If you didn't do it with Dead Light, then I don't know how you did. Tell me more about that night."

Famine thought about it for a second. He furrowed his brow, trying to come up with the right words in his head. He knew what had happened but talking about it was hard. The tumult of emotions, the surge of strength, and the sudden mental epiphanies were a personal thing to describe.

He spoke at last, but his tone was unsure. "The Hunter came into my house and tried to get rid of my fa...The Reaper. He wanted to take over The Deadlands himself. I don't know. I was just so mad that I didn't know what to do. There was all this light coming out of me and I couldn't see or hear. I was really confused. Once my head cleared up, I was able to think again. This whole new way of looking at things came rushing at me. It was so disorienting at first but once I made it slow down...I was able to think more clearly. It was like gaining wisdom. It was like I knew everything."

Angelique's eyes danced with delight. She leaned in and grasped his hand harder. "Yes! That sounds like your Dead Light was turned on! My boy, I think you had your first Dead Light Experience."

Devon had now gotten around to Famine's back and had his hands planted on his shoulders. His voice was as excited as the woman's. "Tell her about the zombies at the dance, honey! Tell her how you beat them!"

Famine nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I beat some zombies who were threatening Devon. There were three of them and they were strong. I had the same feeling I had with The Hunter. I was surrounded by all this bright light...I think it gave me the strength to get them all. The way they were picking on Devon made me angry...just like The Hunter did. I just couldn't help myself. So, you think it was my Dead Light?"

"Indeed I do," Angelique, answered as she pulled away, "I don't think it could be anything else."

"I'm so confused...what is it supposed to do for me? It just scares me. I don't know how to control it."

Devon whispered into is ear. "Mother can help with that. Let her help."

Angelique got out of her chair and walked back to the covered box. She patted it lovingly as she talked. She still had her back towards the boys. "I wasn't fully honest with you back on that road. I only told you what I wanted you to know about Dead Light. I think it's time you know it all now."

Famine stood up and walked towards her, Devon followed putting his arms around him. "There's more? What is it? Please tell me."

"Dead Light _is_ a great inner strength that gives you power, intellect, and wisdom...I was truthful about that. What I didn't tell you was that it also gives you the ability to take souls."

Was he hearing right? Was he that powerful? "Like The Reaper and Uncle Ankou?"

Angelique whipped around to face him. Her face was a mask of delirious happiness. "Yes, like them. Once your Dead Light kicks in, you have the exact same powers as the rest of your family. You can go back and forth between the realms and take souls the way they do. Not only that, but you will be connected with the force that drives Death itself. You will be at one with Eternity...you will know all that's ever been...still is...and will be. Famine, my boy, you will now know _that_."

He had heard the exact same thing on the night he first met her. The Reaper had explained their purpose for existing right after he had tricked Angelique into leaving him alone. Apparently he had been telling the truth.

But he hadn't taken any souls in any of their jaunts. Ankou had actually taken them; he was just there for the ride. It looked like he had _that_ power now. How would he know if this new information about Dead Light was truthful? It just seemed too good. "But I didn't kill those zombies...and I let The Hunter go. I didn't take them..."

"A rookie mistake," said Devon.

"And that's what this," Angelique said pointing towards the box, "is all about. After tonight, you will have opened yourself to let your Dead Light shine!"

She threw off the cover. He saw that what he'd thought was a box actually turned out to be cage, and huddling inside was The Hunter. He was dressed in a dirty, raggedy canvas robe and his face was hollow and darkened. Famine was shocked at his gaunt appearance. It looked as if the man had been through many miles of rough road. As the light adjusted, The Hunter was able to see who was around him. He saw Famine and his face raged. "Famine," he screamed angrily, "I should have known you were part of this."

"No, I wasn't...I'm not."

The Hunter stood and pointed his ghostly finger. "Don't give me that shite! You are in cahoots with these two low-lives. You couldn't leave well enough alone. You just had to make me suffer more. I won't give you the satisfaction!"

Famine pulled away from Devon and rushed to the cage. Its prisoner stepped back. "No, honestly, I had nothing to do with this. I'm done with you." He now faced Angelique. "What's the meaning of this? Why do you have him caged like this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, sneering at him. "I have him here so that you may take him out."

"But he's a collector, I can't do that."

"You can because you were made by The Reaper. You were made of Death itself...because of that...you can take out anything that's _not of Death_. The Hunter is simply a personification of Death, therefore you can kill him."

Both The Hunter and Famine's faces registered horror. The very idea of killing struck a fearsome and disturbing chord inside the boy. He had seen The Reaper and Ankou take out many people and things. That was a part of their jobs. Killing another Death Omen was tantamount to murder. That wasn't in him. Plus, he didn't hate The Hunter that much. Yes, the man was a massive pain but he didn't deserve death.

"You can't kill me! You can't kill me!" The Hunter screamed as he fought against the bars of the cage.

"I'm not going to do that," Famine said trying to ease The Hunter's fear, "I'll take the soul that needs it but I'm not killing another Collector."

Devon came alongside Angelique and smiled down at him. "You have to. If you want your Dead Light to shine, you have to do it."

Famine put his hands over his ears and walked away. "No! I'm not a killer! I don't care what kind of power it gives me, I'm not killing him!"

*

Outside, The Banshee's car pulled up by the lake. The rain was coming down in buckets. As Ankou peered out of the window, he could hardly see before him. He turned to Morrigan. "We need to get in there. I hope we're not too late."

"Enough talking, old man! Open the door!"

Ankou let out a long breath. "Wait here for us, Mrs. Banshee. I hope this doesn't take long."

"I couldn't do much in this dress, anyway. Be careful, you two! I'll try getting in contact with Llorona again. She might be stuck someplace in this nasty storm."

"Do that, Ms. Banshee. Tell her to go home and wait for us. It's too dangerous to be putting anyone else on the line. Now, let's haul our asses, Miss Morrigan!"

Ankou opened the door and was almost knocked to the ground by the force of the rain. He straightened himself up and extended his hand to help Morrigan out of the car. The two of them ran as fast as they could into the tunnel leading to Angelique's lair.

*

Famine had his back to both Devon and Angelique. They were still goading him on about killing The Hunter. Their tirades were fierce and unrelenting.

"It's the only way! Think about what he did to you! He deserves to die!" shouted Devon.

"Yes, boy, let your light burn that miserable creature into a pile of ash! Only then will you be free of him. He will never bother you again!"

Famine wouldn't bend. He couldn't bring about that sort of finality. "No!"

"You're a weak boy! No wonder The Reaper kept you hidden away. He's _ashamed."_ Angelique said.

