An Excerpt From The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) Part 1

June 16, 2024June 16, 2024 Kara Jorgensen2 Comments

I’ve recently realized that I am sorely behind in doing promos for The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3). Well, technically, I have been, but only in my newsletter and on social media. The cover reveal for book 3 will hopefully be next month, but in the meantime, I hope you will enjoy this excerpt from the prologue of The Reanimator’s Remains, which comes out October 29th at all major retailers. You can preorder it now in ebook. Paperbacks will be available closer to release day.

Prologue

The Bargain

Clutching the baby to her chest, Joanna silently slid open the window and ran. Her breath rasped loudly in her ears, but it did little to block out the voices yelling out behind her in the house. Quick as a shade, she slipped between two buildings and sprinted for the cover of the churchyard. The old cemetery held its breath as the sun crept toward the horizon, though not a single soul gave her away as she picked between the crooked headstones and disappeared behind the old, abandoned church. The moment her back hit the blistered, whitewashed wood, a wave of pain ripped through her core. Clasping a clammy hand to her stomach, Joanna released a tremulous breath. She shouldn’t be running yet. If she was any of the mothers she tended to, she would have told them to get back in bed and rest as much as they can, but if she stopped moving, everything she and Stephen did would have been for naught.

Joanna bit her lip against the bitter burn of tears. Her husband was well and truly dead now, her mother beyond her reach, and the people she once thought might become her family hunted her. All she had left was the swaddled baby in her arms, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in the way of his safety. Peeling back the quilt just enough to see her baby boy’s face, she watched him puff out a sleepy breath. How he had managed to sleep through the chaos of their escape, she didn’t know, but she silently thanked the Lord for small miracles and sleepy newborns. If Joanna had her way, he would never know about any of this. He would grow up to live a normal, peaceful life.

He will grow up without you.

Her head snapped up at the rustle of leaves. Across the sea of graves, the forest beckoned in a hissing whisper. No breeze reached her in the old church’s shadow, yet the tallest black oaks stretched and swayed as if searching for her. The Dysterwood had thousands of eyes, thousands of roiling, susurrus servants eager to tell their master of the goings on of mortals. Joanna pulled the blanket close enough to obscure the baby’s face and tightened her grip. The wood didn’t know him yet, and it never would.

Peering around the edge of the church, Joanna confirmed no one had followed her to the graveyard before making a break for the cluster of mausoleums. All around her the ground hummed with the slumbering dead. If she paid attention, she could tell who they were and roughly how long they had been gone, but she didn’t have time to talk to them now. Her heart clenched as she passed the clustered rows of tiny headstones, some with nothing more than a surname and single date. If she had done nothing else during her time in Aldorhaven, she had tried her best to keep their number from growing. Hiding behind the second grandest mausoleum in the cemetery, Joanna bit back a whimper of pain at another yanking cramp. As if sensing her discomfort, the baby stirred. She patted his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear until he quieted. Can he sense the dead too? she wondered.

Part of her had hoped he might have an easier life and grow up to be a plantmancer like his father, but she knew from the second she saw him that he took after her. Shutting her eyes, she inhaled the milky scent of his skin, and for a moment, she could pretend she had merely taken him for a walk to settle him and that one day she might stroll with him hand-in-hand through the graveyard and explain how their powers could be used to do good, no matter what anyone said. She pictured him grown with dark hair like hers and his father’s gentle, warm smile. He would be kind and smart and helpful. Her mother would make sure of it, even if she couldn’t.

Joanna flinched at the sudden shatter of glass followed by a cry of fire. Smoke rose over the far side of the hill as Stephen’s final trick destroyed their home and bought her precious time, yet she didn’t dare look back. The house and furniture the fire consumed were only things, things that could trace back to her life before Aldorhaven, she reminded herself, ignoring the lingering pain beneath her heart. From her high perch behind the tomb, Joanna could see the Allen’s cottage at the edge of town. She watched as the tall, stalwart figure of Jacob Allen ran out of his house and mounted his horse a moment after the fire bells sounded. Just as she hoped.

Gathering the remainder of her strength, Joanna sprinted past the empty tombs of the town’s founding family, away from the cavernous mouth of the Dysterwood, and through a loose bar in the ironwork fence. Half-sliding down the hill, she made for the shelter of the trees leading to the Allen’s home. In the normal thickets of the Pine Barrens surrounding the edge of the town, the creatures of the Dysterwood held no sway, though Joanna knew the eyes of the forest still trailed her as she reached the field behind the house. The knot in her chest loosened upon seeing Mercy’s chestnut Morgan standing in the field beyond. The horse’s ears stood erect and his eyes wide as he listened to the distant clang of bells.

The moment he spotted Joanna, the brown stallion ambled over from the pasture, eager to check her pockets for treats. For the first time all day, a genuine smile crossed Joanna’s lips as she patted Rasmus’s nose and rubbed the white streak between his eyes. The horse butted his head against her neck, and she hugged him tightly with one arm, wishing this didn’t have to be goodbye. Pulling back, Rasmus snorted and nosed the bundle in her arms curiously.

“Gentle,” she coaxed as she carefully pulled back the blanket to reveal the baby. The horse looked puzzled as he sniffed him, but when the infant briefly opened his eyes to stare up at the gentle beast, Rasmus lipped and snorted on him for good measure. Joanna laughed, but the sound was cut short by voices and smoke carrying on the wind. “Where’s Mercy, boy?”

“Over here. I’ll be right with you, Joanna.”

