Hell's Son

Chapter 4

Isobel refused to feel guilty about leaving that man to clean up the remains of the zombie attack. He'd earned it with his ribald remarks.

Really, suggesting they shower together. Who did that?

He did. But the real reason she took off? She could totally picture it, and it warmed parts of her that weren't allowed to tingle. Good daughters chose to remain chaste and didn't feel things between their legs.

Sneaking into her house while wearing zombie guts proved impossible. She'd no sooner entered the kitchen from the garage when her mother's teacup Yorkie - whom Isobel was convinced housed the spirit of a demon - came running into the kitchen completely losing her furry little mind, which Isobel was pretty sure took up less space than a pea.

The damned thing hated her. It hated everyone, actually, except for Mother. And, even then, the dog treated her with disdain.

Queenie yipped and yapped as Isobel put a finger to her lips and shushed. "Stop it. Shut up. You'll get me caught."

"I don't need the dog to tell me you're in trouble." Her mother's imperial tone preceded her entrance. A woman in her late fifties, Mother could have passed for much younger - probably since she knew what spells and potions to use to keep her skin looking fresh and wrinkle free. Her hair, still a jet-black that she claimed didn't come from a bottle or enchantment, was pulled tautly to the back of her head in an elegant chignon, unlike Isobel's more messy look - messier now since her fight.

"Mother." Despite the casual attire and the slime coating her, Isobel dipped into a small curtsy. She'd be in worse trouble if she didn't. Being descended from royalty, even exiled Russian royalty, meant her mother expected certain mannerisms in private. In public, her mother had to pretend she wasn't a highbrow snob. It drove her nuts.

"Where have you been, young lady? I thought you were in your room studying."

"I was. But then I thought I'd go for a drive."

A perfectly manicured brow arched. "And while you were driving, did you decide to visit a mortuary and roll amongst some body parts?"

Isobel tilted her chin. "Actually, I visited a cemetery to pay my respects to a classmate who died in an accident. Except she didn't exactly stay dead." She still remained unsure what had caused her friend and all those other bodies to rise from the ground. Usually, that required a necromancer, and yet, she'd only noticed the gravedigger. Perhaps the man she'd met had something to do with it?

Doubtful given he'd not performed any of the rituals needed to call forth the undead. On the contrary, he looked rather annoyed when the zombies began to rise from the graves and interrupted his rather uncouth attempt to seduce her.

"I trust that you put your classmate back in her place and killed the one who sent her to attack," her mother said.

"I took care of her and the others."

"Others? You mean there was more than one?" At that, her mother's perfectly smooth brow creased. "How many?"

Isobel shrugged. "A lot. If I were to guess, it looked like all of the ones capable of rising came after me."

"You?" Her mother laughed. "Don't be silly, child. The dead aren't trained pets that attack on command. They'll go after anything with a pulse."

"I know that's how they're supposed to act, except they didn't. They ignored the guy who was there and came after me."

"What guy? You didn't mention a man present. Were you sneaking out to meet a boy?" The pitch in her mother's voice reached an appalled height.

"I did not go there to meet him. He just happened to be there. He's the groundskeeper, and he came to ask me what I was doing since I visited after hours."

"Did you take care of him? Do I need to call a cleanup crew?"

Welcome to Isobel's world, where anyone who might have seen something they shouldn't got taken care of. "No, I did not take care of him. And neither will you. He helped me fight off the zombies." Not very well, given he wielded a shovel with more enthusiasm than finesse, but at least he'd tried.

The frown grew deeper. "You know how your grandfather feels about witnesses."

"It's a new era, Mother. We can't just dispose of anyone we don't like."

"I don't see why not. The dead don't speak."

"Yeah, but forensics does. We can't just kill people willy-nilly anymore, Mother. You know that."

"Stupid modern society with their cameras and science." Her mother's lips puckered. "Is this your way of saying you let the necromancer escape also?"

"You are assuming a necromancer was involved."

"The dead don't rise on their own."

"True." And yet, other than that cold flash of magic just before it happened, Isobel had not seen or heard anyone else. Had they shared the graveyard with another person? Had someone been spying on them and decided to play a nasty trick?

The disapproval on Mother's face shone with cold clarity. "So let me see if I understand. The dead came alive, and someone saw it. . . and you. You didn't kill the witness. You let the necromancer who dared attack one of our family escape, and you brought the mess home. Absolutely revolting. I thought we taught you better. Outside with you." Her mother pointed to the door that led to their yard. "You can hose off in the stables, but don't do it near the horses. I don't need you making them ill."

A roll of her eyes accompanied her "Yes, Mother." Isobel loved the woman dearly, but at times like these, a little more motherly concern would be nice. Especially since the hose by the barn was fed by a spring on the property. A cold spring.

Out she stomped to the yard, feeling a little perverse pleasure when her feet left hunks of goo. It reminded her that her car would need a good cleaning, as well. She'd have to remember to leave a note to the maintenance staff for their fleet of cars because she'd certainly not stoop to cleaning it herself. Mother would have a conniption if one of her precious daughters took on the task. We pay those people for a reason.

Imagine if Mother had heard the gravedigger asking Isobel to help rebury the bodies. The reply would probably have been something haughty along the lines of "menial labor applies to those not born with a golden spoon in their mouth."

While Mother had distinct ideas on the separation of the classes, that didn't extend to punishment. Take Isobel's upcoming cold shower for instance. Isobel grimaced at the coiled hose on the side of the barn. She dreaded what would come next. But, given Mother probably watched, she couldn't avoid it.

