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.

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.