Joanna turned, her heart lurching at the sixteen year old’s sudden appearance at the barn’s entrance. No matter how many times she did that, Joanna never grew accustomed to it. Mercy’s dark blonde hair clung to her face in the summer heat as she set the pitchfork against the wall and wiped her hands against her well-worn trousers. Swallowing hard, Joanna tried to commit Mercy Allen to memory. She was only a few inches taller than Joanna, yet she was stalwart and strong in a way she could never be. She moved through the world with purpose, when she let people see her, but the more days she spent in Aldorhaven with her father, the more patches of her that became threadbare under his gaze. If she didn’t get out soon, whatever life Mercy yearned for when she donned her brother’s hand-me-downs and galloped full speed past the house and into the pine barrens would be gone. As Mercy quickly washed her hands and face at the pump, Joanna readjusting her grip on the baby and confirmed she hadn’t lost her purse or knife in her haste. No, Mercy and her son would have the chance to have a life they could never know here.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. My father left to deal with some crisis in town. Did you hear the—” Mercy’s brown eyes brightened with excitement as soon as they landed on the bundle in Joanna’s arms. “You had the baby!”

“Sssh!”

“Sorry,” she said softer with a wince. Gently shouldering Rasmus out of the way, Mercy peered down at the baby as he yawned and hunkered further into the quilt. “Oh, Joanna, I’m so happy for you. What’s their name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Why not?” Mercy asked, gently stroking his dark hair with two fingers.

“Because I can’t know it.” Mercy’s head shot up, but Joanna held her gaze and nodded toward the woods. When Mercy opened her mouth to speak, Joanna cut her off. “Stephen’s dead. For real this time.”

“We knew it was coming, but still, I’m so sorry, Joanna. Did he get to see—?”

“Yes, he did, but now, they know,” Joanna said, the words tumbling together as she spoke. There was so much to explain and so little time. “Within moments of Stephen dying, they showed up, just like he said they would. I don’t think they fully understand what Stephen and I did yet, but when they do, they’ll come for the baby. You’re the only person who knows he’s alive, besides me and Stephen, and I need you to take him far away from here. I have money for you.” Pulling the heavy purse from her pocket, she shoved it into Mercy’s hands. “There’s enough there that you should be able to pay for the ferry, board Rasmus, and buy anything you need to start a new life, the one you’ve always wanted. My mother will understand and help you. She will let you stay with her until you’re on your feet, but you must take him and ride to the Camden as fast as you can. If you leave now, you can make it to the last ferry to Philadelphia and be at my mother’s not long after nightfall. There’s a note for her in the purse that explains everything. Her address is on it.”

Opening the pouch, Mercy choked. “Joanna, this is a small fortune. I can’t take this. How will you—?” Her eyes widened in understanding. “No. You can’t do that. He… he’ll need his mother.”

“I have to. Once they realize what we’ve done, they will be out for blood. Mine or his. That’s why I can’t name him. If they get it out of me, they can find him.”

“Then, come with me,” Mercy pleaded. “We can all fit on Rasmus.”

“I will only slow you down, and you’ll need all the speed you can get.”

“But I don’t know how to hold a baby. What if I drop him?”

“Mercy, I’ve seen you ride with a basket of eggs. I’ll make sure he’s strapped tight to you, but you need to go soon if you have any hope of escaping.” Glancing at the smoke-streaked sky, Joanna calculated the meager time she had left and turned back to Mercy. “I’ve never had a sibling, but of all the people in this world, you are the closest I have ever had. I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice, but you are the only one who can escape the wood’s notice. It will be hunting me after what I’ve done, but it hasn’t sunk its teeth into the baby yet. You both can be free.”

When Mercy’s features tightened with fear, Joanna pressed her hand to her cheek and whispered, “If you love me, you will leave this place and live well. That is my greatest hope: for my boys to live well.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way?” Mercy croaked. When Joanna nodded, Mercy sighed and hung her head. “I’ll get my things.”

“Please be quick.”

Grabbing her saddle bags from the barn, Mercy disappeared into the house. As the door shut behind her, a wave of exhaustion passed over Joanna. She leaned against the side of the house out of sight, letting the baby’s full weight rest against her chest. The fear that had propelled her from the mob had finally been spent. Her arms shook with fatigue and blood dripped down her leg and clung to her petticoats while cupboards opened and shut inside the house. With every second she waited for Mercy, the baby seemed heavier and the rippling pain in her core grew stronger. Joanna screwed her eyes tight and released a steadying breath. She only needed to hang on a little longer. Soon, it would be over, and it would all be worth it.

The wind blew down the bank and through the trees, bringing with it the acrid tang of smoke and the sound of Stephen’s sister yelling her name. Tightening her grip on her son, Joanna peered around the corner of the barn, but thankfully, no one was there. Daphne’s only allegiance was to her family, and no bond of motherhood or feigned friendship would stop her from dragging her back. The door to the cottage whined as Mercy stepped outside. Before she could call for her, Joanna emerged from the shadows. In her brother’s clothes with the too long trouser legs rolled beneath her boots and a derby squashed over her hair, Mercy could easily pass for a boy in the evening light. Giving Joanna a stalwart nod, she strapped her bags to the saddle and prepared Rasmus for their ride. The horse looked nervously toward the Dysterwood, but Mercy whispered to him and stroked his neck until he quieted. Stepping back from him, Mercy held Joanna’s gaze but neither moved nor spoke.

Joanna twisted her fingers into the quilt and swallowed against the knot in her throat. She knew the time would come to let him go, but it still felt too soon. Everything she and Stephen had done had been for this moment when they could send him somewhere far away, where he would never know of Aldorhaven or the fate that would have awaited him if he had stayed. He had the chance for a life his father never did, and she needed to let him go. Pulling back the quilt, Joanna tried to memorize his face as she had Mercy’s. He was so new. He had no name or features she could pin down as coming from her or Stephen, but he had his life. And it would always be his own. Joanna kissed his forehead and readjusted the blanket around him until he was swaddled tight. Beckoning Mercy closer, she pulled the shawl from her shoulders and threaded it around Mercy’s middle under her coat. She carefully tied the bundled blanket into it and stepped away before she could change her mind.

