Thirty-three years old and handsome, Otto had risen through the ranks to his current position with the OFP. He wasn’t the smartest of men, despite the degrees he’d attained but he was tenacious and calculating. If need be, he was quite willing to steal the work of others and take the credit for it. Indeed, it had been a clever bit of theft that had gained him access to the Occult Forces Project.
Science had always been a means to an end. As a young boy, he’d sliced open kittens and performed awkward experiments upon neighborhood pets. He was sick. At his very core, he was a sadist and a monster. Science simply gave him access to tools of torture that he’d always lusted after.
Resting on the cluttered desktop before him was a vial of the girl’s spittle. It was thick, more like mucous than saliva, and every now and then it pulsed with a peculiar kind of life. He’d been ordered to begin conducting research on it and he planned to do that but a truly strange thought kept interrupting his musings: why waste such power on a prisoner or a foot soldier?
He snatched up the vial and took a deep, shuddering breath. A moment later and the stopper was gone, allowing the somewhat fetid odor to fill his nostrils. He turned the vial upside down and opened his mouth, allowing the foul fluid to drip down onto his tongue. He swallowed hard, trying not to retch… and within seconds, he knew that his life would be changed forever.
His skin began to grow hot, as if it were burning, and his eyes swelled. He howled like an injured dog and fell to the floor, his hands hugging his torso. He was deathly afraid now, terrified that he’d gone too far, when suddenly everything went black…
How long he floated in the darkness, he had no idea. He thought he felt the oily touch of unfamiliar nubby hands and the whispered gibberings of voices that were not human but he saw nothing save the stygian core of chaos, the true face of reality.
“Wake up.”
The feminine voice seeped into his consciousness, stirring him.
“Wake up,” it commanded.
Slowly, the world came once more into view and he saw that Sonya Schneider — or the thing that wore her flesh, at least — was standing beside him. She was nude, her firm young body looking particularly inviting. It was cold in his lab and tiny goose bumps dotted her skin and made her pink nipples stand out.
Otto looked down at his hands and felt a stunned kind of horror settle over him. His skin was gone, leaving behind nothing but bone. He touched the ground and felt the floor, despite having no flesh with which to do so.
“Do not be afraid,” Darhoth cooed. “You are beautiful. You stripped away all the artifice and now show your true self.”
Otto rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He staggered over to a mirror and looked at his reflection, knowing what he would see but still compelled to confront the terror. His face was nothing but a skull with two deep holes where his eyes should have been. His clothing was different, too, looking like something from a children’s fairy tale: black cloth, with cloth shaped like white bones sewn where his ribs and chest should be. He wore a white belt that cinched his tight trousers and shirt together. Over his shoulders was slung an opera-style cape.
“What am I?” he whispered. “How can I talk with no tongue… How can I see with no eyes?”
Darhoth stepped to him and wrapped her arms about his waist. He could feel the heat from her body against his. “Magic,” she hissed. “The simplest, most complicated explanation of all. You are Mr. Death, a name that will please your Himmler and Hitler, I think.”
The newly christened Mr. Death turned to face her. “I have power, don’t I? I can feel it… in my bones.”
She stood on her tiptoes, leaning forward to run her tongue roughly against his exposed teeth. “You can kill with a touch,” she hissed. “And you are now immortal. Though you bear his features, the grim reaper can never have you now. You are beyond him.”
Otto barked out a mad bit of laughter. He’d never been the most stable of men but now… now he was definitively unhinged. “Death,” he whispered. “Mayhem. Slaughter. Oh, my!” He laughed again before pulling away from her. He performed a jig, a skeleton man flopping about in perverse merriment. When he stopped, he slapped his skeletal palms against his covered chest and exclaimed, “I’m going to kill sooooooo many people!”
“Yes,” Darhoth said, smiling cruelly. “But first you must fall to your knees and accept me as your mistress.”
Mr. Death looked at her, his empty eyes traveling down the length of her body. Once, he’d have wanted her… oh, yes… but now he felt nothing but a distant stirring, as if he’d almost forgotten what her parts could have done for him. In his current state, he was beyond such things. “I don’t think so, sweets. Mr. Death serves pure chaos… and as long as you do, too, then we’re on the same side. But I’m not bowing down before you.”
For a moment, Darhoth looked furious but then the moment passed and she seemed to take on a pleased expression. “Welcome to the other side, Mr. Death.” She held out a hand and, after a moment of consideration, Otto Luther took it. “You’re going to do just fine.”
CHAPTER VII
Gathering of Forces
It looked like something torn straight from a nightmare — an old house that loomed against the moonlit sky. It was a massive pile of ancient stone, fine woodwork and dark shadows. The impression that it gave was that it was almost a living thing, this isolated mansion known locally as Hendry Hall — a living thing that was just waiting to sink its fangs into the bodies of all those unlucky enough to cross its doorway.
Hendry Hall was known to all in Sovereign as a cursed place, full of mysteries and death. That description was still applicable now that it belonged to Cedric Hendry and was the headquarters for Gravedigger’s war on crime.
With dark hair, deep-set eyes, and a square jaw, Cedric Hendry was a businessman who looked like he could have stepped right off of Wall Street. He had moved to Sovereign in order to inherit the family estate and he had remained there because he’d fallen in love with Li Yuchun. Their relationship was an awkward one because of their varying morality but in the end, they were still together, and that was something that Charity couldn’t help but be envious of.
Of course, Charity had her own romance. She and Mitchell were lovers though neither of them held out any great hope for marriage or children. Not only did their racial differences pose problems for the rest of the world but both were well aware of not only Charity’s time limit to redeem her soul but also the simple, unavoidable fact that either could meet their ultimate end at any time.
Charity watched Li and Cedric’s flirting and was glad that her mask hid her face. If it hadn’t, it would have been all too obvious what sort of thoughts were going through her mind.
As always, the deadline appointed by The Voice took the forefront of her thoughts. How could it not? She only had so long before she’d either be condemned to eternal torment or find a new lease on life.
She turned to look at The Dark Gentleman, who stood at a window. He was staring out of it, digesting all that Gravedigger and Mitchell had said to him. The offer had been simple enough: they wanted him to join their organization. His detective skills were something that they needed and, in return, they could offer him support and a base of operations. It was, they said, time to elevate his status from rabble-rouser to something bigger.
The well-dressed vigilante had listened in silence, nodding thoughtfully every now and then. When the spiel had ended, he had risen from his chair and begun deliberating what his response would be.