Among Us: A Supernatural Novel written by Carver Edlund

Reunion

"Hello!" Julia called. She turned in a slow circle, straining her eyes to make out anything besides foggy gray. "Hello? Can anybody hear me?"

Her footsteps echoed eerily, sounding as though she had entered an abandoned gymnasium. She could hear people talking, though, even louder here—in the Veil—than in the car. Sobbing, wailing, shouting, whispering, praying. In English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Arabic, and more. "Hello? Please! I need to talk to you! Can anyone understand me?"

She'd been saying that so often lately. She raked her hands through her tangled hair. Enough. She'd had enough of this. She was dead. Did courtesy even apply anymore? "Everybody shut up and listen! I need your help!"

A hush blew through the featureless gray mist like wind. She waited, shivering with the chill. The voices, silenced, seemed to be waiting for something, too.

She fiddled with her hair, trying to convince herself that she wasn't scared, but debating whether to stay or to flee. This was a stupid idea.

The silence. It dragged on.

Had she offended them? Could they hurt her?

No, they weren't going to hurt her. They had no reason to. Right? They were just people, like Sam said.

Dead people.

Angry dead people.

A dark shape coalesced out of the mist, making her jump. Oh—sweet—cheese—and—crackers!

Julia suddenly felt overexposed, her panic plainly visible. What was she freaking out for? It was a man. Just some guy.

Just some guy. Just . . . or . . . not.

The guy looked like a range rider, dusty black from the Stetson on his head to the heeled boots on his feet.

Oh, yeah. She tugged on a lock of her hair, embarrassed. People had been dying for a long, long time, not just in the last few days.

He stopped a polite distance from her and, in an accent that had roots in England and matched the pinstriped, three-piece suit he wore under his duster, he said, "All right. You have our attention. Maybe you can explain what we're doing here."

..::~*~::..

Vahe didn't see anyone as he staggered into the barracks building. Aya's dead weight dragged at his tired, aching arms. He sighed in relief when he finally put her down in an unoccupied cage.

As he swung the cage door shut, slipping the bolt of the padlock home, the door to the long room opened and a demon walked in. Vahe recognized the thatch of pale hair, the braided leather swinging from a black vest, the chains on the boots. Tom.

"You're back," Tom drawled. He jingled with every step.

"Yeah." He didn't have the energy to say much else. He stood. "Where's the boss?"

"On her way." Tom set a square LED work light down by the cage. He eyed Vahe up and down. "Heard you had an angel up your ass. Didn't think you were gonna make it."

"Two," Vahe muttered. "It was two."

Tom nodded speculatively, and then his gaze slid down to the girl. In the work light's beam, she looked worse than ever, face pale, lips blue, hair matted with blood. "Angels do that?" he asked. Then one corner of his mouth hitched up in a knowing grin. "Or did you?"

Vahe blinked. Black flooded his eyes.

Tom blinked. Black flooded his eyes.

They stared at each other as, outside, the storm and the angel-fire continued the fireworks display.