Embers blew on the wind as Mercy gingerly swung into the saddle and turned Rasmus toward the road. “You can still come, Joanna.”

“You know I can’t.” At the hesitance in her eyes, Joanna called, “Mercy, after you get settled, promise me you won’t look for me. Forget I or this place ever existed.”

“I promise I won’t look, but I’ll never forget.”

Joanna stood rooted at the gate as Mercy gave her one final, long look before spurring her horse to a trot. She tried to keep her gaze trained on Mercy’s back as Rasmus picked up speed down the road, but her eyes kept sliding off as if they weren’t there. When she could no longer find them beyond the distant clack of hooves, the pain in her heart lessened a fraction. If she couldn’t see them, then hopefully, the wood couldn’t either. Godspeed, Mercy. Tears burned the backs of Joanna’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away and headed back to the road. At the top of Cemetery Hill, a lone figure appeared between the tombs. Joanna’s heart lurched in her throat as Stephen’s father stepped from the shadows. Before he could see her and call out to the others, Joanna took a deep breath and plunged into the Dysterwood.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, I hope you will preorder The Reanimator’s Remains at your favorite retailer or add it to your TBR on Goodreads. If you haven’t read books 1 or 2, you can grab them in ebook, paperback, or audiobook. Stay tuned for the second half of the prologue next week.

Introducing The Reanimator’s Remains

March 24, 2024March 20, 2024 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

This week’s blog post is a sort of title reveal/blurb reveal/preorder reveal for book three of the Reanimator Mysteries series.

The title of book three is The Reanimator’s Remains! Book three will be out October 29th, 2024, and you can preorder it in ebook form now at most major retailers. Paperbacks will come closer to release day.

The cover reveal will be later this summer, but for now, you can read the blurb below.

An autistic necromancer, his undead love, and a town built on secrets

When the dead start rising and wreaking havoc in the small town of Aldorhaven, no one at the Paranormal Society wants to take the case; no one but Oliver Barlow. While he knows little of his parents’ lives, he knows he was born in Aldorhaven. Perhaps there, he might finally find out what happened to them or if he has any family left.

The last thing Felipe Galvan wants to do is go to a strange town in the middle of the woods, but for Oliver, he’ll go. From the moment they arrive, Felipe is haunted by memories better left buried and reminded that one misstep is all it would take for him to lose control and become the monster he was always meant to be.

But it isn’t merely the dead plaguing Aldorhaven, something far worse lurks in the woods and in Oliver’s blood. Together, Oliver and Felipe must untangle the magic hidden in the town’s past and destroy it before it can claim Oliver’s life.

What can you expect from The Reanimator’s Remains?

The Reanimator's Remains by Kara Jorgensen, cover reveal coming this summer. Preorder now, out October 29th.
autistic necromancer x undead adhd-er, mm romance, family secrets, the dead are out for revenge, "I would die for you" "Then, live for me.", a spooky forest, a creepy murder town, dealing with trauma, book 3.

I will definitely talk more about The Reanimator’s Remains (TRM #3) as I work on it, but at its core, it’s a story about fighting fate and expectations and breaking cycles. I hope you all will enjoy reading it as much as I’m enjoying writing it. You can preorder The Reanimator’s Remains at most major retailers, and if you haven’t read The Reanimator’s Heart or The Reanimator’s Soul, you still have time to do so before book three comes out in late October. You can also add it on Goodreads.

the reanimator's soul · Writing

One Day Until The Reanimator’s Soul

October 22, 2023October 16, 2023 Kara Jorgensen3 Comments

As of when this post is up, it is ONE DAY until The Reanimator’s Soul comes out!

The cover for The Reanimator's Soul by Kara Jorgensen. A black background with blue figures. Two men facing away from each other. Between them is a line connecting them and a brain inside a circle in the center. Around the brain are neuron/lightning shapes and an all seeing eye — Cover by Crowglass Design

In case you haven’t heard about The Reanimator’s Soul, it is the sequel to The Reanimator’s Heart and the second book in the Reanimator Mysteries series. Here is the blurb:

An autistic necromancer, his undead lover, and the case that could destroy everything.
When a necromancer turns up dead, Oliver and Felipe think it will be the perfect, straightforward case for their new partnership. That is, until it leads them to a clinic promising a cure for magic, but they aren’t the only ones investigating the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul. Oliver’s ex, Ansley, is in town, and he’s certain the clinic isn’t the paragon of righteousness it claims to be.
Forced to help Ansley infiltrate the institute, Oliver fears he is out of his depth in his work and in love as old wounds and bad habits resurface. But Oliver isn’t the only one struggling. Pulled between his cases, Oliver, and his daughter returning home for the summer, Felipe is drowning. Just when he thinks he finally has everything under control, a new reminder of his untimely demise threatens to throw his life into a tailspin once more.
Between festering wounds and secrets, Oliver and Felipe’s lives stand upon a knife’s edge. To face the evil lurking behind the clinic’s genteel smiles, they must stand together or face the destruction of the place they call home.

Here is what other early readers are saying about The Reanimator’s Soul:

3 pics of quotes from readers that read as:
1. My heart has been ripped out, stabbed, patched up, and put back. Only Oliver could do such a neat job.
2. With a touch of the macabre, it was a perfect read for spooky reason while also being incredibly sweet. I already can't wait for book 3.
3. I just loved it. The story was well paced, the mystery super intriguing and well crafted, and I wanted nothing more than to punch Ansley's smug face heart smiley.

