Darria Savege is an undertaker’s assistant. When her boss is killed, she assumes the job of undertaker and all the strange things that goes with it. She awakens a mummified hand named Omar. She works with a grim reaper named Oliver who collects the souls of the bodies she works on.
New and strange powers awaken within her. A dark necromancer is after something in her morgue. All she has to do is avoid being killed by him or by some of the bodies she works on. But that’s not the real dilemma. Medusa is trying to get out of purgatory and turn the world to stone and Darria is the only one who can stop her.
Muffled voices filled the house above her. Her boss had no appointments today because she tended his calendar. Any change in his schedule annoyed him to no end. He sent her to deal with anyone who came to the door for deliveries.
The muted voices gave way to shouting. Darria strained to pick up the conversation.
“…out. I told you to get out…” Mr. Archer shouted at the other person in the house.
The response was inaudible.
She stepped toward the door, ready to go back up and see if her boss needed help. Before she could, thunderous footfalls followed by a crash made the floor shake. The heavy shower of plaster made her jump. Darria clutched the side of the steel table and hoped Mr. Archer was okay. A wave of dread engulfed her.
A loud thud shook the entire floor. All went silent.
Darria released the table and checked to make sure the key was secured in her tattoo. It couldn’t end up in the wrong hands. She waited for something else to happen, but the quiet remained. She made it halfway up the stairs when the hallway door bowed inward on its hinges as if it were breathing. A cool breeze prickled her skin. She ran back down the steps into the basement. Darria peered around the corner and looked up at the door. The wood shrieked in protest. Her heart pounded along her ribs. Something was wrong. Darria tried to close the heavy metal door that separated the workroom from the stairs. It wouldn’t budge. Some unseen force held it in place. The wood screamed again from the hallway door. She tried once more to close the metal door. No good. Darria’s gaze swept across the workroom from the curio cabinet, to the cadaver atop the table, to her boss’ desk nestled in the corner of the room next to a rusting filing cabinet. Behind that were the oil tank and boiler. At the opposite end was a coal chute that she sometimes found bodies in. If she had more time, she might be able to get out that way. The bulkhead doors were padlocked on the outside so she couldn’t escape through there. A great whoosh of air blew down from the top of the stairs and made her stumble backward into the steel table. The corpse’s hand fell off the table and dangled over the side. An explosion shot splinters of wood around the cellar and lodged some in her skin. Darria held in her scream. She grabbed the tin, slammed the lid shut, and ran into the darkness. She shimmied between the wall and the boiler and hunched down next to the oil tank. The dank, musty stench stung her nose. A maze of cobwebs enveloped her as she slid down the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest, clutching the tin to protect it. From all the gossamer webbing covering her, she was surprised she wasn’t eye to eye with an arachnid.
Darria had a good view of the worktable. A figure clad in a tight fitting, black jacket shuffled into the workroom. The hood of his coat hid his face.
“What do we have here?”