May Bird and the Ever After (15 page)

“Pumpkin,” Arista said, “do stop looking so petrified, will you? You'll give us away. And watch where you're going.”

“Arista!” someone shouted. May sank farther into the clothes. She could just make out the outline of a figure hurrying up beside them. “Laundry day, huh? I've just got a new shipment of bees in from the west. Thought you might want to take a look at them, do you think . . .”

Staying as still as she possibly could, her heart racing, May held her breath. Through the crack she could see that the man was standing just off to the side of Arista, in front of the large window full of broken glass. Above it a sign read:
THE MOLDY PAGE: PURVEYORS OF FINE USED BOOKS SINCE THE WRITTEN LANGUAGE WAS INVENTED.

The shelves behind the glass were filled with all sorts of books, many so yellowed and decayed that they'd crumbled in half, splitting apart at their seams. A few piles of dust looked like they might have been books in a past life. None of them had anything written on them. But then, as May stared at each one, words
began to form themselves in green letters on the covers:
Life after the Guillotine: The True Story of My Two Hundred Years in the Western Territories
by Marie Antoinette;
I'm Dead, You're Dead
by Dr. Franco Smiley;
The Real Ghost's Guide to Runes
by Ra.

In the center of the display, on a special shelf all its own, another stood out:
I've Got Spirits, How 'Bout You: The Unauthorized Biography of the Ever After's Most Infamous Spirit, Bo Cleevil.

As she stared, something else began to form on the cover. May felt the hairs on the back of her neck go up again. Two eyes, red and angry—the same as from the brochure—appeared. They glowed a deep, dark red.

Another line of words began to write itself on the bottom of the cover, beaneath the eyes. I. . .s. . .e. . .

“Bring them by tomorrow, then,” Arista was saying. May felt herself being lifted again. She kept her eyes on the book.

e. . .y. . .o. . .

She could feel herself being carried toward a doorway, and the bookstore fell out of sight. But not before May had made out what the words spelled, her heart pounding.

I see you.

W
e have an appointment.”

Though May was still piled under the clothes, she could tell they'd come into a dark hallway A few moments ago she'd heard a door creak open and slam shut. And then she felt the cool air blowing on her sweaty face.

Now she could just make out the legs of a desk. And then a pair of feet hovering before her.

“Right this waaaaay. . .”

May was jostled along, and then they came to another stop.

“You will be called in shoooooortly.”

Another creaking door sound, and then the clothes over her head were pulled out of the way, and Pumpkin smiled down at her. “How are you?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You can come out, my dear,” Arista said.

May climbed out of the basket and looked around. They were in a pitch-black room. She couldn't see anything but Pumpkin and Arista sitting next to each other, and a glowing sign that read 2,007,998
SOULS SERVED.

“Arista,” May whispered, “back at the bookstore—”

Ding,
ding, ding.

A list unrolled before them in the dark:

RULES OF THE UNDERTAKER

• Please extinguish any burning body parts before entering.

• Please, no cameras. The Undertaker, while extremely good-looking, will not show up in photographs.

• Under the psychic privacy act, views of your past, present, and future are protected.

• No talking in the waiting room!

ANYONE NOT FOLLOWING THESE RULES WILL BE SUBJECT TO POSSIBLE MUTILATION AND A FINE.

Looking back and forth between Arista, who sat calmly and gravely, and Pumpkin, who no longer seemed afraid but curious—swinging his legs and looking around the room as if they were at a picnic—May said, “But that book—”

“Silence!” The voice that came out was so loud it made the walls shake. Pumpkin shook with them. He sat on his hands.

They all stared at one another, May bursting with the news of what she'd seen.

Just then, ahead of them, the darkness began to open up, one section at a time, like puzzle pieces of light being put together. The pieces formed a childlike shape, with skinny legs and a bob haircut. It was the shape of May, glowing blue before them. The sign above it announcing the number of served souls dinged to 2,007,999.

May looked from Pumpkin to Arista, who nodded to her, then back to the cutout May in the darkness.

She walked up to the opening and squeezed through. It was a perfect fit.

May was in sunlight. All around her were white, fluffy clouds. Her feet appeared to be standing on nothing.

A red velvet couch sat a few feet away, and on it, a figure in a long black robe, a black hood obscuring its face in an oval of darkness, its hands gently stroking a sharp, gleaming scythe.

May shrunk back just as the figure sat up and reached for its hood. She took a few more steps backward, but her feet began to sink into the clouds beneath her, and she moved forward again. The hood fell back, revealing a beautiful woman with long glossy black hair, alabaster skin, and ruby red lips. She smiled at May as she splayed her feet out in front of her and filed her nails against her scythe. There were wings on her ankles.

The woman squinted for a moment. “You're alive.”

May nodded.

“What's your name?” The woman arched her perfect black eyebrows in a question mark. “May Bird, ma'am.”

“Born in?”

“Briery Swamp.”

“May Bird. May Bird.” The woman put her manicured pointer finger to her chin and tapped it thoughtfully. Her fingernails were decorated with tiny painted earthworms. She laid down her scythe, pulled a tiny black book out of her cloak, and flipped through it. “Ah, yes. Yes, May Ellen Bird. From West Virginia. You're early”

May swallowed. “Arista made an appointment—”

“You shouldn't be dead for eighty-three more years.”