The Reanimator’s Soul is the second book in the Reanimator Mysteries series and is my ninth full-length book (tenth if you count Flowers and Flourishing). It takes place in the same universe as my other books and is set in the New York Paranormal Society, which is mentioned in Kinship and Kindness. The content warnings are listed below and are also in the book are well.

CWs: Gore, blood, violence, murder, descriptions of dead bodies/autopsies, on page sexual content, ableism toward autistic people, discussion of past sexual assault, period specific homophobia and language, medical abuse, conversion therapy, panic attacks, implied and briefly depicted child abuse

The paperback of The Reanimator’s Soul is currently on Amazon and will move to other retailers in the coming weeks. You can still preorder the ebook at all major retailers or you can request it from your library system when it comes out October 24th, 2023. The audiobook is currently in the works and will be available early 2024 if all goes according to plan.

If you pick up a copy of The Reanimator’s Soul, I hope you will leave a review on Goodreads, StoryGraph, or your favorite retailer! They really help authors like me out in terms of visibility and credibility.

And if you haven’t read The Reanimator’s Heart (TRM #1), you can pick it up here.

the reanimator's soul · Writing

A Preview of The Reanimator’s Soul (TRM#2)

October 15, 2023October 8, 2023 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

The Reanimator’s Soul, book 2 in the Reanimator’s Mysteries series, comes out October 24th! If you would like to preorder it, you can do so here, and paperbacks will be available closer to release day. To whet your appetite, here is the prologue for The Reanimator’s Soul.

Prologue

The Test

Herman Judd awoke in the dark. For a long moment, he lay there, distantly wondering if he was dead and staring into blackness was all the afterlife had to offer. His breath rattled in his chest, sending a throbbing pain through his neck and into his arm. The dead didn’t breathe, and they didn’t feel pain, as far as he knew. Even without light enough to see, he knew he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Blinking, he tried to remember. He was fairly certain he had gotten dressed for work that morning, but everything beyond eating breakfast in the clinic’s dining room felt hazy and grey. Wherever he was, it was too dark to be the dormitories and too quiet to be one of the wards. There was always light, even at night, and surely, he would have heard the moans of the sick or the quiet chatter of the nurses and orderlies by now.

Slowly sitting up, Herman let out a groan as his head swam. There was nothing to ground him in the disorienting darkness except the pain radiating from the base of his skull. It ran into his shoulder and down into his arm, where it felt as if a swarm of fire ants was gnawing at his nerves. Am I blind? The panicked thought quickly abated as he raised his uninjured hand and saw its shadow ahead of him in the dark. Not blind but hurt. How? A chill washed over him as he batted away the sheet covering his chest and arms. Whatever the reason, he had to get out. Something was wrong. Every hair on his body stood on end as he groped along the icy ceramic table beneath him for anything that might tell him where he was. Inching ahead, his fingertips brushed something solid. He grabbed it and snatched his hand away with a shudder at the alien yet horribly familiar sensation. A body. No longer a person but inert flesh, dead and already cooling. He had dealt with enough bodies in Green-Wood Cemetery to know what they felt like, and he swore he would never wake one again.

Herman’s mind reeled as he scrambled away toward the table’s unseen edge, putting as much distance between him and the body as he could. This had to be a mistake. Or a prank. Yes, he must have fallen asleep on a gurney, and Joe decided to teach him a lesson by parking him in the morgue. Herman pressed a hand to the base of his skull, then ran his fingers down his prickling, half-numb arm. But he didn’t remember falling asleep. Then again, he didn’t remember getting hurt either. Taking one step too far, his legs collided with a cart of tools. They hit the floor with a resounding clatter that sent a jolt of pain through his temple. For a long moment, Herman stood frozen cradling his arm. When no one came, he released a tremulous breath.

Carefully stepping over the fallen tools, he groped forward in the absolute darkness until his fingers brushed the cool plaster of the wall. He tried to imagine what the morgue beneath the clinic looked like. He had only been down there once, and it was months ago. The day he arrived at the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul, the doctor had brought him down to the basement and asked him to demonstrate his powers. The doctor’s gaze on him had been so unnerving he scarcely breathed, let alone memorized the layout of the room. Herman opened his mouth to call out but stopped. If he yelled for help and Joe or the others found him, they would know how much they had shaken him by leaving him with all the bodies. No one else knew about his powers, and they wouldn’t if Herman had anything to do about it. That was the whole reason any of them had come to the institute: to be normal.

Or you could send one of them to find the door, Herman’s mind traitorously whispered as he stepped forward and his fingers brushed against the metal cabinets that housed those yet unclaimed. If he closed his eyes, he could feel them calling to him like a siren’s song. At Green-Wood, he could walk past a mausoleum and tell exactly how many people were in it. Now that his head had cleared, he could sense one hidden in the cabinets and the body on the table behind him. This time, there would be no jewelry or valuables for them to hand over, but if he told them to find the door, they would answer his call. The temptation to reach for his powers welled inside him for the first time in months, as natural as breathing. Before, he had been thankful to feel normal for a time, to not feel the constant surge of magic beneath his skin, but standing afraid in the dark, the tendril of energy reaching across the void for the nearest body was a welcome comfort. Even after everything, his powers would still come if he needed them. Herman’s eyes snapped open as pain lanced through the base of his skull. Rearing back with a yelp, he yanked the energy back, and it scattered like beads from a string.

