Evan finished binding the shopkeeper. This part wasn’t pleasant, but it’s what Evan had to do. The man was kind, but unimportant, and Evan needed to survive. Evan deserved to survive, and unfortunately the only way a dead man can return to life is with the life of another.
Evan set the shovel down and prepared the ring. He’d need it for this next part. Evan tossed down the spade and opened the book to the transference spell – it was one of the few he kept dogeared – and began the process.
He forced the ring onto Edgar’s finger as the man sputtered in confusion and protest.
“Is anyone there? Shopkeep?” An exasperated voice called out, much to Evan’s chagrin. He shifted himself to get a good look while obscuring himself. He pressed a hand over Edgar’s mouth. If one of them was here, he’d have to finish this quickly. If the stranger went away, Evan would have nothing to worry about.
Evan’s hopes were dashed when the boy’s expression turned serious. A steel scythe materialized in the stranger’s hands, and he drew back to swing.
Acting fast, Evan flipped to another bookmarked page and ran his finger over the arcane text, reading aloud the inscription.
The front of the store burst into flames.
The reaper jumped back, just barely out of the way of the blaze.
Evan would need to complete the ritual now, while the fire kept him at bay. Then, he’d use the smoke and flames as a cover to escape. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Once it was over, they shouldn’t be able to track him anymore. His second life would be safe soon, very soon. All he needed was the anchor, the shopkeeper, and time.
----
Edgar was terrified. He was confused. He was cold. He had no idea what to do. When two young strangers showed up at his flower shop over two days, he’d thought that was the strangest life would get for him. He had been very wrong. Now, he was tied up by vines and Evan was flipping through some book while the other kid was knocking at the – OH GOD FIRE!
No no no no No NO NO NO! Not his store – don’t burn down his store. He’d spent a decade working here, carefully investing his savings into this place, making it perfect. Now it’s all burning! It’s all burning!
Was he going to die here in the ashes of his once-beautiful shop? Was he going to be buried in that horrid graveyard without even any uncharred flowers to lay on his grave?
NO! This can’t be how it is! This cannot be real! This can’t be how he dies.
With his heart beating in his chest, Edgar looked around frantically. Evan seemed distracted by setting his beloved shop on fire. There had to be something to do!
He felt the heat of the flames on his face. The sound of the fire must have been overwhelming, but he couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his heart pulsing blood through his body.
THERE – the shovel! It was sitting on the ground where Evan had tossed it aside. With his left foot, Edgar pushed off his right shoe. With his now bare foot, he stretched as far as he could for the spade. He felt his back strain from years without stretching, but he pushed further and further.
Finally, contact! A single toe managed to reach the very tip of the tool. He pushed it to the ground for a better grip then yanked his foot back. Instead, the shovel began spinning in place. He cursed beneath his breath. His eyes dashed back to Evan – still distracted warding off the boy at front and setting up some weird ritual.
Edgar breathed in deeply, burning air filling his lungs. He lifted his foot over the spinning spade and focused all his concentration on it. He exhaled and slammed his foot down, catching the shovel at its closest point in the spin. Pinning it to the ground, he pulled again. This time, the shovel slid closer. Yes! He thought. Now I just have to get it up.
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He pulled the shovel until it was between his feet. He clasped them together, getting a shaky grip on the tool. Carefully, he lifted the spade, straining against his restraints to twist his body until he couldn’t lift any more.
No! It didn’t reach. This was as far as he could go. No matter how hard he tried … no, there must be something. Maybe – He let his legs slack slightly, then wrenched them back, flinging the spade so it clattered down as close to his right hand as he could. He reached and – YES – got a firm grasp.
He twisted the tool around in his hand and began to saw at the restraints. He glanced at Evan and … Evan was looking right back at him.
Edgar panicked as Evan approached with fury in his eyes. Edgar cut more frantically as he approached, haphazardly ripping through plant matter. Evan ran towards him and grabbed his hand. He yanked the spade, trying to free it from Edgar’s hand. Edgar, feeling the spade loosen from his grip, pulled back with his leg and kicked – knocking the oversized book out of Evan’s other hand.
Almost immediately, the fire surrounding the store died down. Edgar heard Evan gasp a breath of panic as he turned around. Spade forgotten; Evan lunged for the fallen book. Edgar used this moment to rip through the weakened restraints on his right hand and used his restored dexterity to cut through the restraints on his other and fled.
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Today wasn’t fair. In fact, nothing in the last few months had been fair. Evan fumed. Firstly, he’d died; an unfortunate event for anyone, but less so for him than most. He’d prepared, just in case. He had been sure that when he died, he’d be able to transition smoothly back without anyone noticing. Then, he woke up to find that he had not, in fact, been left in his family’s crypt, as per his instructions. He had been buried in a horrid graveyard in some Podunk town six feet underground.
When he’d finally gotten out, he had to walk more than ten miles, on foot, during a goddamned hurricane, only to find out that his house had been ransacked. They’d left his family’s tome - those idiots wouldn’t have thought it worth anything – but anything else of value was gone. To make matters worse, when he checked his dowsing spell, it turned out that his anchor was ten miles back in the town he’d just walked from, left behind buried in the one place he never wanted to see again.
Worst of all, going back to the place he had been buried would make him far easier for THEM to find him quickly. He had done everything he could to blend in as a small-town worker, only digging late at night so no one would see him, and they’d still found him way too quickly. It wasn’t fair.
Even now the world seemed against him. The flower shop guy had run off after he happened to be able to reach the shovel Evan had dropped, and he’d run off with the anchor, meaning he wasn’t able to finish the ritual. Now, one of their agents - a reaper – was right on his tail.
He wasn’t going to get caught. He didn’t deserve to. He was smart, driven, capable, but he’d died at nineteen. He deserved at least a few more years of life, a lot more so than the middle-aged man running a flower shop. A middle-aged man who had just run off – the though brought Evan back to the present.
The man running wasn’t a problem. Evan could track him down with the dowsing spell and set up the ritual elsewhere.
As for the reaper boy, he looked young - inexperienced. This gave Evan a better chance. The man’s incident with his book may have brought the wall of fire down, but its sudden appearance and disappearance gave the reaper pause. The boy probably suspected a trap.
Well, if he was too scared to approach now, he would be petrified at what happened next. Evan opened the book to the darkling chant. He spoke the words aloud, and darkness fell.
-----
Grey had messed up again. He knew he was supposed to keep a low profile, but in trying to do so, his approach had been too tepid. He had known the target was around here somewhere, he sensed the traces of magic clearly, but he’d wanted to respect the florist’s wishes, and by doing so, had put the man in danger. He was so stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
When the wall of fire disappeared, he should have come in immediately, but he was worried it would’ve made the target attack the gentleman in panic or retribution. Then, the darkness fell, and the target had used it to get some distance. Now he was probably chasing the man down, Grey had put him in danger again. He’d make it up to him once he was safe.
Luckily, the target was fairly easy to track now. He was so drenched in magic that Grey could sense his presence without even focusing, and Grey was chasing as fast as he could without exhausting himself, but it exacerbated the ghastly itch in his throat.
Grey began coughing violently, he’d been close to the wall of fire when it went up and had inhaled a rush of smoke with it. He kept having periodic coughing fits and having to slow down his pace to catch his breath.
Keep moving - he forced himself. He had to catch up. Undead don’t belong in the world, and they certainly don’t deserve to take the life of another to extend their existence. The target catching up to the flower gentleman before Grey caught up to him would be the worst thing that could happen. Grey needed to return him to the other side.