I read what little I could find about Shade and the village on the hill while Fig, Jake, and I made the hike up the slick grassy slope. Jake groaned behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder, pulling my cloak’s hood back enough to see them. Rain spattered my face as I saw more or less what I was expecting. Fig, tugging Jake up the hill.

  Twisted little hovels collected around the church with the ominously broken cross, herb gardens overgrown with noxious-looking weeds, the muddy street empty. If it had been less run-down, it could have belonged in Thorn Ridge. Except—the plants seemed wrong. Unearthly. I hadn’t really looked before. Hadn’t noticed.

  A white goat wandered out of a garden, red hourglass eyes glaring at me. Its jaw unhinged to show pointed, predatory teeth, and a disgustingly long tongue unfurled from its mouth. Baneheart flashed into my hand, unsheathed. The goat uttered a low bleat and slunk back into the foliage.

  “See that?” I asked, glancing at Fig and Jake, who finally caught up to me.

  Fig brushed wet hair from her cheek and looked around. “See what?”

  Jake shook his head. I sighed and put Baneheart away, shaking my head. “Let’s get inside.”

  We walked up to the scum-crusted white door, and I eased it open to look in. The ghostly worshippers were there, chanting something in a language I didn’t know. I eased in, cracking the door for Jake and Fig to wiggle in after me. I shot a glance at Jake, who reached into his vest to toggle the recorder.

  The Grand Market had everything. They even had a version of cellphones, which I’d noticed before. I’d picked up a recording device small enough to fit in the bottom of Ashwynn’s crystal goblet. Cost me a few diamonds, but I had some to spare, since the bounty payout for Shivrith came through. The tough part was getting these moody spooks to laugh.

  I strode down the aisle, past the flickering glances of dead black eyes cast toward me from bonnets and tricorn hats. Skin like cobwebs stretched over bone, teeth peeking from rictus faces—these people were straight out of a horror movie.

  Don’t split the group. That thought forced me to restrain a nervous chuckle. I heard Fig’s soft footsteps and Jake’s clippity-clops behind me, so I didn’t look back.

  Father Gerdet floated before his glass pedestal, empty again since the System took away their relics. His black robes drifted in the drafts that swirled from the gaps in the eaves. The bell tower howled, rain pattering on the roof, dripping to the floor in a few spots where no parishioners sat. What I could see of his stats were, as usual, not enough. His XP wasn’t as high as the other district lords and he had no title other than Father, so either their district lord wasn’t there, or they didn’t have one.

  “Outsiders, begone, lest you have business with us,” Gerdet said, bony arm rising to point to the door behind us.

  “I’ve brought one to give testimony, Father Gerdet,” I bluffed, stepping aside to let him see Fig.

  “A living believer?” Gerdet said with the faintest note of surprise. He gestured for the girl to come up beside him. “Come, child of Yaralet, give your testimony.”

  His ghostly brows drew down with suspicion, but, as I suspected, he’d let her talk anyway. As long as it didn’t go against what they believed and uplifted their faith, they were willing to listen. He stood with his hands clasped piously before him, but his index finger stroked over his other.

  I was momentarily impressed with myself for noticing that twitch. It may have meant apprehension, some signal to someone in the worshipping crowd, or ghosts get itchy spots, too. But I caught it.

  I flicked a glance at Jake, who stood opposite me, not on the dais but a long step away from Fig, silent bodyguards if this all turned to shit. He blinked both eyes at me, then his gaze slid to Fig, who had her head bowed.

  “I may not look like one of you, but we are one under the vengeful hand of Yaralet, may he rise again,” Fig said, her head slowly rising, wide eyes glittering with an inner passion. Her voice carried well, though soft. She stood with her hands clasped, appearing the demure picture of purity while locks of her hair lifted in the draft.

  Wait. Was that something she did to herself somehow? I knew nothing about the System’s bardcraft. She was damn good, anyway.

  “May he rise again,” the collective intoned, clasping their hands.

  Rain clattered above, echoing in the stillness.

  Fig let the silence hang before speaking again. “I once met a tax collector in Thorn Ridge, claimed he was a believer. I asked him how he prayed. He said he prayed by opening his ledger and tallied sins by the page.”

  What? I flicked a glance at her, then at Jake. A few of the specters shifted in their seats. Gerdet’s finger started its scratching again. I mean, it was a tax joke, sure, but… I connected to the party chat.

  “Okay, they don’t like tax jokes. Try another angle, Fig.”

  Fig: “Too bad, it was funny.”

  Jake: “It was, they just lost their funny bones.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Fig giggled over the chat, and I sighed, trying hard not to cross my arms. Patience.

  “But who among us can truly tally sin?” She flung her arms out and cried, “When even bones cry out from shame beneath the soil, purified of blood? I say blessed are the worm-eaten! They shall inherit the silence! Blessed are you with mildew in your hearts, for your decay is holy in Yaralet’s eyes! Blessed is the scavenger that knows the worth of the fallen!”

  A ghost in the congregation let out an appreciative moan.

  “Cursed be the well-washed, warm-cheeked, perfumed, beating hearts, for they walk ignorant of the purity of the grave!” Fig shouted, her arms sweeping upward to shake fists at the sky, the woodgrain of her dark skin taking on a glow as if from a ray of sun.

  Gasps rose from the pews. Figures shifted in their seats, leaning toward her. Black eyes, riveted.

  Well. She had their attention. I glanced at Gerdet, who looked unmoved. In fact, he looked a little miffed. Was she doing a better job than he did? Interesting.

