Vial Things (Resurrectionist #1) - Leah Clifford Page 0,12

through me. Sarah’s the go-to, the one people call. A central figure in this area for those with our blood. Any requests for help have to go through her. Any approvals for resurrections are her call. Sarah’s the one to keep track of all of us, keep us safe. She’s the law. No one blows off a call from Sarah.

“How many?” I ask.

“Enough to be concerned.” There aren’t that many of us. Those born with the autosomal dominant disorder, as opposed to simply being carriers of the mutated gene, are rare, maybe once in a generation per family line. My mom, aunt and I all being afflicted is an anomaly. Technically though, it’s just Sarah and me now. “You haven’t brought anyone back since you’ve gotten to Fissure’s Whipp, Allie. No one could possibly know what you are.”

I don’t know if she’s trying to convince me or herself. Except last night. That girl knows what I am. I’m not sure if it’ll help to bring it up again. Sarah’s usually a dozen steps ahead by the time I think to mention things.

“What do you want me to do?” I want to say I’m smart enough to have a plan already in place. Instead, I’m reduced to defaulting to Sarah. I might have more training now, but part of me will always be the scared fifteen-year-old that showed up on her porch. She must have a plan, though.

I’d asked my mother once what happened to the hunters that came after us in Ohio. If we just let them go. I remember the darkness in her expression when she’d told me they would never trouble us again. I wonder if the missing resurrectionists are finally enough for Sarah to make the call for reinforcements, if that’s why she’s hesitating.

As I open my mouth to ask, there’s a click on the line, another call coming in on her end. “I’ve got to take this,” she says. “Don’t stay home. Keep your phone on you at all times. Do you understand me?”

“I will, I promise. You’ll call me when you know anything?”

“Absolutely. Stay safe. Remember, you’re trained to handle things when they go wrong. But be careful. You have your vial on you?” There’s a split second of dead air between us. “Of course you do. I love you, Allie.”

The words sound unnatural. They’re not something we say to each other often.

“I love you, too,” I say finally, but she doesn’t hear it. The silence on the line starts long before I can get the words out.

Back in my room, I slip into a pair of jeans and a tank top. After brushing my hair, I tie it up in a ponytail and then loop it through again to make a loose bun.

I never went through a rebellious phase. I don’t wear anything flashy or dye my hair. Learning you can raise the recently deceased teaches you pretty early on it’s better not to be noticed.

There are several other things I don’t want noticed about me. One is the knife strapped to my waist, hidden by my baggy top. The other is a blade above my left ankle, another on my right. On my wrist is a bracelet made of paracord that unravels into seven feet of rope. You never know when you might need to hogtie someone.

The only thing I won’t have anything to do with is guns. If I lose a knife in a fight, I know how to block against someone using it on me. At the very least, I can arc my body and minimize damage.

I can’t dodge bullets.

I tuck a twenty dollar bill in my pocket, grab my keys and head out into the sunshine. Once I latch the gate behind me and start down the street, my hands find their way to my back pockets. I don’t know where to go or what to do until Sarah calls. She’s half an hour’s drive away. If I need to get to her, I can always take the bus.

The sidewalks teem with tourists. I hook left on Credence Avenue and follow the winding sidewalk that parallels Merciback Stream. Potted flowers hang from tall iron hooks rising off the metal fencing that keeps people from getting too close to the edge. The benches are occupied by overweight middle-aged couples drinking Blood Slurpies—nothing more sinister than extremely overpriced cherry vodka slushies in collectible plastic cups—shaded by hundred-year-old trees.

I’m suspicious of everyone I pass. My eyes linger over each person, note how normal