That remark hurt worse than the pressuring. She had been right about everything else until now. Why shouldn't this be the case? The old man had kept a lot from him. Could his human past be something shameful and blemishing to Death's great name? He uncovered his ears and stared at her with tearful eyes. "What did you say?"

"I said you are as weak as water and that's why you were kept locked away. You were a disgrace to the family name."

"No, I'm strong..."

"If you were so strong," said Devon coming up and cupping his face, "you'd have no problem killing that piece of trash over there. Trust in yourself as I trust in you. I know that you can do anything. Show me that you can. Show me that you're strong."Killing The Hunter suddenly seemed less noxious. It had gone from being a disgraceful act to one of valor. That is, at least valor in Devon's eyes. "You really think I can do anything?"

"Yes. Now get rid of him and prove it to yourself."

Before Famine could answer, a raspy old-sounding voice rang out in the air. "You don't have to prove a damned thing, child! Don't listen to these evil bastards!"

Everyone, including The Hunter, turned to see Ankou and Morrigan standing defiantly in the entryway. Ankou held the box under his arm as he looked around the room disapprovingly. "Ugly house you have here, Angelique. I hate your decorating sense."

Famine was both mortified and a bit happy to see them both: mortified that they show up to embarrass him and somewhat happy that they might actually help get him out of this dilemma. However, the former feeling was predominant and anger soon took the place of his happiness. He scowled at them. "What the hell are you two back stabbing asses doing here? Get the hell out!"

"We're here to help," Morrigan pleaded.

"I don't need it!"

Angelique opened her arms and smiled at the visitors. "Welcome to my home, ugly though it be!"

"Kiss my chapped old ass! We're here for the boy!"

Devon stepped in front of everyone, putting his arms out as shields. "You're not wanted here. There's personal business going on. Get out before I call the servants."

Ankou boldly pushed the boy aside and went up to Angelique. The woman put her hands on her hips and tried to look as intimidating as she could. The two of them stared at one another for several more seconds. No one said a word as the two forces stood face-to-face. At last Ankou spoke. "I hate your shoes," he said flatly.

Angelique glanced down at her feet but instantly knew it was a mistake. She quickly regained her former stern composure but it was too late. Ankou was smiling and pointing at her. "Made you look!"

"Is that any way of coming into someone's house? Making fun of her décor and fashion? How pathetic and common! Enough of this! Famine kill The Hunter and when you're done, take care of these two intruders!"

"Don't do it, child! They're messing with your mind!" Ankou screamed.

"You're a better person! Don't make yourself like them!" Morrigan added as she walked over to him.

Famine whipped around and pointed at them both. His face was livid and his voice quivered. "Don't you two tell me what to do! Do you hear me? I will do whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me!"

Ankou broke away from Angelique and looked down into his nephew's eyes, his own eyes were pleading and teary. "You're not like this. Killing The Hunter is beneath you. Show him mercy. Show him compassion."

"He's never shown me mercy or compassion and doesn't deserve it. He's never been anything but trouble. _I_ can take care of him once and for all."

"And then where will you be, child?"

He hated being called child. It was an affectation that he had grown to despise. It only fueled his anger. Damn Ankou and his damned old man wisdom. Damn him for being so closed-minded and dull. "I'll be in a better place than I was in that mausoleum. I'll be in the place of a man."

Famine turned away, nervously walked up to The Hunter's cage, and gave him a long angry stare. The wispy figure backed down and as far away as he could. The boy put his hand out and reached towards his captive. A spark of bright white light shot from his fingers and arced above his hand. Famine cocked his head slightly to the right as he looked into the empty black sockets that served as The Hunter's eyes. With one last push, he touched the soul collector's ectoplasmic body and a piercing blood curdling scream filled the room. The Hunter's body arched and glowed around Famine's hand and arm. A steady pulse of blue went from him to the boy. Ankou and Morrigan watched in abject horror as The Hunter's facial features distorted and fell away...his scream began to fade as more of it disappeared in a hazy orb of white mist. His robe shrank and dropped to the floor as his body disappeared into nothingness. Within seconds, his entire body had turned into a single pinpoint of light. Famine stood near the cage for another minute before turning to face everyone else in the room.

Ankou and Morrigan's faces were ones of sadness, disbelief, and fear. Angelique and Devon were beaming as they came up to him. He met Devon halfway and tightly embraced him.

"I can't believe you did that," Ankou said hollowly.

"Believe it, old man, because your time is coming," replied Devon.

Famine let him go and walked up to Angelique. He couldn't believe he had hesitated. Doing that had been truly liberating. "That was amazing. The feeling was just unbelievable. _That_ was power. That was what The Reaper kept hidden from me."

"I told you, boy. I told you how great Dead Light was. You just need to learn how to use it properly now."

"How?"

She could hardly keep her glee to herself. "That's where I come in. Share your power with me and I will show you how to control Death. No one will be able to stop us...no one." The last bit was meant as a threat to Ankou and Morrigan as she said it while looking in their directions.

"Share it with you?" asked Famine.

"Yes. Just as The Reaper transferred the power to you, you can transfer some to _me_. Once I have some, we'll be an unstoppable force. Your youth and strength combined with my great knowledge will fuel your Dead Light to new heights!"

Famine nodded 'yes' to her and held out his hand to her outstretched one. Ankou ran out between them with Morrigan running close behind. His mind reeled at what he was seeing. The boy he had come to trust and love so much had suddenly and horrifyingly changed. He had to be stopped. Ankou was waving his arms frantically to get his nephew's attention. "Stop!"

"No, Uncle, I've made my decision. Now get out of the way before you get hurt."

Morrigan had joined Ankou at his side. She was also seeing a side of her friend that scared her. If Ankou was going to get hurt, she wanted to make sure the old man had someone to help. She hated the idea of injuring Famine, but it meant helping her other friend. Ankou held out the memory box. "Give me one last wish before you do this, child, please."

Angelique lowered her hand. "Very well. Do whatever this ancient bag of skin and rot wants. It'll be the last thing he sees before I cut him down."

Ankou thrust the box into Famine's hands. "Open it! Open it now! It will give you everything you want."

Famine regarded the object curiously. For a second, a familiar smile spread across his face. Ankou knew it as the same grin the boy got whenever he saw his pet dog or ate some candied soul from a jar. The fear and revulsion that had gripped Ankou's heart was replaced by one of optimism and hope. Something that the old carrion driver had grown to love about the boy swelled up in his chest...the wonderment of childhood discovery.

Angelique's course voice cut across his tranquility. "Sentimental claptrap!! You don't need bracelets or trinkets now but open it. I'm sure it's going to disappoint you to no end."

Devon snickered. "What a load of shite."

Ankou stepped back and joined Morrigan as Famine unlatched and opened the box. A faint soft glow flooded from it and bathed the youth in a blanket of warmth.

