The Library of Ahb pt1 (of 2)

She could tell that the others were wondering why she was there. Through unspoken consensus, those who considered themselves to be the sturdiest and most adventurous had begun entering the death hall first. The young man three spots ahead of her in line kept turning to give her a concerned look. He was fiddling with his gun as if it was a security teddy. 

Probably, she thought crabbily, he was wondering what she had to offer. But Gemma minded her own business and calmly waited her turn, keeping her gloved hands folded together. There was a chill in the air, and it wound through the woolen socks in her boots to her slightly yellowed toenails. 

"Excuse me, can I carry your bag?" the girl in front asked in an undertone.

The question seemed sincere, so Gemma gave her a thin smile. 

The young woman herself was weighed down by what seemed to be a lightly-packed knapsack as well as a strappy contraption that crossed the front of her body. It left her hands free, so Gemma had to approve of her dress sense. 

"No, dear," Gemma said. She patted the fringed handbag. "It's not so heavy. I only have my necessaries."

The girl seemed uncertain, but she flashed a smile and agreed before turning back around. The tip of her bouncy ponytail narrowly missed Gemma's face.

They had to enter the tomb one-by-one. They had tried to circumvent that, of course they had, but the door wouldn’t shut if two or more people were in the entryway. So the party was a grim line, stepping into the maw of the stone entry hall when the door ground open. 

Through common sense, they had agreed that it would be safer to travel in groups. So theoretically, everyone ought to be waiting right inside the entry way. 

Gemma was 100% certain that they were not.

There were only three people waiting in front of her now. She was second-to-last in line, and the sun was fading fast overhead. The area was dangerous at night when all the worst wildlife woke up, which was why they had intended to get inside earlier than this. Of course, nothing was going according to plan, and the plan was rather minimal already. 

The grim pattern spun on- the door opened to show an empty little cave of a room, someone stepped inside, and they slowly disappeared into darkness as the stone came inexorably down.

Finally, the nice young woman in front of her stepped into the entryhall. She was bouncing on the tips of her toes just a little bit from excitement or nerves. When the door began to close from the top, it nearly caught her brown ponytail.

Gemma eyed the girl’s back and hoped, for her sake, that someone a little steadier was waiting inside.

The last man cleared his throat as they waited. He had ambitious sideburns, a prominent Adam’s apple, and friendly eyes in a round face. “Well.” He sounded like he was pitching his voice low. “I’ll see you on the other side. Are you a researcher?” He guessed.

“Professor Emeritus,” she agreed, leaving off the fact that it had nothing to do with her qualifications for this venture. “And you?”

There was a muffled thud from inside the tomb. Gemma twitched, her special sense picking up on the quickly developing pattern from inside the tomb. Her range wasn’t terribly far, so it was hard to say what was really happening. But… she had some theories.

“Mac Adams. I work in security,” he said, gamely ignoring the rasp of the stone beginning to open one more time. 

Ah, a brawny type. And he seemed like a city boy. He was probably going to die. She nodded, even as she unclasped her handbag to extract a flashlight. She had three of them, and extra batteries. “That sounds very useful,” Gemma said, trying to sound encouraging. 

“I hope so.” He coughed. “I’ll see you inside, Ms…?”

“Oakson,” Gemma said politely. That wasn’t the name she officially used nowadays, but it felt like an appropriate time to use her maiden name. She nodded to him. “I look forward to it. Let’s get through this, yes?”

Mac cracked a real smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. The trees overhead cracked ominously in a sudden wind. His smile froze, clearly wondering what was watching them, and if it was hungry.

She nodded goodbye.

With that, she shuffled into the darkness. There was a chill as soon as she crossed the threshold. The cold made her joints ache, and she resented it fiercely. It meant that there were certainly magical shenanigan afoot. She stared grimly ahead, not turning to watch the sunlight disappear behind her.

She did, however, flick on her flashlight and shine it around the floor. She squinted through her reading glasses, looking for faint patterns glinting on the stone floor. Some of them were decorative, but some she recognized. She carefully rearranged her feet so as not to touch anything suspect. 

