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𝐒𝐈𝐗 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐘

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No. 

No, no, no, no.

I stared at Macabre as he rubbed his forehead, looking both faint and excited. The air inside the morgue had shifted. It was heavy on my shoulders but there was a lightness surrounding Macabre, Eva, and Monroe that I couldn't understand. How could they be okay? How could they be okay with any of this?

This meant I was going to die. This meant this and that and so on and so forth. But he was saying something different. That I had been truly made for this, created by something heavenly, that I was the very being they had been waiting for. How long had they been waiting?

"What do you mean that I'm the one?" I asked, finding the urge to kneel before him and clutch is hands.

Macabre looked at Monroe and the other man read his eyes before turning and retreating into Crow's office. When Macabre turned to face me again, he actually reached out and motioned me closer, taking both my hands in his.

"All of this is happening for a reason, in the order we predicted," he explained to me. "The seals were–were broken and thus, here we are. You weren't the first and only to come face to face with the devil, there had been others. Many others way before your time, some even before mine."

"Then why is it me?" I breathed. "If there had been others, then why me? What seals? Were they the other–" I cleared my throat. "Were they the other necromancers?"

His grip tightened as his voice softened. "They died so you could rise."

Monroe returned from the office, clutching a small envelope stained by time and coffee. He handed it over to Macabre who held it carefully in both hands after releasing mine. He held it up with a smile. "Archer got this letter decades ago, long before he met your father. We didn't know who it was from but it talks of a young necromancer with the power of the Gods in influence and strength. This necromancer would rise and have the ability to stop the devil, to finally destroy his soul as not even chains or a cage could keep him contained." He looked up from the letter to meet my gaze and I dropped to one knee before him.

"It was sent to Archer in hopes he'd find the child," he continued. "To protect this entity capable of bringing down biblical evil. The letter even addressed the idea of summoning the devil in order to trap him long enough for this necromancer to come into being. When they–well, when we tried this, we came up empty handed."

"Or so you thought..." muttered Blondie from where she stood behind me.

I frowned. "Hold up, let's go back a second," I rested a hand on my knee to push myself to stand, suddenly needing to be farther away from them. "If Crow was ordered to protect me, then why try to kill me? He sent his men to murder me." I shook my head. "And John? John only wants me because I'm the only one left. If there had been others, anywhere, he wouldn't be wasting his time with me."

You're making excuses.

"The prophecy of the necromancer said it would be a necromancer who–"

"We've been over this already," I snapped, needing to be free from this place, to be free from my skin. "I know–"

Macabre shook his head, rushing out quickly, "You don't get it, Blaire, it tells of a young necromancer who could raise the dead."

My gut plummeted but my heart already knew. My heart had known all this time, beating steadily with its knowledge. My brain, my poor stomach, didn't want to believe it. They didn't want to even consider this a possibility.

I ran a hand through my hair, my limbs tingling with nervous numbness. I looked towards Blondie and Winker but they returned my desperation with acknowledgment of the situation, of the information. They knew, they trusted it, they knew–

"Blaire," whispered Blondie, reaching out to touch me gently against the arm. "Maybe Crow was right, back when he summoned John? He said that–that maybe God did end up sending someone to save us all." Her hand fell from my arm. "He sent you."

"But why did everyone have to die?" I breathed, the question spilling from me before I had the chance to stop. It had been curling inside me since my mother died, since Gretchen, since Marshall Hollins. "Tell me, please Macabre, that Cage didn't die for me, that my–" My voice cracked, choking. "–my mother–" I couldn't even finish the sentence, feeling tears rush to my eyes. I angrily wiped at my eyes as my face felt like it was on fire with emotion. "Tell me Crow killed them out–out of spite and n–ot because of me."

"It's not that simple," whispered the older man.

"Then what is it?!" I cried, pressing a hand to my chest. "What's the–the point of all of this if I'm just going to die! If everyone I love is going to end up fucking dead?!"

My parents were killed for this fate of mine. Cage and Louise had seen it and stepped off the beaten path to be killed, and it was because of me. To keep this cursed bloodline pure just for everything to be lost in the end. The end of a legacy. It didn't matter if I was turned into a weapon, that I had been built, shaped, and molded for this purpose that didn't even matter. We were all going to die in the end anyway.