*

The warmth was something he had not felt for a very long time. He had forgotten how comforting it had been. One of the fondest memories he had was going out on a mid-August evening for a walk along the boggy paths of the bayou. The humidity only added to the opulence. Of course he had to go just before the sun set behind the lines of cypress trees and the marsh was filled with mosquitoes as large as airplanes.

The light from the box faded and the boy who would become Famine opened his eyes. He was back on that narrow mud path that snaked its way through the bayou like an angry water moccasin. A male voice called out, bringing him fully into what seemed like the present.

"Tommy! Tommy!"

Standing near was another boy about his age. He had the same light colored shoulder length hair, willowy build, and narrow face which he had seen on himself many times. His clothes were inappropriate for being in the bayou: long trousers made from gray cotton and a long sleeved white silk shirt. The young man smiled and jabbed his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Tommy? Are you dreaming again?"

Now the memories came flooding back like the waters in the Pearl River. He was Thomas Delacroix and the other young man with him was his brother, Andre. The year was 1851 and they lived in Lafayette, Louisiana.

"No, I'm fine."

Andre started walking ahead whistling a tune he had never heard. Tommy quickly caught up him, glancing down every now and then to see how muddy his expensive leather shoes were getting. He could hear the crickets begin their nightlong chirping song and it wouldn't be long before the frogs joined in.

Had the time spent with The Reaper, Ankou, Llorona, and Morrigan been a dream? It all seemed like that now. Hiking down this path was reality. Being dead wasn't. He was alive and enjoying his regular jaunt with his brother. The good times he had spent with him in the past came flooding back. They had been...or are now...incredibly close. Being the only children allowed them the luxury of not having to compete for the affections of other siblings. There was only a year between them so there wasn't any huge cognitive or emotional difference, either. Andre was his best friend...his only real friend. They never got along with any of the other rich kids. They had each other and that was all that mattered.

He knew where they were going now. This was the evening outing to look at the ruins of the old Parish mansion on the edge of the bayou. The family had been killed by an unknown sickness and the mansion was burned. There were tales of the last surviving family member going mad and killing herself. They were going to see if they could catch a glimpse of the ghosts that people said inhabited the place now. Tommy knew he didn't believe in ghosts. It was just something people said to scare each other. But then he thought about Morrigan and Devon...they were ghosts and they had been real...or were they?

Andre had stopped at a fork in the path. He was waiting impatiently. As Tommy caught up, he could see the blackened skeletal remains of the house through the trees. It was a depressing and deeply sorrowful sight. It also filled him with incredible dread and he didn't know why. "We're not goin' to see anything, ya know. We never do."

"Don't mean we can't have fun lookin'. You're just bein' a chicken," Andre teased.

"Oh, hush up."

Andre patted his brother on the back.

Tommy remembered Andre's strong hands and arms and the times they fought in the front yard of their home. He remembered how mad he had gotten when Andre had pushed him in the bayou while he was wearing his new clothes...the clothes bought in an expensive shop in New Orleans. Mama and Daddy were mad, too. Mama even threatened to beat Andre with a switch.

A pain suddenly washed over him. The memory of his folks now came rushing back. Mama and Daddy Delacroix were good people. They were still alive...he thought they were anyway. They understood him. They knew who he was and what he was. They didn't care about his 'other nature' as Andre called it. As a matter of fact they even had Phillip, his boyfriend, over for dinner many a night. Tommy wanted to stay here in this world forever. He hated the coldness of The Deadlands. He hated the vile creatures in The Borderlands. None of that compared to life here with Andre, Mama, Daddy, and Phillip.

Andre was looking past the last standing charred pieces of the Parish house. A wall or two still stood, blackened and warped from the heat of the long gone fire. Heaps of twisted and unidentifiable wreckage covered what was left of the floor. Here and there, pieces of shiny glass caught glimpses of the setting sun. As Tommy neared Andre, he could see that the boy was staring at the murky pond behind it. A few round sharp stones were scattered around its perimeter.

Andre called as he neared. "I'm goin' over there."

A sick feeling washed over him. The waters brought back the memories of the nightmare of which he just left. It also made his heart beat faster...it was getting harder to breathe. He didn't want to go near it. "Stay way, 'Dre. You know people done drowned in there."

"I don't care none. I ain't scared"

Andre ran around the house to the edge of the pond. A cold fear gripped Tommy's heart and his stomach was turning and knotting. Something seemed familiar about all this. It was like pieces of a dream you have trouble remembering the next morning. Andre had his back turned to the pond as Tommy arrived. He was just about to tell Andre to move away when there was a strong ripple in the water. No. No. He knew what was coming next. The ripple widened and there was a loud splash of water. Tommy ran as fast as he could. His legs felt like mayhaw jelly and his suddenly cold body felt as if it had been encased in ice.

Coming out of the pond was a tall red-haired, full-faced woman in a wet and rotting antebellum dress. Her green eyes glowed eerily in the fading light. Andre whipped around and saw her. His face went pale and he screamed as the woman reached for him. The woman screamed, too, drawing back her puffy fish-white lips and exposing her yellow broken teeth. The air was suddenly laden with the stench of rot; it stung Tommy's nose. He tried to scream; nothing came out but a hoarse whimper. He had to get Andre out of the way. He knew what the woman wanted. He wasn't going to let her have it.

Another figure suddenly appeared near the pond. It was extremely tall and thin and dressed in a hooded black cloak. It quickly floated over the pond and tried to grab the water woman's hair. She turned, ducked from his grasp, and screamed at him.

"Leave me alone! They're mine!"

"You never should have been doing this, Evangeline!" the hooded figure hissed in a low deep voice that had a haunting familiarity.

Andre tried making a run for it but he was too late. Evangeline moved through the water fast and grabbed his arm with great strength. He was yanked back and into the pond in a split second. Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs. Fear, grief, and horror engulfed him like a sick blanket. He was too slow and too late. She had gotten him and it was his fault. The feeling he had was worse than anything he had ever felt. It was worse than anything The Deadlands ever showed him...it was worse than any monster in the Borderlands. Seeing his brother taken by the familiar red-haired woman of the water was agony made flesh. The hooded figure moved fast, too. It was on Evangeline almost as fast as she had taken Andre. She screamed as she dunked the flailing boy into the dark waters.

"Get off me, Reaper! You'll never take me!"

She flung her free arm backward and hit her attacker square in the face. His hood fell down to reveal a gleaming face of pure bone. Tommy stopped dead in his tracks. The Reaper looked at him and shook his head 'no'. With her last bit of effort, Evangeline pushed Andre completely underwater. His screams turned into horrendous gurgling. He didn't resurface. Both Tommy and the Reaper yelled in unison. As the water settled, Evangeline came for Tommy with an outstretched arm. The ghost looked at him the way he looked at a plate of candied yams at a family dinner. She looked hungry and she was going to have him. He ran at her with fists flying and his face contorted with rage. This woman was going to pay for taking Andre. He was going to see to it.