The icy jet of liquid had her teeth chattering in seconds, so hard Isobel didn't hear the approach of her sister, who uttered a dry, "Is there something wrong with your shower? Or are we suddenly eschewing indoor plumbing to make a point?"

Isobel turned, aiming the frigid stream at her sister. It hit an invisible shield and spattered to the ground. "M-mother didn't w-want the z-z-zombie guts getting on the carpets."

"You fought a zombie?" Her sister, looking tall and regal with dark, flashing eyes, smirked. "Since when does little Miss Perfect get dirty?"

"Don't c-call me that."

"Or w-w-hat?" her sister taunted.

"You're such a bitch."

"Yes, I am." Eva preened. "Jealous?"

"Very." She'd always envied her sister's ability to do what she wanted and screw the consequences. Evangeline, from an early age, flouted authority, but then again, she had the power to do so. Isobel wished she could wield magic with the same ease, such as now when, with a snap of her fingers, Eva warmed the water.

A sigh escaped Isobel as she aimed the heated liquid at her face and hair. "Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you." Evangeline waggled her fingers in the direction of the house.

What a surprise, Eva did it to piss off Mother. Isobel didn't care. It beat her teeth chattering and her body pimpling.

Turning back to her, Eva asked, "So, where did you find the corpse? Was Great-Aunt Verona restless again?" Every ten years or so, their great-aunt tried to rise. A powerful enchantress when alive, she refused to stay dead.

Usually, Grandfather would have welcomed her - family was everything - but given that Aunt Verona had maggots infesting what remained of her brain, she'd gone quite insane. So, for the sake of the world, they kept burying her. Cremation was vetoed because no one wanted to send their aunt to Hell. Lucifer would probably send her back.

Swishing water in her mouth, Isobel spat it out before swallowing a mouthful. "No, it wasn't Auntie. I was visiting a cemetery and came under attack by zombies."

"Zombies, as in more than one?"

Squinting at her sister through wet hair, Isobel nodded.

"Did you kill the necromancer involved?"

No, "are you okay?" or "do you want a hug?" Her family went straight to the point. "No, I didn't. I never even saw anyone." Other than that crude man, and she didn't feel like explaining him to her sister.

"Odd. I hadn't heard of any necromancers on the continent. Not to mention, I'm surprised Grandfather would allow one on our territory."

"Maybe he doesn't know."

At that, they both snickered. Grandfather always knew. Whether he'd tell anyone or not was more the question.

"We'll have to keep an eye open, I guess. We can't have someone challenging us in our own city."

What Eva meant was that she wouldn't have her reputation as Wickedest Witch impugned upon. Her sister didn't like to share the glory, even if that fame came from doing evil deeds.

Rinsing gore from her ears, Isobel almost missed Eva's next words.

"Grandfather is bugging me again about doing my duty to the family and marrying. My time is almost up." By time, it meant Eva was fast approaching the age when all the women in their family were expected to settle down and produce heirs.

Shaking the water from her ears, Isobel squinted through wet lashes. "You're going to have to tell him at some point that you're not going through with it."

A grimace pulled her sister's features. "I'd rather not. You know how stuck he is in the past. Back in the day. . . " her sister said in a deep voice.

Isobel giggled. "When he used to walk twenty miles to school, in the snow, and ate frozen potatoes for dinner because they couldn't have a fire."

A snort escaped Eva. "Seriously, he keeps going on and on about how things used to be done. Doesn't he realize we're now in the twenty-first century?"

"Nope."

Eva sighed. "And forget talking to him about women's rights. He's still peeved about the whole pants thing."

Grandfather believed women should wear skirts to their ankles, and that chastity was their greatest treasure.

"Has he heard from your supposed fiancŽ?" Isobel asked.

"Not that I know of." Eva's brows drew together. "I don't know if I should be relieved he's just as keen to forget about the contract or insulted that he's shunning me. Not that it matters. Once they all find out I'm not a virgin. . . "

The entire family would flip. Poor Evangeline, promised as a bride to someone of great power. No one knew who the man was, just that the betrothal had existed even before Eva's birth.

Their grandfather had arranged it, and he wouldn't tell them who the man was. Claimed if people knew of it, their family would be in grave danger.

However, with Eva getting older, and a certain planetary alignment occurring shortly, a wedding would soon happen. A wedding between the chaste eldest daughter of the family, and a male whose name they'd yet to discern. Grandfather did so love his secrets.

He also probably worried Evangeline would either set a curse on the man or kill him. Eva never did like people making decisions for her.

"Perhaps we worry for nothing. The pact was made so long ago. Surely you can't be expected to abide by it?" Isobel did her best to reassure.

Eva shook her head. "You would think, and yet, Grandfather won't let it go."

No, he probably wouldn't. In his mind, marriages should be arranged by an elder for the good of the family. Happiness or what his granddaughters wanted didn't even enter the equation.

Isobel hated seeing her sister worried. Eva had always been the strong one. The one most determined and defiant. If Eva didn't think she could escape a patriarchal decree, then what chance did Isobel have?

I want to marry for love. But that didn't seem likely.

For either of them.

Since low spirits never did anyone any good, and at times sent Eva on a murderous rampage, Isobel decided the best course of action was to cheer up her sister. She turned the hose on her older sibling and yelled, "Water fight!"

Having caught her sister off guard with a wet splash, Eva's anger was instantaneous and retaliatory. But, under the cussing - "You spoiled brat!" - and the violent tosses of water balls at Isobel's head, there rang an undercurrent of laughter and love. Eva might be the wicked eldest daughter, but she doted on her little sister.

Isobel wished there was something she could do to help Eva, but she drew the line at taking her sister's place in the marriage contract. There had to be a better solution.