The thought came through the fog with sudden clarity: his being in the morgue wasn’t a mistake or a prank; it was a test. Perhaps the doctor had left him in the morgue to see what he would do. If he used his powers to find his way out, it would only confirm Herman needed more rounds of the stronger treatment to break him of this insidious habit. He had only had that regimen once, and it had left him sick for weeks. He had been so exhausted that even the thought of going to the graveyard again, no matter how good the potential haul, left him seconds from vomiting. The doctors only prescribed it to those who wouldn’t submit and still relied on their unnatural propensities instead of their senses and wits.

Squaring his shoulders, Herman straightened. He had both senses and wits. He didn’t need the mindless dead to do his bidding because he was afraid of the dark. It was like the doctors said, if the treatments didn’t work, it was because he wasn’t trying hard enough. He didn’t plan on letting the doctors down. No, this time, he was going to prove his mother and everyone else who doubted him wrong. Inch by inch, he made his way across the seemingly endless room. With each step, his breathing grew louder in his ears and the urge to reach for the dead fluttered to the surface. When his hand brushed against the cold metal of the doorknob, he shuddered with relief. Herman’s heart pounded in his ears as he fumbled with the lock and stumbled into the long hall to find the basement empty as a tomb. The door quietly clicked shut behind him as he took a step into the dim light. Confirming he was alone, Herman leaned against the wall and drew in a shaky breath. A thin laugh escaped his lips. He had done it. He had escaped the morgue without using his powers. He passed the test.

Herman’s heavy steps echoed through the basement as he made his way to the freight elevator at the end of the hall. His finger still hovered above the button when the gears squealed to life. The elevator rumbled and hissed like a steam engine as it descended, shaking the ground beneath Herman’s feet. Through the metal grate, he could see a man inside. For a moment, he thought it might be Joe, but the instant he caught a flash of the other man’s fair hair in the gloom, he knew it was the doctor. That familiar flicker of trepidation passed through him as the other man’s eyes raked over his form from behind the cage door. As always, the doctor was inscrutable, his face a mask of stillness that betrayed nothing. Herman hated that he never knew what he was thinking. Most of his other bosses or marks he had no trouble reading, but never the doctor.

When the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doctor yanked open the grate, Herman plastered on a wide grin. “Sir, I think I’m cured! You left me in the morgue, and I didn’t wake a single one!”

The doctor stared at him for a long, calculating moment before he said, “Let’s speak inside, Mr. Judd.” Ignoring his pained gasp, he grabbed Herman’s arm and pulled him back toward the morgue. “Has anyone seen you?”

Herman shook his head.

“Good. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear about the nature of your problem, would we?”

“No— no, sir. Of course not.”

“Then, how fortunate that I was on my way to check on you.”

“Could we talk upstairs instead?” Herman asked but immediately regretted it when the doctor gave him a sharp look.

“The more you avoid it, the less I believe you. If you’re cured, as you say, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind being in the morgue a few minutes more.”

“Yes, sir,” he murmured as the doctor unlocked the door and ushered him inside.

The sudden brightness as he threw on the lights made the back of Herman’s head throb anew, but the moment he opened his eyes, they landed on the half-covered body on the table. The current of power within him surfaced again, begging him to let it help, let it reach for the dead. If he raised the dead, he could still run, and he would never have to worry about the doctor or his all-seeing gaze ever again. He would find new cemeteries to rob far away from here, and he could start over alone. But the voice inside of him was that of a criminal, a liar, and a freak. Silencing the voice, Herman ripped his gaze away from the body and turned to find the doctor watching him as he kicked the fallen instruments aside. Herman stifled the urge to flinch under the other man’s gaze. Even after six months, it still unsettled him, the way the doctor seemed to look through him rather than at him. At times, it felt like he was dissecting him with his eyes, as if he could peel apart his layers and see what lay beneath. The doctor treated him for those thoughts as well. His fanciful ideas and paranoia were a weakness of character, among many others.

“Tell me about your experience, Mr. Judd. You said you believe you’re cured?” the doctor began as he dropped his ring, cufflinks, and tie pin into a wooden box on the counter.

Herman straightened. “Yes, sir. Or close to it. I used only my sense and wits to get out of the room. I didn’t touch any of the bodies.”

“Are you certain?” the doctor asked, his gaze lingering on the disturbed sheet.

“I didn’t wake any of them. I didn’t know where I was at first and touched that one, but that was it.” Swallowing hard, Herman chose his words carefully. The doctor seemed to know when people like him were lying, and he wanted to be better. He wanted to be free of this. All he had to do was stay out of morgues and graveyards. “I— I was tempted, but I resisted.”

“Ah, but you are still tempted,” the doctor replied as he rolled up his sleeves.

Herman’s heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t have the stronger treatment, not again. He would rather go back to jail than go through that again. “Only a little, but that means the treatments are working, right? It’s been six months. How long do you think it will take before my powers disappear completely and I’m cured?”

“You have been an especially hard case, Mr. Judd. You have reformed as far as you are capable, but ultimately, you may not have the strength of character needed to be free of it completely.”

“No, I can do it, sir.” His injured arm flashed with pain, but he ignored it along with the desperation in his voice. “I’ll even submit to the stronger treatments again. Please, don’t give up on me. I don’t want to be like this.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Judd. This isn’t a decision I take lightly, but we will have to terminate your position.”

“No, please, I need this. I can’t go back. I can’t.” When the doctor took a step toward him, Herman instinctively shrunk back. He shouldn’t have moved; he was only proving the doctor’s case, but every fiber of his being told him to run at the cold, assessing look in the other man’s eye. “I don’t understand. I passed the test. I didn’t use my powers.”

“Don’t worry, you will be put to a far greater use.”