“But—”

“And to show up here alive, at a time when it couldn't be more dangerous.” The woman shook her head. May shrunk under her disapproval. “What are we going to do with you?”

She swept off the couch and sashayed across the clouds at their feet, a few snakes unfurling themselves in a trail behind her. “Do you mind if I take a look at your past, present, and future? You have the right to refuse. And the privacy clause keeps me from seeing too many personal details.”

May nodded, dazed.

The woman crouched and looked into May's eyes, squinting thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, the portal. Interesting . . . you seem so timid, but . . . hmmm.”

May couldn't stop marveling at how beautiful the woman was, and then at her cloak and her scythe.

The Undertaker smiled at her obvious curiosity.

“Are you the Grim Reaper?” May asked boldly, surprising herself.

“And I already saw that you're exceptionally curious. Which helps to feed your exceptional imagination. I see that very well.” She pulled back, then shook her head a little. “ ‘Grim Reaper' is what Live Ones call me sometimes. The Living can be so dramatic. I much prefer ‘Undertaker.'”

May shrank back. “But Grim Reapers . . . You . . . kill people!”

“No no no. Most people get that wrong. We Undertakers are actually psychopomps.”

May looked at her blankly. The Undertaker didn't
look
like a psycho, but May suddenly felt too shy to say it.

“A guide. I just help people out when they're dead. With things like finding the right house and the right place to haunt, getting a job.” The Undertaker waggled her hands casually. “Actually, there are several of us, all siblings. We're very powerful, you know. Very unique. All the Undertakers are. And very speedy. We have so many dead coming in that we have to be.” She indicated the wings on her heels. “But I'm probably the best-looking. Don't you agree?”

“Um, yes?”

The Undertaker nodded, satisfied. “We're here to help. The Ever After can be a dangerous place, especially nowadays. And especially for you, my dear. Even more than most Live Ones, I'd say.”

A wave of frustration ran through. May She didn't think she could take more bad news. She clenched her fists.

The woman squinted into her eyes again. “There are powerful spirits around you. Who are they?”

May shrugged, feeling on the spot and nervous. The Undertaker frowned more deeply. And then May remembered.

“I. . . I got a letter.” May reached into her pocket to pull it out, but the Undertaker held her hand in a stop motion.

“I see it in your file. Hold on.”

Then she tossed her head back, letting her long black hair swish out behind her. She looked at May for a long time. Now that May was staring into her eyeballs, she could see motion in them. She gasped. There was May, a horrible black dog lunging at her, and shattering glass, and a boy surrounded in light.

The Undertaker grew very grave and held out her hand for the letter, then read it a few times. Finally she folded it up solemnly.

“May, this is very big. It means you are attached to a powerful spirit.”

“Wh-What kind of spirit?”

The Undertaker ran a hand along her scythe again, thoughtfully.

“Nobody knows much about the Far North or the spirits who live there. But it's the seat of the old ways. All of the old rules come from there. And the Lady of the North Farm is the oldest, and the most powerful, of its spirits. She's a great mystery. To say that she needs you, well . . . I don't understand it. It means you are surrounded by power, certainly, but I'm afraid it also means you are surrounded by great danger.”

“The Lady is dangerous?”

The Undertaker took May's hand.

“I couldn't say. It's not that simple, and I really don't know. But her enemies certainly are. Keep the letter secret. Whatever it means, you don't have a choice. You have to go.”

May looked at the floor, guilty. At home it had been easy to want to help a mysterious person in trouble. It had sounded nice to be needed.

But the reality was very different.

“I don't want to anymore.”

The Undertaker sighed. “You won't be able to help it. She is more powerful than you can guess.”

“I just want to go home.”

The Undertaker frowned again. Her eyes flashed through scenes too quickly for May to make them out. “Your future profile is very confusing. I see great fear. You fear too many things. You even fear yourself. Why?”

May stared at her blankly.

“Oh, yes. You don't believe in your heart. You doubt yourself. It's a great failing.” The Undertaker gazed at her solemnly. “But there's also great courage.”

May looked at her feet. She was the least courageous person she knew. “Maybe I can help the Lady from home. Maybe I can be courageous there.”

The Undertaker sighed. “No Live One has ever left the Ever After.”

“Arista said I came through a portal. I can go back through.” May crossed her arms.

The Undertaker smiled indulgently, then tucked one hand into the neck of her cloak and pulled out a necklace with an Earth-shaped pendant. It was divided into four corners.

“There is one portal in each corner of your globe that connects to each one of the corners of our realm. There's one in a hot spring in Japan, in the ocean near Bermuda, one in Europe, and one in the mountains in West Virginia.”

May nodded.

“The portals have been there since ancient times, created by the natural order of things for the spirits of the dead to pass through, you see. And they only go one way.”

The Undertaker looked at May for emphasis here. “It's been that way since Earth and the Ever After have existed. Now, in the old days
others
occasionally slipped through. Live Ones, like you.