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.

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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.

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