Cage's own words echoed in my skull like a bullet ricocheting.

People are going to die, Blaire. People that you care about, but you will have to carry on.

Do not dwell on the dead.

You won't have too long, but just please, be careful–

My breath hitched in my throat. Everyone had been trying to tell me the truth and I couldn't see past my own fantasies and beliefs to realize it all. They needed me to figure it out on my own, they couldn't influence me, they couldn't deter fate.

Crow had begged me to start killing. He'd told me to go after the Morticianers, to destroy and learn the truth. He'd told me it was all coming together.

It's all part of the plan.

Some plan, some awful plan.

"Cage," I cleared my throat, elaborating more on one of my truths I'd accidentally confessed, "he told me I was going to die but it wasn't that simple. What's not simple? You and him are just repeating each other and no one is telling me the truth."

Macabre shifted in his chair, all three of the demons shifted actually. They all knew the same horrible truth that even the ghosts were afraid of telling me.

"It's...why the necromancers had to die," said Macabre finally, looking up at me with aged eyes. "Necromancers have connections with spirits, with demons and dark magic spanning from centuries of use. Everything is connected through this bloodline and when one necromancer dies...well, that power is dispersed through the rest. But with you?" He shook his head and I wanted to spit fire and reign hell on everything around me. "Your bloodline descends from the first. Adrienne. I'm sure Archer has spoken to you about her, but what was known was very little. From what we do know, she was powerful. There were things she could do that not even a mere mortal could think of, reasonability flew out the door.

"But, before she died, she saw a prophecy of a child of her descent that will come face to face with the devil," he explained. "That the devil and this–this child will be linked and only they could kill them. Therefore, before she passed on, she created the prophecy to its full extent and made sure to pass it on to the others of her community. It spoke about your demon blade and bringing the dead back to life."

Beatrice's words burned behind my eyes like fire.

There was a prophecy, one that has been told and told again that the translations and meanings have been twisted over the years, but what I could tell, there would be a great necromancer who would wield this blade and bring peace amongst the living and the dead. Perhaps it was speaking of you.

Everything was coming together as I was falling apart. How was this fair to all the lives lost for mine to rise? There were children, innocents, who didn't deserve this fate and what made it seem like I did? How did I deserve this over others? What made me special?

"Why me?" I croaked, feeling shame creep up my neck for showing this much emotion in front of these people. They were my friends, my allies, and I was still ashamed.

"You were chosen before you were even born," said Macabre with the faintest smile, something sad spilling into his features. "You were in fate's eyes before they even knew your name. It had to be you, it couldn't have been anyone else."

"They died just to see me die anyway," I whispered, shaking my head, "and there's a chance that I'm going to die and John will still be here. What's the point in all this? In me? If there's a chance John will survive all this?"

"It won't be easy," murmured Eva, meeting my eyes. "But that's battle. Hell, that's life. People are going to die, we're going to die." My lips parted and she read my distress and an easy smile came to her face. "But it's a good thing you know how to bring people back from the dead, right?"

"God's perfect soldiers," Monroe said with a smile. "Fallen soldiers forced to rise again and fight." He looked down at Macabre, his hand squeezing his shoulder. "An endless battle."

It's all coming to an end here.

"This is it, huh?" I whispered, feeling those awful wretched things swell up in my eyes. I blinked and they fell against my cheeks. "I'm the one from the prophecy and it's all going to be finished?"

Do you deserve the life you've lived? Do you deserve this fate?

"It won't be over until John is dead," said Blondie, reaching out and taking my hand, "and you're still alive. We'll find a way to get you through the other side, I know we will."

"So you believe all this?" I asked with a laugh of disbelief. "You believe that I'm–I'm–"

"The chosen one?" Winker finished for me with a laugh of his own. "Because, yeah. I'm not a big religious person," he shifted on his feet, "but I believe that there is a God capable of sending someone of a higher power to save us all. I mean, I see it right in front of me. Sure, this prophecy shit sounds like it's straight from a video game or Harry Potter but we have no choice but to believe it. You're it, Blaire, you're the one and, well, we believe in you." He looked away and chuckled. "God, I didn't think it'd sound that cheesy but it's true. We're all thinking the same thing here."