"You bitch! I'll get you!"

Evangeline (or was she Angelique?) was on him in seconds. She was cold and wet and incredibly strong. She fought and clawed and tried pulling him back into the pond but Tommy resisted. The waterlogged whore wasn't going to get him. She would pay for what she had done to his brother. He pulled her away from her wet sanctuary. He suddenly lost his footing on the soft earth and fell back. An intense sharp pain came at the back of his head. Damned rock...it was one of those damned rocks that had once lined the pond's edges. He let go of Evangeline but she held on. He was pulling her to the ground with him. The pain in his head was quickly fading and darkness and coldness was coming.

"I'll take you, too, boy!" Screamed Evangeline.

"No, you won't!" said the deep voice

The Reaper had come behind her and had put his arms around her waist. She kicked and fought but he was stronger. He opened his mouth, closed it on the side of her face and bit down. The puffy green and rotted flesh came off with ease. Black blood and viscous ichors spewed from the gash. The Reaper spit out the vile mess and whispered to her. What could he possible have said after doing that? No one can call you two-faced anymore? Whatever it was, it didn't work. Her violent flailing and kicking continued. She wasn't about to be taken.

"You're going down, Evangeline. I'm banishing you to a place where you'll never hurt anyone again."

She screamed in rage and elbowed the Reaper. It didn't faze him. He enveloped her in his cloak and the two spun like a glowing tornado. Her last yells of anger disappeared in the evening air as the spinning got faster and the vortex got brighter. Tommy began to lose consciousness fast. He felt his body going numb. The bitch had paid for taking Andre. He didn't take her out himself but that didn't matter. His killer was gone.

The glowing twister had stopped and now The Reaper stood over the pond with one hand raised and one clutching a large glass vase. A steady stream of sparkling blue and red light came from the surface and floated noiselessly into the vessel. The sight filled Tommy with an odd feeling of comfort and peace. It was if the heaviness that had been in the air suddenly disappeared. It was easier to breathe. When the torrent had dissipated, The Reaper leaned in on Tommy. His skeletal face regarded him with curiosity and pity.

Now it was the days spent with Andre, Mama, Daddy, and Phillip that were becoming a dream. The memories of love, acceptance, and support were fading; they were becoming as black as the oncoming night. No. No. Please, Tommy called out in his mind, don't go. I don't want to let you go. Come back. The days in The Deadlands were becoming more and more real. The sight of the Reaper's face filled him with the same comfort he had felt with them. It was in these final mortal moments that he realized that he had never really lost love. It had been sort of transferred. It wasn't the same as what Andre and his folks had given him but it was just as real. A bony hand touched his chest. The darkness was going away, the cold was getting less cold, and the pain and fear was replaced with comfort and ease. The face of Death bent down and stroked his face. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.

"I'm so sorry. I tried...I really did. But don't be afraid. I'm taking you away."

The voice became lost in the over washing of darkness and numbness. The mortal world was gone.

*

The warmth from the balmy August evening gave way to that of the cold and damp night of the Borderlands. The light streaming from the memory box faded and Famine's eyes slowly became adjusted to the dim candle-lit room of Angelique's underwater home.

He was still in too much shock to fully realize where he was at first; the events of what he had just relived burned within his heart and mind with great intensity. He knew who he had been, where he had lived, and how he had died. He could hear the voices of the room's occupants through a veil of crushing silence. Slowly, the veil lifted and the voices came into auditory focus. The first one he recognized was Ankou's. It was filled with as much concern as it was dry and raspy.

"Famine! Boy!"

He faced his uncle; his tone was tired sounding and distant. "What is it?"

"Are you okay, child? What was all that?"

What could he say? He wasn't sure what everyone else had seen. Did they also relive his last moments on the mortal plane? Or did they just see the intense light? Unsure of how to answer, he closed the box and tucked it under his arm. "Something I should have seen a long time ago."

"What a load of old shite," Angelique fiercely said waking over to where he stood, "let me see what was in that thing!"

He tried to keep her from grabbing it but was too slow. She snatched it away with annoyance, opened it, and looked in. Her face fell, then twisted in anger. "There's not a damned thing in this! You're wasting our time, old man!"

She threw the box to the ground where it splintered. Famine rushed to where it fell and tenderly picked it up the pieces. "No, there was something in it."

"No, it was empty," Angelique snapped.

"But I saw some light..." suggested Devon.

She turned and scowled at him. "I didn't even see a damn bulb! It was obviously some trick that old fool over there conjured up. He's trying to save his own dead ass."

Ankou stepped forward and pointed. "I didn't do a thing, woman. You're just upset because you saw something you couldn't explain."

Angelique pulled Famine by the scruff of his cloak and towards the middle of the room. Ankou and Morrigan rushed forward to help, but Devon stepped in front of them. He produced a long bladed knife from beneath his robes and tossed it to his mother. She proceeded to hold the weapon to Famine's neck.

"Enough of this! It's time to give me what you promised, child!"

He looked into her green eyes and stared at her full pale face. He knew them well. They belonged to his brother's killer. The name may have changed but this was the woman who had taken everything he once knew and loved in a matter of seconds. His entire life had become unraveled then gruesomely re-sewn into a tapestry of darkness, coldness, and death. The warmth and comfort that had embraced his body and soul had drowned in that pond two hundred and fifty years ago and there was no getting it back. It was also because of her that all this had happened. Had she left well enough alone, he'd be dead in his grave now with no cares or worries. Real death not the pseudo form he now lived.

A deep-seated anger rose within him. The same white-hot light that he had felt when fighting The Hunter and those zombies began to resurge. Once again, the sounds of the world around faded and his vision waned. But there was also something else. A small inner voice called from the deep recesses of his mind...it got louder and louder with each passing second. Slowly, it overtook the deafening silence and spoke to him like an old friend. It told him to keep quiet and keep calm. Angelique couldn't know that he knew who she was. He had to press on. Struggling against the tip of the blade, he nodded and spoke in the same manner in which he had been talking the last hour.

"Fine, you can have it. Just put the knife down."

Angelique smiled, lowered the blade, and tossed it to Devon. Ankou's face became frozen in a mask of pure terror. He rushed forward but the ghost boy stopped him with his newly acquired weapon. Morrigan threw her arms around him. Tears began to roll down her pale blue face. Angelique turned towards her audience with confidence and poise; her voice was pompous and high.

"I want you two fools to be witness to the birth of a new power. Together, the boy and I will rule this stinking place with an iron fist. The night will bring the rule of Evangeline!"