The wall in front of her and to the left gaped open, as if on a silent hinge. Her eyebrows rose in polite disbelief. “A bit heavy-handed, I should think,” Gemma muttered. But she obligingly went along, grimacing at the slight incline.

She stopped. There was a faint sound of something heavy and hard dragging against the floor. She lifted her light to illuminate something sliding down the incline towards her. She carefully checked where she was stepping before she moved to the side.

It seemed to be a coffin, which she was well-acquainted with, as the daughter of a mortician. Heavy-handed indeed, she thought contemptuously. Still, Gemma peered inside, expecting nothing or a skeletal form.

What she saw was the face of the young woman who had entered the tomb about 2 minutes ago. The corpse was sparking faintly, magic taking time to take effect. She pursed her lips, trying not to feel too upset. “I’m sorry, dear,” Gemma said, wishing that things had gone differently. But this was a beast that ate and ate, and it would have its fill before the day was through. The poor silly thing had probably bumped into a spell trap that sucked her soul right out, leaving an empty vessel for the tomb to use.

She turned around, wondering how long she ought to wait for Mac. The door should be open now. She backtracked a little bit, and shouted a halloo. As she expected, there was no reply. The stone was clearly designed to block sound, with heft and magic. After a moment, she clicked the mechanism that would open the door to the outside. It opened easily enough, but she did not see Mac.

There was, however, a large bloodstain and an overturned brown hiking boot. She eyed it, wondering what the chances were that it had a foot inside. 

She closed the door.

The girl was still laying there when Gemma reached the hall again. But by now, the eyes were open, and fingers twitching. She wondered at that- it was hard to fathom the power of a necromancer who could cast a spell that would still catch victims after so many years. The tomb of the lost city of Ahb had been a desolate fixture of the landscape all her life, and they were estimated to have been abandoned for at least 500 years.

She kept a close eye on the floor and the walls as she went on. She passed into some sort of cloak room, where ancient visitors had rested and left their belongings instead of carrying them into the city. Another room was a guard’s post, probably. There was still a stone table, but the benches had become a rotten pile on the floor. Beyond, the hall opened up. She sniffed the air, noting that it was stale and even moldier. She was thusly unsurprised to find a pool with a now defunct fountain. There was sunlight from far overhead, dimly illuminating what had been an ancient garden. When she shone her light on the planting area, she could see withered vines and various hints of deceased flora. 

Doors were in every direction in the grand circular cavern. Some were open, some were closed. They were unnervingly clean, despite the general dustiness of the ruined city. Almost all of them had some kind of inscription. She took the trouble to painstakingly read a few. They initially seemed to be nonsense, until she realized that they were family names, in some long-abandoned parent dialect. Living quarters, she supposed. 

They were interesting, but it stood to reason that none of them would lead to the legendary lost library that might have the information needed to re-stabilize the fractured ley lines underneath the capital city. The situation was becoming quite dire, which was certainly why all those nice young people had volunteered when the call went out. They’d never seen anything like it. In some parts of the country, the water wasn’t running. The power was frequently out. Plants were dying en masse, poisoned somehow by the change in landscape. The combination would certainly lead to starvation soon. The tvs were constantly covering the story, despite government desires to hush it.

She had seen this happen. Once. About 50 years ago, when she had been a secondary student, in the city where they had recruited volunteers to go into the deep. 

“I wonder how this will continue,” Gemma mused, feeling old and tired. “Clearly, whoever designed the city system never foresaw how our lifestyles would change.”

Something splashed in the dark. She turned her flashlight toward the water and grimaced at what came out. The body was putrid- probably the source of the smell. It schlepped along with a horrible sound, due to the mud it had been buried in. 

“Oh, my,” Gemma said, shining her light in its face. It did not falter.

This sort of thing was why the excitable young people had all brought guns and bats, thinking that danger was aiming to eat them. She had not considered it especially likely, but she did have a 30-year-old Walther PP in her purse. She drew it out and trained it on the corpse’s head, wondering how close it would come, if blinding it would be enough to dissuade it.

That was a logical fallacy, though. The corpse stopped. The eyes had in fact already rotted away, but it was looking directly at her. It seemed morose and a bit confused, as it swayed slightly. It was probably being held together by boots and sturdy clothing as much as bones, at this point.