"Whatever you need us to do, we'll do it," whispered Blondie. "We're here until the end."

"Just promise not to die," I breathed, squeezing her hand as I wiped at my cheeks with my other. "I don't–I don't want to have to bring you back. I don't want that pain for any of you, hell," I looked at Macabre, "I don't even know if I can bring a demon back. We just...we need to all stay alive."

Blondie smiled. "We won't John have the upper hand for even a second."

Was this even possible? That we could do this? I didn't think it would be possible to do anything without Crow but we were already forming plans, I could read it in my friends faces.

"But first–" said Macabre, standing and taking Monroe gently by the hand. He kissed the man's knuckles gently with a smile. "–we practice."

~

Eva liked guns.

Smooth small guns, like pistols. The ones police officers used, sleek and black and dangerous.

She pulled a gun out from her purse and it wasn't a small one women were typically seen with in movies or television shows. It had thirteen rounds inside and she showed me the chamber and even allowed me to hold it, which I did with shaking hands. I didn't like guns. Never had and probably never would.

She used a silencer to muffle the shot as she placed her targets against the back brick wall. I didn't stop her, not even to ask how this was possibly safe or good for the room and if someone could even hear us down here because when she aimed the weapon, fear struck its chord.

Flinching when the gun would go off and her small target board, in the shape of a bullseye, smoked and shifted with every round. Each bullet that left her chamber sent an ache to my side. The pain from the bullet had been different, worse than breaking my nose. The ache was what had turned me into a numb puddle, a weak bleeding mess. Sure, breaking my nose stung and ached and swelled, but this ache spread and danced and burned.

I pressed my hand to my scar, feeling a phantom ache that only reminded me how close of a friend I was to death. She liked to remind me of her hold.

When Eva was finished, she looked at me and held the weapon out. "You need to be able to handle one, just in case."

"Shouldn't I just go to a shooting range?" I murmured. "Like one run by a–uh–professional?"

Eva grinned, crooked and deadly. "Am I not professional enough for you, necromancer?"

"It might just be safer–"

"Nothing will ever be safe again," she said, pushing the weapon into my hands. "It's time you practice with that danger."

"It's just," I sighed, "I prefer knives."

"Doesn't that little devil have your knife?" she asked and I glanced at her. Her hair was slicked away from her forehead, pinned down to stray down her back.

I nodded, holding the gun out in both hands and aiming like I had seen her doing. I wasn't planning on unloading a bullet but rather keep her talking as a distraction. "He got it when he took Crow."

"You killed Morticianers with it, right?"

I nodded again, squaring my feet and shoulders.

"Victor has told us a bit about that," she said, coming behind me to square my shoulders even further and raising my arms just a bit to level with the target. "You got to Jeb, Tobias, and Michael, right?"

"And Andrew Stone."

She nodded, interested with a little hum. "I heard that Jonathan Blood switched sides, that he's now working with that boy, John. If you see him," a smile crept up across her face again, this one completely serpentine, "kill him."

"Why not kill him yourself?" I asked, lowering the gun slightly and she tsked and I raised it again.

"I'm afraid I'd kill him and not stop. He'd be nothing by the time I was finished and I want him to look down at himself and see what a fool he's made himself out to be. I want him to see the realization written across his face that he failed." There was a snarl growing in her voice as she said, "He might be good in bed but his heart...it's not pure."

"Did you ever work with them, then?" I asked, directing the conversation away from her love life. "The Morticianers, I mean?"

She nodded. "If you're wondering if I ever worked with John Walker, the answer is no."

"What about Eric Conner?"

She nodded with a deep sigh, taking the gun from me. "He's a good killer, one of the best in skills and hand to hand. But his arrogance and pride gets in the way." She emptied the barrell and took the single bullet that had been inside and loaded it inside the magazine she pulled out effortlessly. "It's no wonder to me that he betrayed Archer and the rest of the Morticianers, it was practically hardwired into his brain. He never worked well with the others, he liked being the one to finish the kill, to..." She looked at me for a moment before her eyes drifted back to her gun. "...to get the prize."

"He broke my nose," I muttered. "And nearly strangled me but...the night he attacked me, he held off. He wanted the kill to be for John." All this talk of pride and arrogance didn't make sense. He let his natural instincts slide to appease his unfavorable god. "They're all like that. They had their chance with me and they gave it up."