Famine put out his hand and touched her head. A steady pulse of stark white light began to flow from within his chest, down his arm and hand, and into her body. She smiled and laughed as the pulsing became stronger and brighter. Within seconds, she was completely engulfed by a cocoon of hazy luminescence.

Devon giggled with delight as Ankou and Morrigan helplessly watched. The old man had seen many terrible things in his existence but this was the worst. He knew that the end result would spell the demise of his entire being. At last, Famine let go of Angelique's head and fell back into a nearby chair. The woman was breathing hard and looking down at her now glowing body. She turned to Devon and laughed maniacally.

"It's done, child! It's done! I have Dead Light!"

Ankou and Morrigan sidled past the grinning teen and to the obviously tired and drained Famine. They got on either side and began to lift him off the seat.

"Are you okay?" asked Ankou.

Famine weakly nodded. "I'm fine, Uncle. I'm fine. I'm just a little weak."

Morrigan looked back and forth from him to Angelique. "Why did you do that? Do you realize what you've done?"

"I do, I do," Famine answered smiling devilishly.

She stared at him in disbelief. Ankou shook his head as if to say 'I don't know what he means'. Devon's voice brought them both back to the situation at hand.

"It's my turn now. I've done my part now give me what you promised."

"You'll get it," Angelique said ecstatically running her hand over her glowing body.

"Done your part? What do you mean?" asked Famine pushing himself away from his uncle and friend. He was afraid to hear what Devon would say. He had a feeling what it would be and it wouldn't be what he wanted to hear.

"Did you _really_ think I was interested in _you_? Come on. Angelique hired me to get on your good side and make you think I liked you. She needed to know whether or not your Dead Light was real. She needed me to make you turn against your rotting family."

Famine's heart sank. The sadness and pain of knowing what he had lost in human life was now compounded seeing the love of his afterlife being so blatantly truthful. He thought this boy loved him, but he just toyed with his heart. It was a play with an audience of one and feelings had taken a long intermission. "You mean you don't like me?"

Devon scoffed. "You have a certain charm, I'll admit, but it was all a ruse. I have no interest in you whatsoever. You're too childish for my tastes. Do you know how hard it was to listen to all that whining and complaining? But to answer your question, no, I don't like you."

By now Angelique had stopped admiring herself and strode over to gloat at the three disbelieving Deadlanders. "I hired those zombies to pick a fight with Devon. I knew that it was the only way that I could prove you had Dead Light _and_ gain his attention. You should've never have trusted me, you young fool. Did you really think I had changed?"

Famine wanted to cry. He wanted to beat the hell out of the gloating Devon. In the back of his mind, he thought that he would've walked away with the boy when it was all over. Devon's lying and his contempt hurt worse than not having him at all. He wiped a tear away. "Why did you do this? What did she promise you?"

"Isn't it obvious, you young idiot? Power. She promised me some your Dead Light, too."

Of course. It was always about power. Angelique walked up behind Devon and rubbed his back. She leaned in and spoke softly in his ear. "And now, dear boy, I'm going to give you what you deserve."

His smile quickly turned into a look of pain and terror. Her fisted hand suddenly appeared from within the middle of his chest. Famine, Ankou, and Morrigan gasped in terror and revulsion. After she withdrew her hand, his body went limp. A patch of darkness appeared from the hole in his chest and spread throughout the rest of his body. Angelique stepped back and watched with glee as he screamed one last time. The blackness overtook him and seconds later there was nothing left of the boy once known as Devon. Famine rushed to where he had been standing and touched the air with his hands. He turned back and faced her with disbelief.

"That wasn't necessary," he said hoarsely.

"Of course it was. I wasn't going to share with anyone."

Ankou and Morrigan joined Famine and they all stood side by side in defiance to her. She gave them a glance, put her hands on her hips, and laughed. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

"Tell me, Evangeline, what does it feel like to have that power?" asked Famine.

Angelique stopped laughing and took her hands away from her hips. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't. Famine went on. "That's right, I know who you are. I remember what you did. It was all in that box. When I opened it, it all came back. But I still don't hold a grudge. Just tell us how you feel."

She waltzed up and down the length of the room and gestured dramatically with her hands. "It's feels wonderful! I can see everything! I know all the internal workings of the entire universe. I can see into every corner of known existence. I can feel every emotion of every being in every point of time! I feel like a god!"

"Anything else?" asked Famine.

Angelique spun around. She looked perplexed. "Should there be?"

She had no sooner spoken when she grabbed her head and grimaced in pain. Her eyes registered panic and fear. She looked at Famine with teary confused eyes."Ah, yes, there was something I forgot to mention..."

"What?" she asked before screaming in agony and going down on her knees.

"You were once like me, Evangeline Parish. You were human. You see...the human mind can't take the power that you have. The Reaper gave it to me because _he_ made me. I can handle it because...like you said... _I am of the Reaper._ You are not!"

"No," screamed holding onto her head, "this can't be! I'm a god! I'm like you!"

Ankou and Morrigan had inched their way behind Famine and were looking at Angelique with wonder. They didn't ask any questions because they knew Famine would answer them as he was answering the agonized woman.

"No, you're nothing like me. I knew that you couldn't handle it and that's why I let you have it. You see, I _do_ hold a grudge, you miserable stinking bitch! You took from me something I loved very dearly. Did you really think you could get away? The Reaper was merciful. I am _not!_ I'm just finishing something I started two hundred and fifty years ago. I'm going to stand here and watch you die as I watched Andre die."

Angelique screamed again. Viscous clear sludge began to weep from her eyes. The flesh on her face began to bubble and crack. Thick black and green ichors poured from the wounds and streamed down her neck and body. As she dragged her hand alongside her face, a great swath of skin pulled away. Dull bone shone through, revealing the wound that The Reaper had given her many years back.

Ankou and Morrigan watched the transformation in fascinated horror. The once strong and proud woman was now nothing more than a melting mess. The look on Famine's face was even more terrifying: he was smiling and gloating at her misery. The room began to shake violently. Chunks of ceiling began to fall into the room, torrents of water rushing in after them. The floor was soon covered knee-deep in it. Ankou grabbed Morrigan's hand and started to pull her towards the entrance. She resisted and called out to Famine.

"Come on! We have to get out of here!"

He waved her off and stared down on the dying Angelique. By now, all the flesh had been stripped from her face. Nothing remained but bone. Her eyes had gone black and they oozed from their sockets. The once luxurious red hair fell off her head in sludge-covered clumps at her side, her voice sounded like she was talking through water.

"Please help me. Make it stop."