  “Great job, Fig. I don’t know if that angle will get us a laugh, though.”

  Fig: “I keep running scenarios, but I can’t predict anything that will make them laugh.”

  Weird way to put it, but I’d done the same thing. Everything I thought of led to us getting, at best, kicked out. These guys weren’t the joyful type.

  “Laughter,” Fig said, her tone pivoting from the dark, thundering sermonizer to something thoughtful, almost gentle. Her arms dropped to clasp her palms together again. “I’ve heard it said that the dead don’t laugh, but I don’t think that’s true.”

  She stepped off the dais, pausing on ground level with the rest of the congregation. I heard Gerdet shift, the whisper of his robes against bony, ethereal limbs. “Maybe it’s just harder. Maybe the world just has to go sideways enough.”

  “Laughter is a sin,” Gerdet stated, his voice gone heavy with warning.

  Fig paid him no mind. She showed her palms to the rattling roof and said, “Once I met a ghost who said the worst thing about dying was forgetting what used to make them laugh.”

  A few moans rose up, different from the last one. Not the groan of the faithful, but a soft lamenting.

  “All things of the flesh are corrupt! Laughter is a failure to repent life and give in to the grave!” He floated towards Fig, wagging a bony finger at her. “Heresy! Blasphemer! You are no follower of Yaralet!”

  “That’s what someone afraid for their job would say,” Jake said conversationally toward the crowd, flashing them his devilish smile.

  A dry, wooden crack echoed from nearby.

  One of the specters threw his head back, face split open, jaw chattering stiffly with a pale guffaw. Dust plumed and settled around it on the pew. Jake’s eyes lit up, and he shot a look at me. Was that a laugh? The specter might have been dying. Again.

  “Heresy!” Gerdet shrieked, flitting at Fig with both hands aimed for her throat. Fig whirled around and sidestepped the attack, grabbing at the side of her neck as the spectral priest flew past her.

  “You are saved! Do not forsake the Holy Right for this… mockery!” Gerdet pointed an accusing finger at Fig—and Jake, who bounded over to stand beside her.

  “Guess we’ve overstayed. Don’t get up, folks, we’ll just be on our way,” I said, moving toward Jake and Fig. I scanned our path. Gerdet was in the main aisle, so I ushered my companions toward the side aisle, beside the moldy wall.

  Black smoke curled from beneath his robes. Gerdet’s nameplate turned red, and he spun in place, eyes glowing as he glared at us. He hissed a word. “PARALYZE.”

  “I will show you what the dead laugh at beneath our graves!” Fingers splayed, the priest cried, “Do not let them leave, my children!”

  I shoved at Jake and Fig, but they were frozen in place, staring at Gerdet. Specters scraped from their seats, joints popping, no longer entranced by Fig’s charm and clever words. The door was at the opposite end of the church.

  “You want laughter, infidels? I shall give you the mirth of death! AhHAhaHAHAHAhh!” Gerdet laughed manically, fingers closing into a jagged fist.

  That one was uncontestable. We got it. The laughter of the dead.

  I pulled out the other purchase I’d made when I bought the audio recorder. A big bag of salt. There was no way to know for sure if it would work, but hey, I watched all the supernatural shows back in the day, and salt was the one thing they all had in common.

  As they closed in a circle around us, I tore the cord with my teeth and snatched the mouth of the bag, stuffing my hand in.

  Please work.

  I threw a handful at Gerdet’s hollow chest. His arm flashed up to block the spray, and he drifted back a pace. I hurled handfuls at the specters in front of us, and they recoiled into the pews, away from the path of salt, sparkling like glass shards on the dusty floor.

  “Go! Go, don’t make me carry you!” I shouted, pushing at Jake and Fig. Fig broke the paralyze spell first. She leapt onto the tops of the pews, feet pushing against the backrest to topple one onto the next, pinning specters between them.

  I shook the bag and then charged into Jake, hauling him over my shoulder as I charged past the chaos Fig left in her wake. I plowed where Fig had danced, crushing where she’d merely knocked pews over, giving a twist to my heel on the last pew to really grind the wood into the pinned parishioners.

  A chill hand caught my ankle, and the jump I’d meant to execute turned into a painful faceplant on the floor planks. My leg went numb. [Touch of the Grave -15 DEX]

  Jake flew off my shoulder, wings flaring. The paralysis must’ve worn off. I heard him land and sprint out.

  The ghost that had grabbed me lost its grip when I fell. I scrambled for the exit, stumbling on my dead leg.

  The sack of salt in my hand was almost empty. I flung it behind me, spreading it on the floor in an arc, then dropped the sack and half hobbled, half ran out the door. The blinding rain hit, instantly drenching me, streaking down my face.

  I limped toward Jake and Fig, who were staring at the church, hands pressed to their brows to keep water out of their eyes. The ghosts stood in the doorway, wailing and screaming. Jake clapped my shoulder and grinned. Fig smiled, blowing kisses.

  “You good, bud?” Jake asked, his gaze dropping to my leg.

  He must have caught my hitchy gait and the [Touch of the Grave] attack. I imagined the treatment in his medkit and nodded confidently. No needles.

  “Aw, that was the best day of your unlives and you know it!” I yelled back at the specters.

  Something crunched the underbrush nearby. The baleful glow of the goat’s eyes peered at us through a bush. My smile died.

  “Huh. Let’s go.”

  -ARCHIVE-