"Must mean John's planning something specific for you."

"But how specific, you know?" Images of blood sacrifices, rituals, and candles flashed in my mind. I was going to turn into a victim from an episode of Supernatural before the year ended.

Eva shifted and raised her gun, firing a single round at the target. I didn't even need to look to know she'd hit the center. "Your friends," she jerked her head towards Blondie and Winker who were practicing slowly with Monroe on proper techniques with a set of butter knives, "they mentioned Ace Dolion to me."

Something stirred under my skin, like a beast threatening to fully awaken. "What about him?"

"Demons talk," she said with a shrug. "At least, they talk more than humans. They like to gossip and I've down the chain some information about the Dolion boy. Demon from birth, an inborn, capable of great power. His bloodline came from witches, at least that's what his birth family's bloodline dated back to but there isn't much information on them now."

"Why?"

"He wiped it all clean. Killed any family members he could, erased their records, made sure they couldn't be found. He didn't need anything holding him back, not when he'd aligned himself with–with John." John's name troubled her, like she, too, didn't want to believe it. "Dolion never worked with anyone, not until John, so I thought at the time it was a turning point. I'd assumed he'd finally given up his life of solitude and wanted to step out of the shadows he'd created for himself but, clearly, I was wrong."

"We all were." I picked at the hair on my forearm as I spoke to her, "He killed my friend, Pandora. She had been...our friend and he lured her away and murdered her." A soft throb echoed in my skull. A distant reminder, a soft caress.

"It's a good thing he won't live long." She fired the gun. "It's how we get justice." She fired again. "When they die, we'll finally all be free."

The throb in my head fluttered and I blinked with the ache, taking a step back as that invisible force drove its way up my spine and into the back of my skull like a battering ram. I felt myself shift and when my back hit the ground below me, the world was gray.

I rested back on my elbows, blinking away the flashing pain as the woman before me smiled softly.

"I love when you talk about me," said Pandora. "It's so cute, it makes me want to show myself."

"Funny," I muttered, slowly getting to my feet, "since I've been talking about you for months."

She was leaning against the wall by the staircase, her hair hanging loosely around her head. There was an interesting look on her face and she smiled just softly before pushing away from the wall to approach me. "All this prophecy talk is interesting though, do you believe it?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice at this point."

"Sure you do."

I shrugged. "It explains too much for me to just ignore it all." It's why I'm the last. It's why the ghosts came to me so suddenly. It's why my parents are dead.

Pandora, as if reading my mind, spoke with a snarl. "They didn't die because of you. John killed them. It's his fault. He's behind all of this, you know that, right? Every little thing has been because of him."

"He didn't tie that rope around my mom's neck–"

"He sure as hell did," she snapped, glaring. "It's his prophecy, his fate, that's pulled all this together. Your mother died because he chose you." At her side, her hands began to ball into tight fists. "You know he made Crow call you that night, right? He threatened him and said he'd gut you early if he didn't comply."

There it was. Another secretive truth, one not a living soul could tell me.

"He was raving that night," she breathed. "He didn't want to make that call, to taunt you, to hurt you like that." She ran a hand through her thick hair, the blonde catching on her fingers and against a small ring I'd never known she was wearing before. "I saw him after I died. I was incorporeal immediately after death, no darkness or bright light, just floating and unreal. It was like I was completely fictional. But I saw him, heard the desperation in his voice when he begged you not to go into the barn but you," she laughed, "never listen."

"Not when it comes to you," I whispered and she laughed again.

"It seems we're the same, something I forget sometimes," she told me. "The moments up to my death and to the ones that followed, all I thought about was you. Your name was on my tongue when my heart stopped and when I woke up in this stupid and ugly gray landscape from hell!" She kicked at the ground, throwing her hands down at her sides before snapping out, "John got me killed. It might've been Ace using that knife but it was John's orders. He's behind everything." Her eyes met mine dangerously. "Crow never killed anyone, not even Gretchen. It's all been John."

My lips found a frown with ease as my heart skipped a beat. "Then why lie to me?"

"He's been protecting you," she said. "He's always been protecting you."

He's been here, waiting for you. Every breath, every moment, has been for you.