"No. I can't help you...nor would I if I could. _You_ wanted the power of Death and now you have it. Death is a power beyond the scope of mere human minds. I'm no longer human. I now know and control it. You never will. In a way, it's your own fault. Had you not taken my life that day, you wouldn't be here begging me for your life. Consider it a lesson. Good-bye Evangeline Parish. May your energies never know rest."

By now, the room was waist deep in cold dark water. The walls exploded with rivers of thick mud and pieces of stone. The furniture floated and bumped blindly around like it was doing a bizarre synchronized swim. All but a few candles remained lit, and everything was thrown into a murky darkness. Famine trudged his way thought the mess and towards the entrance. He turned one last time to survey the damage. Angelique tried to scream but nothing came out but a gurgle; she fell backwards into the rising waters. As Famine made his way up the tunnel and towards the light at the end, the entire ceiling collapsed and the lake overtook the room.

When he emerged from the tunnel, he found Ankou and Morrigan waiting for him, leaning on a sleek silver machine that he had never seen. The Banshee was on an equally strange communication device talking very fast. He'd have to ask about all this later. Right now, he just wanted to get home and rest.

When the trio saw him, they all ran over talking at once. He put up a hand to silence everyone. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Angelique...or Evangeline...or whoever the hell she was is dead. She has an even better view of the lake now."

They all glanced at the lake. A large swirling vortex took up much of its center. A large portion of the bank was now showing and a few unfortunate fish flopped around on the exposed earth. Morrigan embraced her friend and kissed his cheek. "I'm so glad to have you back."

He hugged her back and nodded. "It's good to be back. I'm just so confused right now. It's been too much."

The Banshee walked over and patted his shoulder. "You're a strong boy, you'll be fine. You have people here who care about you. They'll...I mean...we'll help you through it."

"You can bet your narrow ass on that!" Ankou said enthusiastically.

Famine began to laugh. It was good to hear his uncle cuss uncharacteristically like that. It meant he was back in a world he knew and loved. It also meant he had a lot to integrate. Knowing his past, he hoped, would help him exist in The Deadlands. He looked t them all through misty eyes.

"Could we go for some iced screams?"

"Of course, I know a great little place run by some nice mummies," The Banshee said excitedly as she waked towards her car.

Morrigan looked down at Famine's mired clothes. "You're not exactly dressed for an outing, honey."

"Let them talk, right Uncle Ankou?"

"Yeah! We'll have quite the story to tell them!"

The three of them got into The Banshee's car and it sped off towards the Borderlands. In the backseat, Famine turned to Morrigan. He put his wet hand on her dress and spoke timidly. "I'm sorry I acted the way I did. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Please, sweetie, it's okay. I know that you weren't yourself. I didn't take any of that stuff you said seriously. You just need to get home and rest, you've been through a lot."

"But I feel so bad for what I did..."

Morrigan sighed and patted her friend's hand. "You have to work through it all I'm afraid. It's going to be tough but I know you're strong enough to do it."

Famine feebly nodded and rested his head on the back of the seat. He looked up in the sky and saw that the clouds had parted and faded. The sun shined brightly on the earth and the air almost alive with vibrant color. The storm was over.

# EPILOGUE

Famine was exhausted from the events in Angelique's lair. His entire body ached and his mind was a whirlwind of regret, confusion, fear, and sadness. So many things had happened in just a few days and he really hadn't had time to process any of it. As soon as he walked into the mausoleum, Llorona ran to him and hugged him with such force that he thought his eyes would pop out.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have gone out! Can you ever forgive me? Are you sure you're okay?" she shouted.

Pushing the woman off as gingerly and non-offensively as he could, he answered her in a firm but assuring tone. "It's okay. No, you should've. Yes I can and yes I'm sure. I just need to get some rest is all. It's really fine."

The woman gave him an unsure look. "You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm telling you the truth." He paused. The subject matter had to be changed. "Say, how are equality rallies going?"

Llorona seemed taken aback. She led Famine over to the fireplace and looked into the blue light glowing there. If she were trying to dry him off with just light, it wasn't going to work. He didn't say anything, though, and let her answer his question. "Really well. Deadlings are just like anyone else. They deserve the same treatment as everyone else. We all need to be more open minded."

"Do you really think everyone would be like that? The Deadlings don't have the best reputation, you know. I think it would cause a lot of trouble."

Llorona said nothing for a few seconds. She twisted her lips and shook her head. "I know you might be right but I'm not going to stop. I have finally found something to fight for."

He had never seen Llorona display that sort of determination or willingness, and it seemed to make her happy, too. If it meant that much to her, he wasn't going to say anything else. Let her have her cause. "I'm glad to hear that, Mom. Just don't let Uncle Ankou hear any of that. He'll throw a fit."

"Oh let that old cowson be mad. Change is always hard for people. I'll stay quiet for now, we've all been through too much right at the moment," she said talking in the boy's ear, "you go upstairs and get some dry clothes on. You'll catch your life in those wet things you have on."

Famine smiled, kissed her cheek, and ran up to his room. Llorona began singing to herself as she went about tidying up the room.

After he had dried himself, Famine decided he needed to talk to The Reaper. The Old Man showed great stoicism as Famine told him of the battle with Angelique and her subsequent demise. He said something about being proud that the boy had faced and defeated his fears.

The Reaper didn't mention the Memory Box or anything within it. Questions about all that would have to wait. There was talk about The Hunter, though. Sitting in the dining room wrapped in a fluffy towel gave Famine a great deal of comfort that allowed him to open up about everything. He told The Reaper of The Hunter's trickery to put The Horsemen out and of his plans for The Deadlands.

After the entire story had been told, the bony-faced Death Omen just sat back and nodded. Famine had expected him to be angry about him keeping such an important event secret. Instead, he just reaffirmed his pride in the boy for his smart thinking and bravery in the face of peril. He gave also assurance about The Hunter's death. "There have to be official inquiries and statements made," he had said, "but I think, that under the circumstances, you'll be fine. Just let me take care of it all." Being back in The Reaper's good graces gave the boy what he needed to rest, but nagging feelings of guilt still remained.

Nothing bothered the teenager worse than Devon's deception and subsequent death. As he lay in bed for the next two days, Famine kept replaying the night of the dead dance over and over in his head. Why couldn't he just let Devon go? Why did he have to follow his heart and chase a dream that was never destined to be?

Finding Morrigan had been a true blessing; she listened and gave her unwavering support in all aspects of his life after death. But she could never give him what another boy could. She could never make his dead heart flutter with a touch, his cold skin tingle with a look, or his head swirl with a word. In the end, poor Morrigan had never made him feel the way Devon did.

When he was with him, nothing else mattered. He wasn't continually questioning who he was or where he belonged. Devon made him feel as if he was the only other being in any realm; it didn't matter where he had come from or who he was now. That's why he hadn't seen the lies: they were obscured by a blind devotion and unaffirmed emotion. He had given himself completely to another person without any questions, without any thought, and without any worries.