As she thought. “Poor dear,” she said, wondering why life had to be so bleak.

Most people were not inherently violent, and that was borne out in what they left behind. A powerful necromancer could turn a body to it if they wished, but whoever had cast here had not seen the point. The bodies were not meant to be killing intruders. The bodies were a byproduct of what was happening here.

Sympathetic, she reached out and pulled on the dusty thread connecting the poor corpse to the tattered remnants of his soul. What had been gleaming and golden was now limp and grey. It broke easily under her grip. The body collapsed with a loud, wet sound.

She hadn’t done much, really. The other necromancer had been nearly done with that body, slowly robbed of a soul over at least 100 years. He wouldn’t notice the lack.

She heard a shout and the sounds of running. “Hello?” came a male voice. “Who is there? I’m coming back, wait.”

“It’s Gemma Oakson,” she called out, just for something to say. The young man who had been so worried for her came into view, out of one of the doors that led to a family home. His curly hair was covered in dust.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen,” he said, marveling at her in obvious relief. It was hard to see his face in the dark, but the light caught his bright eyes. He seemed very young.

“The same,” Gemma said mildly, putting her pistol back into her handbag. He caught the movement and flinched. She saw the moment that he realized what the sad pile on the floor was.

“Damn, grandma,” he said in an undertone. “Didn’t expect you to waste zombies.” He rubbed his fingers over his own gun, a showy affair that he had to keep in his hands. Quite silly. Something that could fit in a bag was much more convenient.

Grandma, really? That was a bit too familiar. She cleared her throat in warning. She snapped her handbag closed.

He nodded, but he was grinning. “I didn’t hear the shot,” he said, stepping closer. She noticed that he, too, was careful about his footing. 

“You’re not very attentive, Sunshine,” she said mildly. “Better stick with me, so you can make it out of here.” 

He laughed. But he did seem unduly relieved to have a companion. For her part, she pointed out the three doors that she thought seemed the most likely and asked what he thought as a courtesy. They had no labels, which she thought might indicate that they were more public thoroughfares. 

He concurred. They took the middle path on the basis that they had no better reason to make such a decision than the pleasing symmetry of taking the middle option. 

It led them into what must have been kitchens and feasting halls, for some grand ceremonies of old. Gemma eyed the grand hall wistfully, noting the veins of gold in the pillars and wondering at what it must have been like in its heyday. The ancient people here hadn’t had the technology that she had come to enjoy in recent years, but their lifestyle seemed to have been quite comfortable nonetheless. Adjoining the kitchen were rooms that had been storage, mushroom gardens, and animal pens. 

They went back to the room with the fountain. She noticed that the water was running now, in spurts and quiet trickles. Perhaps the body inside had been blocking something. Or perhaps whatever the water system ran on had received a recent source of energy.

Sunshine didn’t seem to notice. She felt it was better to let him go without worrying about details like that. 

“Right or left?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful. 

She pursed her lips. Most people chose right, for whatever reason. So the choice was less about which seemed more likely to lead to the library and which goal she wanted to pursue.

Was it more practical to see if they could find more of the group? Or should they cover more ground, trusting that the others had survived and would find the route if it was indeed down the right-hand path?

“The right,” Gemma decided, hoping that they could find some others. 20 had entered- well, 19, she corrected, thinking of poor Mac. 

It was a declining path, which was a relief to her aching calves. The danger was, of course, that they might lose footing and fall into a trap. Or that their speed would lead them to recklessness.

They came to a point where the hall narrowed and was blocked by a heavy iron gate. An identical gate sat beyond it, about 3 meters. Gemma exchanged a confused look with her young companion. The gate seemed built to recede into the ceiling, but pushing it up had no effect.

There was, however, a lever next to the gate. It stank of a trap and they did not want to touch it. Eventually, however, they came to the conclusion that there was no choice. Sunshine took a shuddering breath and pulled it down.

In concert, both of the gates slowly raised. She and Sunshine both relaxed. They took a step toward the gate-

It slammed down with a force that jarred her teeth. She had to sneeze against the rust suddenly flying in the air.