"It just doesn't seem real," I breathed with a laugh. "Crow being good and John? It's John but it isn't John, you know?" How could this boy be the end of this world? "Do we know why he needs me?"

Pandora shrugged. "There's not much talk on this side, it's like they hear the name John and decide to stop gossipping, and believe me, it takes a hell of a lot to get them to shut up." A smile curved and carved up her lips, flashing her teeth. "The only way to help these sad, poor, unwanted souls is to get rid of him." Her smile grew, her teeth like shrapnel. "We kill him, we take everything he's ever worked for and destroy it. At least before his ego gets any bigger."

"He's just a kid," I muttered. "Like you and me, but...he's acting like he's a god."

"I mean...isn't he sorta one?" Before I could answer, she shook her head and said quickly, "I know he's an angel, a fallen one at that, but he has power."

"Power he hasn't shown us yet."

What else did John have up his sleeve? Were there other abilities he hadn't shown us yet besides his use of teleportation and skill in both evilness and combat? All I could picture was the football and lacrosse captain, the annoying prep, the jock, the probable prom king. He wasn't as special as he seemed, but was that all his doing? Was he waiting to unleash it? To catch us all off guard?

"He wants to be one," said Pandora, "a god."

My brows furrowed.

"He wants the power inside you," she murmured, "and with that, I'm only assuming, he'll be celestial, he'll surpass every god and angel we've known to walk this plane. He'll be able to bend the knees of humanity and wipe them out with a flick of his wrist." She wiped at her mouth, speaking only on what she believed could be possibilities. "While there hasn't been much talk on the other side, I am able to catch the ends of conversations before they realize any extra ear is listening. He needs your power, he needs your power to wreak havoc, he–" She swallowed thickly. "–he needs your blood, all of it, but that's all I know."

I let out a shuddering breath. "That's more than we knew before, at least."

"But it's funny, though, right?" she whispered with a laugh. "It started with him in this group and it started with us there, too. The great Morticianers. It all began here."

"Sucks that the group is practically disbanded," I said with a sigh. "Majority are either dead, working with the devil, or, well, stuck here with me."

"We're them now," she told me, stepping forward and taking my hands. "We've just picked out the bad weeds and stepped into those plots for ourselves." She squeezed my hands. "The minute Crow saw you with his own eyes," she laughed, "the old group was finished."

Something surreal passed in her eyes before she spoke again. "The Morticianers are a group of survivors. For a long time before now, they protected the weak. Their summonings were for a reason, their need to force the devil out of hiding just to kill him before he ever got the chance to think. In a way, they've been protecting you, preparing you secretly."

"But the pictures of them," I muttered with a shake of my head. "There are pictures of Crow killing Cage and even Jeb Reed told me they had something to do with Gretchen's death. It all just seems...too..."

"Staged? Faked?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Even if you try to deny the fact that what they were doing was for the purpose of making you stronger, you can't forget you're just like them." She leaned closer. "You kill people, too."

"I do not–"

"Tell that to Reed, West, Stone, and–"

"It's not the same!"

She pulled away from me, dropping our connection to cross her arms. "Your mom and dad died for this prophecy and I get that it's hard to understand but I'm hoping, in time, things will get clearer."

They died so you could rise.

She could read the expression already spilling across my face and she sighed. "Your parents...they did what had to be done. It's not your fault, Blaire." She tucked a finger under my face and gave me a little smile. "No time to dwell on all this. Chin up, okay? We got the devil to kill."

"You make it sound so easy," I whispered and she smiled, still. "How do I just let go of the fact my parents are dead? That I have to kill someone I believed to be my friend?"

"Killing the devil part will be easy," she said, taking a step back as the world began to warp and fade. "You just picture John as Ace and the killing will come easy." Her smile grew. "I know it will be for me."

When the gray shifted back into color and reality began to tick away at its clock, I stumbled to the side and caught myself against the wall to steady the way my head had begun to tilt with the world once Pandora vanished.

Eva, lowering her gun, regarded me with intense worry as she made a move to step towards me. I held up a hand, waving her off as I said, "I'm okay, just a ghostly visit."

This sparked the interest of Blondie. "Who?"

"Pandora," I said dryly. "Just makes me dizzy sometimes, like she's got all this pent up power when she's cooking up inside me."