In the end, Devon had taken advantage of it all and made him feel like a fool. How could he ever trust anyone like that again? His heart grieved for the boy's death, too. Yes, he had been deceitful and hurtful but he didn't deserve to be killed like that. Famine thought about the night they met. Had he left the dance then and there Devon would still be alive...or at least still a functioning ghost. Love with another boy was something that was now as distant as his former life. He would never see or feel it again. Thinking back on both Phillip and Devon filled him with crushing grief. Then he thought about Andre, Mama, and Daddy. It was too much. Famine buried his head in his pillow and cried himself to sleep. There, nothing could be taken away from him.

When he awoke, he knew he had things to discuss with Ankou and The Reaper.

"Uncle Ankou, do you have time to talk?" he asked, walking into the dining room.

Ankou was seated at the table over a small paperback book with a bright green cover and a legal pad. He looked up from his work and smiled at his nephew. "Sure, child. Come sit down."

Famine was still in his nightclothes, a pair of loose fitting black cotton pajamas with red piping around the collar and sleeves. His ordinarily neat hair was tousled and his face was puffy. He wearily plopped on the seat opposite Ankou, trying to get a peek at what he was reading.

Shutting his book and quickly putting it under the pad of paper, Ankou turned his attention to the boy with concern in his eyes. "How are you feeling? You look tired."

"I'm doing okay. I guess I'm still just trying to take everything in...it's just so hard getting back into things again."

"You went through a lot in the last few days. You have to give yourself time to adjust."

Famine got up and walked to the buffet sitting behind Ankou. On it was a coffee urn and two empty ceramic mugs. He picked up one of them and poured some glowing blue liquid into it. After taking a long drink, he sighed and went back to the table. "You're right. I'm sleeping too much. I guess it's my way of trying to work through it."

"Doesn't seem to be working."

"No, it's not. The bad feelings are still there when I wake up. I think that they're going to go away when I'm sleeping. I know I have to face them eventually. It's just easier to get away from them when I'm in bed."

Ankou leaned back and folded his hands under his chin. "What's on your mind, child? We've been through a lot. I like to think you can talk to your old uncle. I'm not going to judge you."

Famine put the mug down and stared down into it. His voice was rueful and tinged with sorrow. "I feel bad about the things I did...I mean really bad. It's one thing to treat you guys the way I did but it's another knowing that I killed someone. The guilt's just too much. Every time I close my eyes, I can see The Hunter's face as he died. He was so scared...so helpless...and I killed him without a second thought. I can still hear him screaming. I'm trying to make myself believe it wasn't my fault but I just can't. Deep down, I _know_ that I had a choice about it and I just ignored it."

Ankou sat up and started to speak but Famine put his hand up. The old cart driver nodded and leaned back again. "How do I go on knowing that I did it purposely? I hated him so much, Uncle, and I _wanted_ him to pay for all the things he did. I knew that if I got rid of him, he wouldn't be around to bother us anymore. But it wasn't a fair fight. He was caged and I wasn't. I had the advantage and I used it. I used it with every bit of malice and contempt I had in my body."

His head snapped up. His eyes were burning with emotion and his face almost had color. If Ankou hadn't known any better, he'd have sworn the kid was alive. "I sleep to try and escape my past actions. I'm just filled with so much pain and regret I can't bear it! Is this what it's like to be alive, is it? Because if it is, I'd rather go back to being dead!"

The boy fell back into his chair with his hand clasped over his mouth. Ankou leaned forward with his arms on the table and spoke firmly. "It's what you have to get used to now that you've gotten back some of your humanity. You have to deal with feelings you've forgotten...the ones that _made_ you human. But hear this, young man, what you did was _not_ your fault. You were being manipulated by two very evil and ruthless beings who cared nothing about you. They only wanted power for themselves and cared less about who got hurt in the process. They exploited a weakness and a fear you had. They knew you hated The Hunter and they knew what your Dead Light could do. Your choice was taken away the moment you walked into that bitch's house. She knew she had you where she wanted you. You did what you did in a moment of confusion. Do you understand?"

The room was silent for what seemed like eternity. The burning in Famine's eyes waned as the words sank in. His face returned to its normal deathly pale color. He picked up the mug and took a drink. "I guess. It's just going to take me a little time to accept it."

"I know. But you're a strong kid. I believe in you and so does everyone else. I need you to be back to your old self again soon. We have a lot of work to catch up on."

"You mean it?" asked Famine with a new smile. "We're going back out again?"

"Hell yes, child! We're a team. Now that you can catch souls, we're going to be the best damned collectors out there! We might even give your old man a run for his money...if he had any."

The both of them had a good laugh for several more seconds. Ankou rubbed his chin. His eyes suddenly widened "Oh yeah! Speaking of The Reaper, he wants to see you in the Small Mausoleum. He's doing some rendering, I think he wants your help."

Famine finished his drink and put the mug down. He stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and looked down at his clothes. "I wanted to talk with him anyway, but I need to change before I go out there. I'd hate to get corpse filth on my pajamas"

"That'd be a good idea," agreed Ankou.

"Thanks a lot, Uncle. I appreciate your words."

"You don't have to thank me. Now you go and help. You're officially in the business...need to find out all about it."

Famine smiled broadly at the man before leaving. As soon as Ankou was sure he had gone, he took the book from its hiding place. The title read _The Deadling Problem and What You Can Do About It._ Scribbled on the pad were a date, an address and the words "anti-Deadlings Rights seminar".

After Famine had changed into his customary leather body suit and had combed his hair back into his signature ponytail, he went to the Small Mausoleum.

The Reaper had a faceless body laid on a marble slab. There was a long needle-like blade inserted into the corpse's abdomen that was in turn attached to a silver box with a recess that contained a large glass cylinder. A steady stream of blue light flowed from the body through a tube and into the receptacle. The Reaper was dressed in a black rubber apron, yellow neoprene gloves, and plastic goggles. He was bent over the body examining the extraction process. Classical music was playing loudly from the speakers that were in each corner of the room. It could've been either Vivaldi or Bach, Famine couldn't tell.

"Hey, Pop!"

The Reaper whirled around. "Glad to see you up. Please come in."

Since he was already in, Famine failed to see the point in the Death Omen's remark. He took a seat on a tall metal stool that sat beside the slab. "So, you're rendering. Looks interesting."

"It's rather boring, actually. You just watch a bunch of light go from one place to another but it has to be done. Do you know anything about it?"

"Just what you've told me in the past."

There was a loud binging sound and The Reaper turned off the machine. He removed the blade, wiped it on his apron, and put it neatly alongside the cylinder. He then grabbed a dirty canvas from the corner and covered up the body. "I'll tell you later," he said indicating it, "but right now I want to talk."