The doctor’s smile should have put him at ease. A far greater use. Maybe he would send him to work at the sanatorium in Long Island. His heart pounded as if his body knew what his brain could not accept. Herman’s back hit the door. The doctor watched him with his head cocked and a faint smile playing on his lips as a light sparked in his hand. Herman watched in horror as veins of electricity raced up the doctor’s fingers and pooled in his palms. No. No, it couldn’t be true. The doctors weren’t supposed to have powers. They created the treatments; they were the successes the others were supposed to aspire to become.

“You’re a—”

A mocking grin stretched across his lips as electricity crackled down his hand and reached for the world beyond. “Yes, fortunately, dead men can’t tell secrets. Now, can they, Mr. Judd?”

Before Herman could turn for the door, the doctor shoved his palm into his chest. The air ripped from his throat as every nerve in his body sang. His muscles clenched as he futilely struggled against the doctor’s hold. His powers groped for the nearest corpse, but before he could reach, his wildly beating heart seized and fell silent. The smell of burnt flesh and hair drifted to his nose as he hit the ground. The world narrowed to the black rubber of the doctor’s boots as Herman Judd released a final, shuddering breath and saw no more.

Once again, The Reanimator’s Soul comes out October 24th. If you would like to preorder it, you can do so here.

the reanimator's soul · Writing

A Preview of The Reanimator’s Soul #1

May 21, 2023May 6, 2023 Kara Jorgensen1 Comment

I thought this week I would show a little preview of The Reanimator’s Soul to whet your appetite, even though we’re still quite a few months away from release (October 24th). As a reminder, The Reanimator’s Soul is the sequel to The Reanimator’s Heart. If it seems interesting to you, you can preorder The Reanimator’s Soul or you can buy book one here. (Also, please pardon any typos as it hasn’t been proofread yet)

Chapter One

Omnia Mors Aequat

Few things pleased Felipe more than seeing Oliver getting along with his family. Since Teresa came home for the summer two weeks earlier, they had spent a lot of time together. At first, Teresa seemed confused to see Oliver at Felipe’s side every time they came to visit. She was accustomed to her mothers being a couple, but her papa had never brought someone home to meet her. He told himself that it would just take time for her to get used to it. Where Teresa seemed perplexed, Oliver was so anxious about saying the wrong thing or making things awkward between Felipe and his daughter that he spent much of their time together in silence. During the first few days, Felipe feared the summer would be filled with his two favorite people dancing around each other. It wasn’t until they went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Felipe caught Teresa and Oliver hovering over a display case discussing which organs went in each canopic jar that he knew they would be all right. Right now though, Oliver looked like he regretted ever agreeing to this visit.

Raising the practice foil again, Oliver grimaced beneath his fencing mask and braced for impact as Teresa came at him. He deflected the first blow with a grunt only to get poked in the chest when she easily twisted away and hit him on his unprotected side. Felipe smiled to himself. He had trained her well. From the time she could walk, he had taught her all he knew about fighting. She had inherited generations of techniques that had been passed down the Galvan line along with those he had learned during his years at Colonel Monstery’s dueling academy. Knowing how to protect herself was a useful skill for a young woman growing up in the city, even if she didn’t plan on becoming an investigator like him. More often than not, the most dangerous monsters wore human faces.

Unlike Louisa or Oliver, she took to it like a duck. “Teresa, go even slower. He’s still a beginner, and, Oliver, loosen your stance a little and don’t be afraid to use force against her. You’re six inches taller and quite a bit heavier than her. Use that to your advantage,” Felipe called from the sidelines.

“But she’s—”

Before Oliver could finish the sentence, Teresa feinted to the side and kicked the foil’s guard, sending the sword flying with a clang. It was a cheap and unsportsmanlike trick, but it got the point across. Oliver stared at his empty hand with a curious frown as Teresa laughed and went to fetch his sword. She was enjoying herself far too much.

“Let’s take a short break.”

“Thank god. My arms are starting to shake,” Oliver said as he pulled off his mask and wiped his face against his shoulder.

Despite Oliver being sweaty and red-cheeked, Felipe found himself very tempted to kiss the damp, inky curls clinging to his forehead. Oliver looked quite dashing in his fencing whites with the color rising in his usually pale cheeks, but what Felipe truly appreciated was that no matter how many times Teresa outfenced him or Felipe corrected him, he just took the criticism and kept trying. A grown man not throwing a tantrum after being repeatedly bested by a nineteen year old was a good sign.

When Teresa offered Oliver his sword, he took it with a weary smile. “You are an impressive fighter. You could be the next Jaguarina with skills like those.”

“If only the name hadn’t been taken when I started doing competitions.” Pulling off her helmet, Teresa winced as her thick, brown hair caught on the inside. “I think it suits me much better.”

“Don’t compliment her too much, Oliver, or she won’t be able to get her helmet back on,” Felipe said with a laugh.

Her hazel eyes brightened with mischief as she gave Oliver a theatrical bow and returned to her place. Felipe knew he should correct her for that cheap shot she used on Oliver to prove her point, but he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Even though she was nearly as tall as he was now, seeing his little girl fight still filled him with pride. At her age, he had just joined the Paranormal Society and was already throwing himself headlong into danger. She, at least, got the opportunity to live a peaceful life with parents who loved her and let her become the person she wanted to be without too much interference. Any fighting she did now was because she wanted to and chose to.

“Should we try parrying again?” Teresa asked. “I promise I won’t play dirty this time if you promise not to go easy on me.”

“For god sakes, Teresa, let the poor man catch his breath!” Louisa called from the backdoor as she carried out a tray laden with food and cutlery. She let Oliver take it from her and set it on the garden table as she shook her head at Felipe and Teresa. “I leave for an hour, and you two turn the yard into a paste.”