"Did she give you any clever insights into the prophecy?" asked Winker, crossing his arms and stepping away from Monroe who looked more than irritated to stop their sparring.

"She told me that John's been behind everything," I told them. "Every little death has been influenced by him, mostly." My eyes found Blondie and I sighed into a soft frown. "I'd thought, all this time, that Jeb Reed had been the one to kill Gretchen but...I'm so sorry, Cass, but it was John."

Winker placed a hand on Blondie's shoulder as the older member of the group slowly began to file out, understanding this was a private matter among friends. They headed up the stairs as Blondie folded into herself.

"How–" She swallowed thickly. "How can we know for sure?"

"I trust Pandora," I said back. "Ghosts like to talk more than demons and what they say is usually very true. At the time..." Reed's knife at my side. His face in my mirror. "I think Reed was just using the fear I already had to keep me from doing anything drastic. He just got lucky." I hated saying it, but it felt true. Reed took the opportunity to knock me while I was down, to slide past and into my blindspots.

"Reed?" asked Blondie, looking up with tearful eyes. "You thought," she swallowed again, "he killed her?"

I nodded. "At the time, yeah, but I was wrong."

You're going to be wrong about a lot of things.

"And you didn't tell me?" she breathed, hurt gleaming.

"You didn't need to know," I told her, fearing a true confrontation and argument. I should've told her, but how could I? There were too many things happening at the time and then Pandora died. Time wasn't on my side to still and discuss such a matter that would never have crossed her mind. "Reed was dead and you needed to grieve and there was no reason for me to bring it all back down on you. You didn't need to worry about him–"

"How could you?" she whispered and I felt true fear swell in my chest but her next words sucked the air from me. "How could you go through all of this so alone? You had to–to kill him after everything we'd witnessed together." She shook her head, Winker's hand rubbing into her shoulder gently. "I could never have done what you did, I still can't."

"Cass?"

"It's not fair you had to have all of that on your shoulders," she said. "And...and I know that we're here to loosen that weight but...it's hard to know that you had to deal with all of this. I can't imagine having to get up and fight that–that man."

"It wasn't even him," said Winker with a scowl. "It was John or one of his little minions."

"Minions?" Blondie gave him a funny look.

"Would you rather I had said companions?" he asked. "Or friends?"

She smiled softly, wiping her face free of any tears. "I get that you couldn't tell me the truth," she said, addressing me again, "but I'm here for you. I'm here now, you can tell me things, it won't scare me away anymore than all of this had tried to."

"It's not your cross to bear," said Winker. "It's all of ours."

"It's not fair," I whispered, feeling like I was going in circles with Pandora and now them. "I hate that this is all on you now, you don't deserve that–"

"We've been in this the second you came to Wooden," said Blondie with a snap of fierceness in her tone. "The second John laid eyes on you, you were his and you were ours. We've been all twisted up in this shit before we even got the chance to speak to each other."

Winker nodded with a light smile. "It's fate."

I rolled my eyes. "All this talk of fate is going to kill me before John gets his chance."

"Which is never." His smile turned triumphant, similar to Pandora's own. "We'll kill him before he even gets a chance."

"You really want to do this?" I asked, knowing I'd only get the same response they'd given me countless times before. "You want to kill your best friend?"

Winker nodded without hesitation, as did Blondie. "It'll be hard but it's not like we can't handle it, not after everything we've learned. He killed Gretch, he turned his backs on us, used us." He rolled his shoulders, as if seeing to ease tension. "But we've been over this before, Blaire, we got you, okay? We're here and no matter what crazy confession you have for us next, we're still going to be here."

"Not telling me was the right call," said Blondie. "At the time, it would've destroyed me but things are different now. It just leaves me in awe of you, that you're capable of so much emotional strength." She laughed to herself. "I was a mess after Gretch died, I can't even imagine what you went through after Pandora."

Nights sobbing in bed. Thoughts clinging to her red and bruised skin. Lost inside a barn with no exit, the smell of death trailing behind me.

"We're friends," said Blondie. "You got us 'till the end."