"What about?"

"I imagine you have questions. I would if I were you."

He did have questions. The Reaper hadn't talked a lot since the events at the lake. He just figured the old man was giving him time to relax and regroup. He was glad that he had, though. The Reaper pulled up another stool and sat beside him.

"You're probably wondering why I took your memories."

That had been a question he had asked himself for the last two fifty hundred years. It was the question that had fueled his quest for self-discovery and realization. Devon had promised him he'd find it if he'd break the rules, push boundaries, and break away from his family. But from Devon, it had all been just talk to alienate him from his family and lure him to Angelique. It was a tease, then never delivered. The Reaper was about to reveal all. Had the man simply done this earlier, perhaps none of the prior events would have happened. Famine said nothing. The Reaper took that as a cue to continue.

"I did it to protect you. I know that sounds weird but I did. I knew the horrible sense of pain and loss you were feeling during your final mortal moments. I knew that you couldn't bear them. I just wanted to take that misery away. When I took you, I wanted to start you with a blank slate. All those feelings...all those memories of the things you loved and lost...would've made starting here harder. It would've caused you to experience what I wanted you to avoid. I just didn't want you to suffer any more than you already had. I know now that was selfish. I had feeling the time would come when I would have to give it back. I just didn't want to lose what I had worked so hard to build with you."

Famine was speechless. The old man really did care. He had cared enough to risk the very relationship that he had carefully built. Any residual anger Famine had towards the Reaper instantly vanished. All of the years of uncertainty and doubt disappeared and was replaced with feelings of renewed faith and respect. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I'll understand if you're still mad. I don't blame you. I hid from you what you had the right to know. I just hope that you can take what you've learned to help yourself here in The Deadlands. By knowing where you came from, you'll have a better idea of who and what you are. Only then can you work on building yourself up to something more."

"What am I?"

"That's a good question. I never took your soul or your body. I let your energies stay on. Until now, I would have called you an unknown. You didn't have a place here. Now that you have your memories, I think you have some humanity. You're Death with a conscious if that makes any sense. Aside from Llorona, you're the only one in The Deadlands that can do that. I'd say that was pretty special. Your Dead Light is lit and will remain so until there is no more Death. That'll never happen, though. Death is a part of the endless cycle of Eternity. So, my boy, I think you'll always be around in some fashion."

This still didn't answer any questions Famine had. He still couldn't call himself anything. But somehow this didn't matter. Now that he knew a little more, he could call himself whatever he wanted. That was the beauty about his being now. One question still burned in his mind, though. "I can live with that, Pop. Tell me, _why_ did you take me?"

"Because you fought so valiantly against Evangeline. You fought to hold onto everything you loved and treasured. I had never seen anything like it before. It was amazing. I needed something like that in my death. I just had to have you. I couldn't let you go...I just couldn't."

Again, speech was taken away. What could he say? Nothing would have sounded as eloquent or as touching. Instead, Famine focused on the woman who had caused it all. "I guess I have to thank Evangeline for _something_. I have a family again. Otherwise, I'd just be a dead in the earth."

The Reaper got up and walked around the room. He put his arms behind his back as he talked. "Poor Evangeline shouldn't be blamed. She was the only one to survive the fever that killed her family. She lost everything _she_ loved. After her last child died, she went mad, burned the place down, and drowned herself in the pond. But her spirit was angry. It wouldn't rest. It stayed in that pond and took others. In a way, I guess she was trying to get back the family she had lost. But I couldn't let her do that. I had no choice. I had to take everything from her and banish her to the Borderlands."

"So she changed her name and became a driving instructor??" asked Famine in a disbelieving tone.

The Reaper stopped in the middle of the room, thought for a moment, and laughed. "I guess she did. I thought she'd live in that lake forever. Just goes to show that even my actions have severe consequences. I had no idea that her thirst for vengeance and belonging were so strong."

"I'm not sure it was revenge she was after, Pop."

"What do you mean? She wanted to get back at me for what I did."

Famine stared deeply and thoughtfully into the receptacle that contained the drained soul. He waited a second before continuing. "You just said that she was trying to get back something she lost. Look at what she did to have it again. People don't _think_ when they want something that badly. Perhaps I should've spared her. She was lot more like me than I realized."

"Don't say that. She would've stopped at nothing until she had your Dead Light. You gave her what she wanted, child. It's not your fault if she didn't comprehend the truth."

The boy was about to say something when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," said The Reaper cheerfully.

Morrigan popped her head in. "Hello, everyone!"

Famine's heart swelled with excitement. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend. There was a lot to talk about and a lot more apologizing to do. He jumped up, ran to her, and hugged her tightly.

She giggled and returned his embrace. "Hey, sweetie! How are you?"

Famine pulled away and kissed her neck. "I'm doing better now that you're here!"

"That's so sweet. Hey I just brought over some Pus and Blood flavored iced scream and oatmeal soul cakes. I'd thought we'd have a little party."

The Reaper took off his work gear and threw it in the corner. "Sounds great to me. I'm starved."

He turned off the torches by flipping a switch on the wall. Famine and Morrigan were waiting for him on the steps as he shut and locked the door. As they left, they saw a flurry of activity near one of the other mausoleums in the graveyard. A tall figure in a flowing white hooded shroud moved noiselessly from a parked cart to the building. They couldn't see a face from this distance. Morrigan gave the being a quizzical look and turned to The Reaper.

"Who's that?"

The Reaper peered in the direction of her stare. "Ah, yes, I've decided to start renting out the extra mausoleums. That's our first tenant. He seems a nice chap...quiet and dapper looking"

"I hope's he not any trouble," Famine remarked, "that's the last thing we need."

"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure he's fine. Miss Morrigan why don't you go on ahead. We'll be there in a few moments."

As the girl hurried into the family home, The Reaper turned and faced Famine with his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I want to be there more for you in the future, child. I just get too caught up in work sometime."

"Please, Pop," answered the teenager, "you were doing what Death does. Don't apologize for that. We'll just set aside a little more time later."

"You got it...now tell me more about Devon. I'm sure underneath it all, he was a good boy..." The two images of Death walked up the steps to the mausoleum.

The new neighbor regarded the scene with curiosity for a few seconds before unloading his last bag and going into his own home. The population in the Deadlands had just gone up by one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.R. Rodriguez originally comes from the Deep South but now lives in New England with his husband and chihuahuas. He enjoys horror, drag queens, science,photography, and art when not working as a nurse. Current print publications include "Pandora's Nightmare: Horror Unleashed" from Pill Hill Press, "Zombilaity" from Library of the Living Dead Press, and "Letters from the Dead" also from LotLD Press.