“Piste,” the other Galvans answered in unison.

“Whatever. The dogs need to go out, so there will be no fighting until they’re done. Come and sit. Agatha made lemonade and bienenstich.” Turning back to Oliver, she said, “Do you see how he’s turned our daughter into a common street brawler?”

“Mama, I might be a street brawler, but I am anything but common.”

Felipe bit back a laugh at the long-suffering look that crossed Louisa’s features. As she opened her mouth to speak, Agatha swept into the yard with Kuchen and Pastel in tow. Pastel darted off to yap at a squirrel while Kuchen sidled over to Oliver and eyed the cake. Planting a kiss on Teresa’s temple, Agatha pulled her close even as their daughter wrinkled her nose but leaned into her Ma Ma’s affection.

“Did my little Liebling tell you about how she nearly got kicked out of grammar school for teaching the other girls to fistfight?”

Teresa rolled her eyes. “No, Ma Ma, we’ve been too busy trying to teach Dr. Barlow the basics of sparring.”

“I would love to hear about it later,” Oliver replied as he cut each of them a piece of the creamy layer cake. “You and your papa have been very patient teachers. I didn’t realize I wasn’t your first pupil.”

“Oh, yes, she helped pay her exhibition fees by teaching the younger girls at her fencing club. We’re quite proud of how far she’s come, but Felipe can’t claim all the credit for her talent. Two of my brothers were quite accomplished fencers in their younger days. I never took to it, but it must have skipped a generation.”

Taking his plate, Felipe settled beside Oliver on the hip-high wall surrounding the patio while the ladies took the chairs at the ironwork table. A bee bumped against his hand as if drawn to the honeyed almonds on the cake. Between refreshing bites of cream, Felipe watched the others. Sitting between her mothers, the resemblance was obvious. Teresa had Agatha’s hazel eyes, though hers were more to the brown, and Louisa’s wide mouth and dark hair, but the rest of her ended up somewhere in between. Her skin was slightly browner than Felipe’s, and the combination of Louisa’s compact muscle and Agatha’s added height gave her long, strong limbs and a hearty disposition. Even if they shared no blood, her coloring and personality ended up close enough to Felipe’s that no one noticed she looked nothing like him. As Agatha said, people saw what they wanted to see.

How had nineteen years gone so quickly? He could still remember carrying her on his shoulders during parades and trips to the shore. The squeal of her voice when she won her first competition. How close yet so far away those days seemed. At the gentle pressure of Oliver’s hand on his arm, Felipe gave him a tight smile and tried not to think of the hundreds of little regrets he had in regards to his daughter. The sheer volume of things he had missed due to work was shameful, but no more. He had a second chance to do things right, and he would be there for her while she was home no matter what.

“So, Oliver, how are you settling back in at work?” Louisa asked, topping off their drinks.

“Well, actually.” Moving his plate to let Kuchen sit in his lap, Oliver held the dog close. “It feels like I never left, and now that I’m off light duty, things finally feel back to normal.”

“And you, Felipe? How is partial retirement going?”

Flashing him a sharp smile over the back of her chair, Teresa added, “Yes, Papa, do tell. How does it feel to finally stay put?”

“It’s been an adjustment but a good one. As I’ve said, I’m hoping we can spend lots of time together while you’re home. It should be easier now.”

Neither Felipe nor Oliver brought up the adjustments they were dealing with in the lab, though Felipe felt Oliver’s eyes on him. That month of light duty where they were stuck in the lab together all day had been rough. While Felipe was accustomed to handing off corpses to Oliver for a closer examination or stumbling upon them in the heat of an investigation, he was not accustomed to how they looked and smelled up close. Or how long that smell lingered on everything in warmer weather. He had vomited during a particularly messy case while Oliver bit back a barely suppressed withering look. For a man who could smell traces of magic like a bloodhound, he certainly didn’t seem fazed by decomposition. He made more of a fuss about the chemicals he used to clean the lab than anything else as they gave him a headache. The past few weeks where Oliver had free reign in the lab and Felipe could go to the archives to focus on the cold cases he was slowly picking apart and researching had been nice, but he was itching to go out on an investigation.

“Well, I, for one, am very glad you’re actually done galivanting all over the country. I was half-convinced that the moment Oliver fully recovered, you would be on the first train out of the city,” Louisa said pointedly between bites of cake.

Felipe stared into his drink. He wasn’t dying to leave New York because he had died and been reanimated. And he still hadn’t told his family about what happened that January or how he was now tethered to Oliver, so there was no way for him to leave the Paranormal Society, let alone the city, unless he took Oliver with him. Felipe swallowed against the knot in his throat. They were all together; now would be the perfect time to tell them everything. With four pairs of expectant eyes upon him, his resolve faltered.

“What can I say, Oliver has been a good influence,” Felipe replied blithely with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Teresa’s gaze shifted to Oliver, her brows furrowing and a look passing across her features so fast that Felipe wasn’t sure if he had imagined it as she turned back to the table.

“What do you all think of going to see The Circus Girl? I know it’s not the kind of thing we would usually go to, but it sounds like good fun and the staging is supposed to be superb.”

“Sure,” Felipe replied without thinking.

Oliver’s grey eyes bore him as he hissed, “But what if we have a case come up?”

At Oliver’s pointed, wide-eyed look, Felipe silently sighed and nodded. “Yes, that could be a problem. Let me know when the performances are, Agatha. I’m sure we can figure out a time that works.”

“And if you do, can we go to Siegel-Cooper and pick out new outfits?” Teresa added brightly. “I have so missed our shopping trips, Papa.”

Felipe smiled and tried to ignore the look of horror on Oliver’s face warring with the happiness of his daughter. They would discuss it later. Poking at what remained of his cake, Felipe found he no longer had an appetite.

***

Once the conversation moved on to Agatha and Louisa’s latest gallery finds, the knot in Felipe’s chest loosened. Before long, the dessert, drinks, and dogs had been brought into the house and Felipe turned his attention back to Oliver. He was tempted to have him work on defensive moves with Teresa again, but Colonel Monstery had always suggested short practice sessions to avoid diminishing returns. On a full stomach, they would probably be even worse. Letting his focus fall to the tether lodged around his heart, he felt for Oliver at the other end. His heart pumped as steadily as his own, but he could feel the undercurrent of fatigue and anxiety beneath it. The length of the visit was probably wearing on him along with more potential trips out, but Felipe didn’t want to leave yet. There was still so much time to make up for. Teresa pulled her hair back and shot Felipe a questioning look that bordered on mischievous. One last match, then.

“How about we give Oliver a demonstration of how uncommon street bawlers fight?”

“Limitations?” Teresa asked with a knowing smile.

“The usual: no purposeful hits to the face and no taking to furs. Street brawler rules apply. Winner at first blood or forfeit.”

An expression between confusion and anxiety crossed Oliver’s face as he looked between the two Galvans. “Do you need my helmet and jacket?”

“Just the helmet. Don’t worry, we used to do this all the time.”

He tossed Teresa one of the practice daggers from his bag and tucked the other in his waistband as he took his position on the makeshift piste. Slipping the mask on, Felipe’s heart sped at the comforting adrenaline of a fight. He relished the way the controlled chaos of sparring allowed his mind to fade into the background until he was nothing more than limbs and motion. As he and Teresa saluted each other and fell into position, he hoped Oliver could feel his excitement across the tether.

For a long moment, they merely circled each other, testing each other’s swords to see who would make the first move. The impatience of youth won out as Teresa struck. She was fast, hitting him with half a dozen strikes in rapid succession, but he had decades of experience. The moment he struck low, her stance changed, and in place of the decorated fencer was his protégé. The practice foils weren’t his or her preferred weapons; they lacked the stability of the sabers they typically used, but they would do. A small smile crossed Felipe’s lips at the realization she was slowly walking him back toward the high wall surrounding the yard.

When she pressed her advantage, he swiveled out of the way and struck until she was the one being backed into the wall. Her brown eyes narrowed behind her mask as their swords clashed with as much strength behind them as she could manage. Her feet slipped in the grass until her left boot struck brick, but Felipe realized her move a second before she did. When her right foot came up to strike him, he caught it and pulled her forward. She tumbled to the ground with a huffed breath. By the time he backed out of reach, she was on her feet with the dagger in her free hand.

Teresa circled him calmly, though he could see her chest rising and falling harder than it had before. She lazily spun the dagger in her hand as if testing its weight. He hadn’t stipulated they couldn’t throw the daggers, but for Oliver’s sake, he hoped she wouldn’t. The moment he reached for his, she charged. Metal clanged as he threw up his arm to parry both her blades in one sweep. When they collided again, they were so close, he could see her brows furrowed and her teeth gritted beneath the mask. Meeting his gaze, a small smile crossed her lips. Before he could move, her hand closed over both swords and she slammed her hilt into his. It jolted out of his grasp as she swung both blades back with her full weight. She tumbled and rolled to her feet, tossing Felipe’s foil aside as she popped up with both her blades at the ready.

This time when she came at him, he was ready. He caught her sword with his dagger and twisted, pressing with all his strength until he was close enough to grab her. With his free hand, he pulled her back flat to him. She struggled in his grip, pushing his dagger back, despite the close quarters. Letting out a frustrated grunt, she drove her elbow straight into his side.

A crack reverberated inside him followed by a flood of pain. Releasing her with a hissed breath, Felipe schooled his features and desperately tried to keep his voice steady at the sudden stabbing with each breath. “I forfeit. The jaguar wins.”

“It’s hardly fair. You always take it easy on me,” she said while looking pleased with herself, “but I will accept your forfeit.”

A wave of concern flickered across the tether, and when Felipe stiffly turned, he found Oliver’s gaze flickering over him as if looking for the source of his pain. When he opened his mouth to ask, Felipe shook his head.

“I think that’s enough sparring for one day. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

Before Oliver could stop him, Felipe took the steps as fast as he dared with what little adrenaline he had left from the fight. Shutting the bathroom door behind him, Felipe let out a pained breath and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. The beginnings of a livid bruise bloomed across his ribs where Teresa struck him. He couldn’t blame her for hurting him. She had never had to be careful with him before. He was her indestructible Papa who healed immediately even if she drew first blood. Was. The backs of Felipe’s eyes burned as he perched on the edge of the tub and struggled to kick off his trousers without upsetting his rib. It should have started healing by now. In the past, a cracked or broken rib would have been a temporary annoyance he would have shaken off completely within a quarter of an hour. Now, he would be lucky if it was mostly healed by the end of the day, and it would take even longer if he didn’t eat an egregious amount of meat when he returned to the Paranormal Society.

Felipe put his head in his hands and let his thoughts be drowned beneath the water streaming into the tub. He was good at pretending he was all right; he had done it his whole life. But he wasn’t all right. He should have been dead—he was dead—and in coming back to life, he had gained and lost more than he could have imagined.

One thing was certain, the indestructible Felipe Galvan was dead and gone. And that hurt far more than a broken rib.

If you enjoyed this preview of The Reanimator’s Soul, you can preorder it at all major retailers. A paperback will be available closer to the release date, which is October 24th, 2023.