Winker motioned with his head towards the stairs. "Let's go find the old timers, tell them we can keep going–"

"Or we can just slip out the back?" muttered Blondie with an eager look in her eyes as if we all hadn't had a come to Jesus moment and declared ourselves friends. "My arms shake whenever Monroe has us going for so long."

"I'd rather not get on his bad side," said Winker as I followed them. "Don't want to know what his punishment exercises would be like compared to these now."

"Are these worse than football workouts?" I asked as we climbed the stairs.

Winker shook his head, his broad shoulders taking up much of the space that Blondie had to walk beside me. "Coach never made us go longer than thirty minutes between drills, mostly because it was so hot. Monroe...he doesn't stop."

"He's right to keep pushing us," said Blondie. "We aren't going to get a water break in between rallies with John." She nudged me gently. "Unless you're you and you get to use your special ghost powers for a breather."

"I don't think I can even keep my hold in the astral with John nearby," I confessed, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. "His power is different. I'd think he would rupture and crack the space around me before I even got the chance to take five."

My hand caught the railing and Winker said something to Blondie, making her laugh. I heard the noise flutter around me, dying in the morgue, as we headed up the stairs. There was something wrong, something heavy we were about to walk into as we spilled out into the hallway and heard soft chatter come from the nave.

Instantly, I felt an energy. A cold feeling moved past me and I followed that strange ghostly touch and found that a private funeral service was being held. There was a small line down the aisle of men and women, most of which dressed in uniform. The people were waiting to view the casket and I felt the usual tickle of excitement, only because this could only mean a ghost was near and in need of my services.

Blondie slid next to me, taking my arm, and walked us silently to where Macabre stood in the midst of having a conversation. The men with him wore dark suits and it was only when one put his hands in his pockets did I notice the badge hooked to his belt.

Police.

A hand grabbed Blondie and pulled her back, which pulled me back, and we stumbled into the pews away from the soft chatter and the funeral guests. Blondie whirled around, facing Winker with a frown.

"What's that all about?" she asked in a whisper.

"Macabre is talking to the police, Cass," he hissed under his breath. "A cop is in that casket–"

"Who?"

I felt that cold spot trickle over me again and I got the sick impression I knew who it was.

"Michael Ronaldo."

"Mike?" I choked out and Winker shot me a glare for being too loud. My heart skipped an unusual beat and I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling sweat against my upper lip. Winker motioned for us to move further away and we followed, stepping to the farthest side of the pews to continue out conversation.

He nodded to my shock. "I caught a good part of some of the cops' conversation when they left the bathroom," he said, jerking his thumb back to the hallway. "They said they found his body three nights ago, said it was suicide–"

My hand fell from my open mouth with a gasp. "No," I murmured, shaking my head. "No fucking way it was suicide. He–oh my god–he was a goddamn demon, he wouldn't–not unless–" My mind was whirling. Ronaldo was damn good at his job, something must've set him off, made him nervous, but would he do that?

I didn't know him well enough, besides the fact that he'd worked the majority of the deaths that had been circling me like a vulture.

"If it wasn't suicide, then what was it?" snapped Blondie, eyeing the room. "Because right now the entire police stations thinks it was so that means no proper investigation went underway...all the evidence could still be in the casket, like–like ligature marks or–or post mortem bruising–"

"You watch too many crime docu-series," muttered Winker before saying, very softly, "but if you're implying we steal the body, think the fuck again. We aren't investigators, we're amateur demon hunters and even that's stretching it–"

"I'm not saying we steal the body," snapped Blondie. "I'm saying all the evidence is right here–"

They continued their argument and my mind worked on my own theories. Detective Ronaldo was the lead investigator on my mother's death before it was ruled suicide, so how could we know for sure it wasn't the same here? Yes, it turns out my mother did in fact take her own life and wasn't secretly murdered like I had hoped (and prayed), so it was very possible Ronaldo died similarly.

"It was probably John," murmured Blondie, "trying to get our attention, catch us off guard."

"We just need to act normal," Winker said, his hand on Blondie's shoulder to get her to catch her breath. "We just need to pretend we aren't reeling from the guy's death even though he's practically linked to us through the recent cases he's worked on–" He took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay, yeah, we need to stay cool."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" asked Blondie. "We're surrounded by cops at the funeral for a dead cop, how the hell are we supposed to 'keep our cool' here?"