While she was digging for a handkerchief to pat at her nose, Sunshine contemplated the lever. It had returned to it's initial position. "I think that someone has to be holding it the whole time," he said slowly. "Only one of us can go through."

Gemma's nose wrinkled. "That's inconvenient," she said crabbily. She put her handkerchief away, but kept her hand in her purse.

"It might have made sense as a security measure," Sunshine said. His tone was sincere. "If you have something really valuable, people will want it. But corruption and greed is a lot less likely if you need someone to help you get into the vault."

She pursed her lips. "By that logic, it seems that there should be a method on the other side by which I could let you in."

'Of course, this also might have been manned by a guard who verified the identity of people who entered,' Gemma thought. If that was the case, only one of them was getting past this point.

"Let's do it," Sunshine said, forcing cheer into his tone. "Be careful without me."

She hummed and shuffled over to the gate again. "Is that lever heavy?", she asked, wondering if there would be something similar on the other side.

"Not so bad," he said, but the look he gave her was uncertain.

Lovely. There was quite a difference between what was 'not so heavy' for a young man and what met that criteria for an elderly woman. 

"There's nothing for it,"' Gemma sighed. Sunshine pulled down the lever, and she walked under the gates. She was acutely aware that if they were to slam down on her, they would utterly destroy her body. Her hands were shaking when she stepped out the other side. 

There was indeed a corresponding lever. It took quite an effort, but she held it down long enough for Sunshine to sprint the distance between the gates. He was also shaking. 

They didn't speak for a while as they continued walking.

Strange shelves appeared in the wall. Three shelf ledges, each about 6 feet long and three feet deep. They passed hundreds of them. Initially, she and Sunshine peered suspiciously inside them, looking for traps and mischief. But they were all empty. Hundreds and hundreds of them stretched on, in at least an hour of walking. 

Two hours. 

Three. Her legs were shaking. 

She stopped to drink one of the boxes of grape juice in her handbag and eat a snack to restore her blood sugar levels. 

Sunshine had a bottle of water in an enormous cargo pant pocket that he drained and replaced with another from his backpack. He eyed her crackers and apple slices covetously, but ate his own granola bar without complaint. 

After that short break, they picked on at an agonizingly slow pace. Sunshine had some sense, he never questioned the need for such caution. She wondered if he knew more than some of the others. Gemma was considering broaching the topic when a strange scratching sound began to echo down the hall. They stopped talking- indeed, she felt that they were barely breathing. Gemma winced at what she knew was ahead, but there wasn’t really a way to tell Sunshine.

They came around the constant gentle curve and saw a figure standing in front of one of the shelves. 

Sunshine froze and put an arm out to hold her back as he stepped in front. He trained his gun on the figure. She leaned to the side and pointed her flashlight at the body.

It slowly turned, letting hands fall.

Sunshine laughed, letting out a huge wave of tension. “Jackey, man! What are you doing? I am so glad to see you.” He sauntered forward, lifting a hand for a high five.

The man stared blankly. His face was bloodless, pale, and slack. To Gemma’s eyes, he was quite clearly dead. Not by any injury, but by one of the hundreds of spells lacing the floors.

“…You alright, man?” Sunshine cleared his throat. He swayed and slowly dropped his hand.

The body turned back to what it had been doing. Gemma stepped out to see that it had rusty tools in hand- a chisel and hammer. Comprehension sparked. She glanced and turned her flashlight on the wall. Below the topmost shelf, the body was engraving something. It had just begun, but she could see a “J” and what was probably the beginning of an “a”.

Names had power. Marking the names of the souls used for this magic would strengthen it. And the shelves- well, someone didn’t like mess. 

Sunshine wailed in comprehension.

She hooked her hand through his arm. “There’s nothing to do,” Gemma said, tone gentle. “Let’s go on.”

“We can’t leave him like this,” Sunshine said.

Her grip tightened. “If you shoot him,” she said in an undertone, “he will be compelled to attack you. And he is already dead. He will win. He will not stop until we are dead, or until his body is unable to move. And guns are a particularly poor method for disabling a relatively intact body.”

Not to mention that it would draw the immediate wrath of anyone who was watching this spell. She was now more than a bit suspicious that this was not actually an abandoned site. No, no. This place was doing exactly what it was designed to do. She could remove the spell on this body, but it would instantly be noticed. It seemed unlikely that the other necromancer would take that with good grace.

Sunshine was shaking. She led him on, but she carefully took the time to look at the next shelves.

There were 11 empty shelves past where Mr. Jackey was toiling, which told her a grim and efficient story. The rest were occupied. He must have died quite near here, or near wherever the carving tools were stored. ...He had to have entered with someone else, meaning that there was either a corpse or a companion somewhere ahead.

‘Counting by the waiting gravesites... That’s five people unaccounted for. They’re either still alive in here, or they fled.’

She took a moment to breathe in the scale of the hall, wondering how far it stretched. It was digging a spiral deep down into the earth, and it was entirely lined with convenient storage for bodies. Her hands were shaking as she trained the flashlight over the first occupied shelves. She read the names, and matched them against her memory of the 19 names she’d written in her notebook. There were 18- presumably, this spell trap had been more effective before portable battery operated lights illuminated the dangers. She matched 17 of the names. Perhaps two people had made it out, or been too mangled to be of use. 

The last body was the name she hadn’t needed to write down. Darleen Oakson stared accusatively at the ceiling of her shelving unit, wizened mouth forever gaping slack.

She recognized the wedding ring on her mother’s finger. The locket with pictures of Gemma and her little brother was still around that bony neck.

…the clothes were odd, though. Plain, off-white long-sleeved shirt and pants. And no shoes at all. She distinctly remembered her mother leaving in her usual green c

“Is it just me,” Sunshine said quietly, “or is there a lot more ambient light down here than in the upper levels?”

She blinked and turned back to him. Her hands shook as she shuffled on. “I hadn’t noticed,” she said. But it was true. Despite being further into the ground than before, it was easier to see. 

'Is that because the area is designed to be more lit, or because the recent deaths have been refreshing the maintenance spells on this place?'

Sunshine managed a wavering smile. In a very obvious attempt to lighten the mood and distract, he reached out and tugged on the tassels hanging from her handbag. “We’ll get out of here,” he said. 

Gemma had to deliberately let tension out of her jaw. “Yes,” she agreed. They were both relieved when they finally passed the last of the grimly efficient shelving units. Beyond that, there was an antechamber with three doors- to the front, left, and right. The left-hand door was open to show a small storage area of metal tools. Hammers, chisels, knives… She didn’t look too closely.

The right-hand door was open a crack. They gave it a suspicious look.

There were no traps visible on the floor of the antechamber at all. The lack was more unnerving than the constant lacing of soul-sucking spells in the hallways. Gemma all but held her breath as they picked around the room, peering at the stone-topped table and intact shelves that ringed chairs. 

She couldn’t help but notice that there were some books still on the shelves. Some of the spines were cracked, and they were all a sad-looking brown color. But her hands itched to pull one out and see if they were legible after all this time. Would they fall apart in her hands? 

“What do you think?” Sunshine asked in an undertone. He was looking at the books as well. “I don’t see any spells on them.”

Gemma’s gaze darted to his face. She considered commenting that she had been wondering about how good his perception was, but it seemed redundant. He clearly had some perceptive abilities. She licked her lips and considered it. “I don’t see anything suspicious either,” she admitted. “And I am curious to see… to see if the books are legible.”

Their eyes met. 

She was gratified to see that Sunshine did not seem confused that she was questioning the premise of the expedition. Perhaps he had his own suspicions. 

They both held their breath as she reached out and pulled a book off the shelf. When she flipped it open- 

“This doesn’t look how I’d imagine 500 year old paper to look,” Gemma murmured. She felt her brow furrow.

“That’s because it’s vellum,” Sunshine said helpfully. He leaned over to look at it. “It can easily last for more than a thousand years, in the right condition. Oh, I've seen that dialect.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a research librarian,” Sunshine said. His nose crinkled when he smiled. “This isn’t the type of research I’d usually do, of course.”

Gemma pursed her lips, impressed. “I used to teach agricultural sciences,” she shared. “So I suppose we’re birds of a feather, as academics."

"Very nice," Sunshine said, peering around the shelves. "'So you're a more practical application sort than I am."

 “We are still not a very balanced group, however,” she had to comment. "Perhaps we could use a bit more muscle."

“Au contraire!” Sunshine put a hand to his chest as if wounded. “I am a man’s man, I’ll have you know. I can commit fisticuffs with the best of them.” 

“Yes,” Gemma said dryly. “Your characteristic librarian brawn will be our biggest asset.” 

Sunshine spread his arms out, though he was careful not to touch the walls. “Just say the word,” he declared. “I’ll tackle the nearest zombie.” 

“Do you know how to do that?” Gemma asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seem to be more of the backgammon type. You could come along to my next house party."

“Drop my shoulder, something something, ran into the target,” he said briskly. He waved the thought away. “I didn’t pay that much attention in PE but it seems like a fairly intuitive process.” 

She snorted despite herself. “Alright. When I say “grapes,” attack the nearest person,” Gemma said sternly. She even waggled her finger at him. "I am quite serious."

He saluted. “Grapes. Grapes. Grapes means attack. Got it.” 

"You don't want to choose a different word?" Gemma asked. She tilted her head. "I was thinking about juice when I said that. It's not terribly dignified. I imagine it will quite ruin the effect of your heroism."

He snorted. But whatever he was about to reply was cut off by the sound of something falling. They both spun to face the sound, Sunshine pointing his gun on instinct.

“The door,” Gemma said in an undertone. “It’s in the next room.”

They paused, not sure if it was better to wait or push the door open. The door swung open before Gemma had decided-

“Oh, shit,” someone said, breaking out into a smile. He was tall and had very white teeth. His companion was a woman, also in her 30s or so. They were both wearing denim and puffy black coats. The woman had a stocking cap pulled down over her bobbed hair. “Thought I heard something.”

Sunshine let the gun sag. “Oh, it’s good to see other people down here,” he said. 

She felt her own tension drop, shoulders relaxing. And then she realized that she didn’t remember seeing either of these people outside.

‘I could have forgotten,’ Gemma told herself. ‘I was not paying so much attention to the others. If they put on their coats inside, they might just look different enough that I don’t recall.’

Still her tension was on high as she waited for Sunshine to say something that indicated he recognized them- a name, or a comment about earlier conversation.

“What’s in there?” he said, indicating the room that they’d just exited.

The man grimaced, but it was the woman who answered. “Clothes,” she said. “Hundreds of white sets of identical clothing.”

“It’s creepy,” the man concurred. “Sam, we should introduce ourselves. I’m Takumi.”

“Samantha,” the woman said. She gave her companion a withering look, before nodding to Gemma. “And you are?”

“Gemma,” she said quickly, before Sunshine could give her last name. If these people weren’t actually fellow volunteers, then they’d be from the government registration group that had funded their travel and recruited exactly 20 willing bodies to go into the possibly-not-abandoned city. And she had signed up using her wedded name to distance herself from possible recognition from a woman in the last failed group to go into the darkness to die.

Chances were that none of them would remember the last name of a woman who died 50 years ago. But then again, they might. Someone here was certainly meticulous.

“Eugene,” Sunshine said.

…That was her late grandfather’s name, actually. It did not suit the cheerful young man at all. 

Samantha nodded, businesslike. “We’re partners at a security firm, it’s damn lucky we found each other down here.” She glanced at her companion. “There’s something fucking wrong here, I don’t think the entrance opens the same way every time.”

Gemma pursed her lips and tried to recall.. That would make a lot of sense and go towards explaining how the group was so efficiently and thoroughly scattered. 

“And you are?” Takumi asked. His eyes were sharp, despite the friendliness of his smile.

“Academics,” Eugene chirped. “Librarians, we know our way around old books.” He grinned back, guileless. “We’ll get that book out of here safe and sound, and you get us there and back.”

She tried not to betray any surprise at his lie that she was also a librarian. It was harmless, but-

‘He thinks something is wrong with them, too,’ Gemma realized.

One or both of them was a plant. She was certain of it. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as Samantha gestured toward the remaining door. “Shall we?”

“I think we should go first,” Takumi said, giving Gemma an unsubtle look of concern.

She almost snorted. Yes, she was an old lady, but she’d been faster than the two of them, hadn’t she? Whenever they had entered the ruins, it had been before her. And yet they’d met before those two had reached the library.

…Ah. Assuming, again, that they had entered that day. They could have been lying in wait for days, and therefore have very little sense of when a reasonable time to expect victims would be.

“I could use a rest,” Gemma said. It was true, after all, and she didn’t want to rush things. Especially when the suspicious characters were eager to rush ahead. “Would you mind terribly taking a short stop here with us?”

They said that they did not, though they exchanged annoyed glances that they thought she didn’t see. Gemma lowered her aching joints down into one of the stone chairs by the bookshelves and exhaled in relief. She fiddled in her handbag, wondering what she ought to do. 

She decided that, given the likelihood of her imminent murder, she might as well enjoy the rest of her juice. So she had a box of apple juice and some water. She offered everyone one of her cinnamon cookies, but only Takumi took one. Sunshine leaned against a wall and tapped his fingers against his water bottle in a badly-hidden bout of anxiety.

Sunshine let out a surprised curse. His water bottle fell to the floor with a plunk as he reached for his gun leaning against the wall.

Gemma watched placidly as the young woman with the ponytail walked into the room. The corpse gave the four living beings a disinterested look and then disappeared into the room that was supposedly full of clothes.

Takumi looked pale. His eyes flickered back and forth. “Should we do something?” he asked in an undertone. “Is… Is she suffering?”

The four eyed each other. Gemma was not about to open her mouth and offer information. Which she had, in spades. For example, she knew that another active corpse was coming into the room. It could be Mac, of course, returning the tools before laying down. But it seemed unlikely that he had already finished that task. By now, she had a fair sense of the other necromancer's signature energy. There was just one. 

The thought of Mac did bring something else to mind.

'Is it possible that these two wouldn't know about Mac?' Gemma wondered. 'They do seem genuinely shaken by seeing this body. But there is nothing but hallway between here and the graves. Mac had to have come in with someone else's assistance. They haven't mentioned either a companion dying or seeing a body. Would that not be a natural thing to mention?'

Unless the body had entered by itself, somehow bypassing the two-person trap. Or those two had come into the tombs from a back entrance, and therefore didn't know what was down the hallway...

“I don’t know,” Sunshine said. His hands were shaking terribly. He scraped a boot against the stone floor, eyes darting nervously to the door that the corpse had disappeared into. “But she seems disinterested in us. I think… I think it’s better not to interfere.” He swallowed audibly. “We don’t know how they’re animated, or why. But what if we attack one and then the rest stand up and come after us?”

A cogent point.

The second corpse finally made it into the room. Gemma didn't recognize this one, but it had belonged to a middle aged man in life. It had clearly been slowed by a broken foot that made walking a complicated and delicate enterprise. It shuffled into the same room without acknowledging the living.

'Ah, and that's how the girl's body got past the gates,' Gemma thought. 'Has to be in pairs.' 

Samantha looked startled. “You think that all the- that all the bodies back there are active?” she asked. She indicated the path that led past all the bodies in shelves.

Hmm. So she had come that way.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable ruling it out,” Sunshine said. He looked down at the floor. 

Gemma did not look at anyone, because she didn't want her thoughts to show. Sunshine was right. If necessary, all of those bodies in patient statis could be called upon. They were probably used to do some level of maintenance to the catacombs, which had a suspicious lack of spiders and other pests. 

It was a fairly common and innocuous use of necromancy. Gemma's own mother, an otherwise perfectly normal lady who was not quite 5 feet tall in her socked feet, had occasionally borrowed a tall corpse from the mortuary to change a lightbulb. Really, she thought, necromancy had an unfairly poor reputation. It didn't have to be anything malicious like leeching the soul out of a body to power a private spell. Sometimes it was just coaxing a dearly departed raccoon out of the attic without having to heave your elderly body up the ladder.

...But it would take quite a bit of power to animate many or older corpses, so it probably wouldn't be worth the magic expenditure under normal circumstances. Fresh was always better, with corpses and with cooking.