"We go home," he said and I nodded, adding, "We do our homework, we go to bed, then we go to school."

"Just long enough for this to settle," said Winker with a firm nod. "Knowing this town, it'll be forgotten by something worse by Wednesday."

Blondie frowned, crossing her arms. "But what about our lessons?"

"We meet here around five once school ends," I told her. "It gives us a little time in between to be with family and not draw any suspicions to us."

"You mean no more late night shopping in Dungeons and Dragons?"

I rolled my eyes at her joke and hid my smile. "Pretty much."

She shifted on her feet. "I guess that means we'll see each other tomorrow?"

I nodded and she frowned again.

"I'm going to actually miss hanging out with you twenty-four seven, believe it or not," she muttered with a small smile. She linked her arm through Winker's and her smile softened. "We'll see you bright and early, make sure you finish the notes for Parker's class!"

I watched them leave towards the front doors instead of slipping through the back, which was smart. Better to go through the most obvious way instead of slinking towards the back exit hoping no one saw you.

I made a move to follow them but Macabre intercepted me at the end of the booth near the aisle. He wore a deep frown and motioned for me to step aside with him to play as mourners amongst the others.

"I'm sure you know who is in that casket," he muttered and I nodded. "And you must know what he was?"

"Demon, like you," I said with a sigh. "Which means this had to be John, right? Striking out against us and the community?"

Macabre pursed his lips and shrugged. "Could've easily been John but what would he want with Ronaldo? He didn't go out of his way to do much for the community or the church."

"He was an informant either way," I mumbled, smiling softly at a woman who passed us to share her respects. "He was the officer working on my mom's case, same with Gretchen Cork's, you remember her, right?"

He nodded. "Killed by that truck?" When I nodded, he sighed deeply. "It was all over the papers, one of the bigger turn outs we've had over the years." He frowned, before murmuring, "Are you going to tell me which ghost visited you before or will you leave me to guess?"

"Thought you'd be more worried about this," I gestured to the funeral, "than what goes on in the astral."

"Seems I should know," he said, "especially given the funeral."

I shifted slightly on my feet, crossing my arms. "Pandora came to tell me how John was behind the majority of the recent deaths. He killed Gretchen so it's pretty plausible he could be behind this death, too."

"Have you seen him yet?" he asked and I shook my head.

"You do know about Pandora's deal, right?"

He frowned.

"She's inside of me."

He didn't look surprised. "How?"

"When Tobias shot me, I almost died. She pretty much decided to take residence up inside me to stop me from crossing accidentally," I shrugged, "and has been cooking up in me ever since. We're supposed to stop the devil together, that together I'll have more power? I don't know, Cage tried to explain the logistics to me but I'd been waterboarded with blood before that so it's all still confusing."

He chose to ignore the latter part of my statement as he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "And did she mention anything helpful besides who John has killed?"

"Said we're the new generation of Morticianers," I nudged him gently as I spoke, hiding my smile for him. "Must make you thrilled knowing I'll be taking up in the ranks."

"I always feared you'd have to join," he said. "I'm not surprised but I was hoping it'd be long after all this mess but nothing ever comes at a good time."

"Is there a new member retreat?" I asked. "An initiation? Do we wear white robes or strip naked and make a blood sacrifice to join?"

He rolled his eyes. "The service is going to end in the next fifteen minutes, it's probably best you start making your way to the door."

"Kicking me out already?"

"I know this might come as a shock but I don't always need to hear your rambles and opinions for hours on end."

"It's only been, like, five minutes, Vic."

"The casket will have to be removed soon," he said, his hands folded behind his back. "If you're willing to be a participating member of this organization, perhaps you can help me move it back to the morgue to wait for transportation to the cemetery?"

"When's it being picked up?" I asked, following him.

"Tomorrow morning for the burial service." He looked at me over the shoulder as if to secretly add, you have all night to try and communicate.

And that I did.

ok yay for more answers!! we r finally getting the prophecy, the one NO ONE HAS TOLD BLAIRE ABOUT SINCE THE BEGINNING!!! this is what crow has been keeping secret eeee but more secrets r to come <3333 poor blaire......o well

kisses to all my sweet readers!!! pls dont b a ghost

winker and blondie in the background of the prophecy conversation: