Funeral director conventions were weird. The after parties were even weirder.

The annual Sugarmaple Funeral Director Convention was no grand spectacle like the one in Las Vegas, but had just the right amount of funeral accessories on display to make any sensible person uncomfortable.

Tayte, uniformed with protective gear, spent an entire day with her mother, Edith, at a booth demonstrating embalming techniques on life-size dolls as—with no better word to describe them other than weirdos—watched her work, making oohs and ahhhs whenever she exchanged an instrument for another.

As she switched the curette for a steel nail file, she caught a glance of her mother on the other side of the table, observing intently with a smile. Elated with the treatment of her latest guest.

Edith leaned in and said, “I think I can let you do most of the process on your own next time. On a real person. If I had the authority, I’d end your apprenticeship early.” Her brows raised. “Wait, how long do you have left?”

“One more year before I can apply for a license,” Tayte said coldly, focused on pretending to shape a fingernail.

“Aren’t you excited?” Edith asked.

Tayte failed to react to her jubilance, and responded, “Yeah, sure.”

Edith frowned with confusion. She had a round, spotless face and milky skin, looking youthful for her age; people around Sugarmaple would assume that Nicholas was much older than her. Her hair was free of grays, unlike her husband and daughter, vigorous, long, and black.

The woman could be a poster girl for good health. Must have something to do with a disciplined oriental heritage in contrast to the long line of Enbergs mending their genetic shortcomings with alcohol or experimental medicine. Preservation was what she excelled at, whether it be keeping something in a certain, perfect state or restoring it to its former glory.

Edith insisted on taking Tayte to the after party of the event where aspiring funeral directors and morticians mingled; not hiding her true intentions at all. First, she drove her home, where she unveiled an outfit already prepared for her: a black ribbon tie dress with long white sleeves. It looked only a little less formal than something she’d wear to a wake.

The party was held at a mansion that belonged to… somebody. Tayte was told whom, but she didn’t bother to remember the name and tossed it deep into the useless information bin in her brain.

“Have fun, Tayte! Don’t slouch and smile more. Be a lady,” Edith said before disappearing into a crowd of fresh-faced future undertakers.

Tayte ignored her duties to be on the prowl for a suitor and resorted to blending on a wall in the sumptuous ballroom, observing the attendees scuttering across the checkered floor as she sipped a cup of black wine.

Tons of hit songs later, her phone’s battery died.

Tayte put her phone away and contemplated how long it’ll be until someone tried to talk to her now that she didn’t have her shield up to say, “I’m speaking to my father! It’s serious.”

It was only a matter of seconds.

A boy approached her, but he was no suitor. Artis, her cousin, also suffered from poor Enberg genes. She watched him push his way through the ecstatic crowd and towards her with a red cup in his hand and then peeked into her cup.

“I didn’t know they were serving wine,” he said.

Tayte produced an empty packet and raised it. “I brought my own. I don’t like beer.”

“Instant wine… classy.”

Tayte shrugged and gulped a larger dose.

Artis turned his back to the white wall and leaned against it as well. Observing the party alongside Tayte. He adjusted himself in his black suit and asked, “So, what’s new?”

Tayte sighed, realizing that she was already in a conversation and it was too late to abandon it. “My dad said I’m bad at giving eulogies,” she started. Might as well bring up a topic instead of boring small talk. “The emotions I put out aren’t genuine or something.”

“You’re going to listen to advice on emotions from the guy that whenever a character dies in a movie, he immediately starts to criticize the realism of the death scene?” Artis attempted an impression of Tayte’s monotone father. “‘Nobody just dies from a gunshot wound that quickly and gracefully.’”

He nailed it just as well as she did.

A famous song started playing, and the crowd went ballistic. Tayte cringed at the sound of the inebriated partiers singing along, which was just loud slurring and gibberish.

Tayte helped herself to an even larger dose of the wine. “My mom says that’s why we can’t take him to the movies anymore...”

“But Uncle Nicholas has a point,” Artis added. He turned to Tayte. “You have a pretty wooden demeanor.”

Tayte cocked her head to the side and eyed him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Artis pointed at her face. “That. That right there. You’re not even making a face. I can’t even tell if you’re angry or not. I’d say that your biggest problem is just that… you’re boring.”

“I’m not boring.”

“For the last four years, all I’ve seen you do is go to Mortuary Science College and then straight back home. Auntie Edith said you’ve never even had friends over, do you have friends? Have you ever had a boyfriend, for that matter—?”

Tayte didn’t respond and took another gulp.

He raised his hands to surrender. “Okay, I’m just saying.” He looked at Tayte again and pulled back. The two allowed the drunk gabble of the partiers to fill in the silence as the rap section started. Tayte began to sway a bit.

Artis stroked his chin once and said, “I heard about what happened at your house last night.” Tayte didn’t look back at him. “I wish I was there last night to see the scuffle you and Uncle Nicholas had with that intruder. I can’t believe you held a gun! That’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard about you in years. It’s a miracle no one got hurt.”

“What’s the worst that could’ve happened?” Tayte asked.

“You two could’ve been killed.”

Artis studied Tayte, waiting for a reaction. Something. Anything. Nothing came from her, but a quick glance. She definitely wanted to say something but refrained from doing so.

“I can’t believe one dude went through all that trouble just to steal one necklace.” Artis chugged down the beer and tossed the cup aside. “You know, somehow Uncle Nicholas gets away with his unique way of dealing with the dead. He thinks he is in touch with his emotions, but he isn’t. You might not be as lucky as him. People could call you out on it. I know you two don’t like people, but channeling emotions effectively is a huge part of the job. Being able to make a family member smile at a rough time is a monumental skill for a funeral director.”

“I can do that.”

Artis’s face went blank as he shot a look at Tayte. “Okay, that is genuinely the funniest thing you have ever said,”

“I can make a client smile, and even laugh.”

“Do you ever call them anything other than ‘clients’?”

“But that’s what they are…”

“How about the Nangobis? Wasn’t the nephew of the deceased your classmate or something? Did you even talk to him?”

“I did…”

“Who spoke first?”

Tayte stayed quiet. The song ended and a slower one started playing, giving the guests the opportunity to slow down.

Artis smiled. “But hey, if the funerary business doesn’t work out for you, I guarantee you that you have a future in ASMR,” he said, smiling. “You can put anybody to sleep with your voice.”

Tayte shoved the empty cup into his chest. “I’m going home.”

“Want me to help you find Auntie Edith?”

Tayte was already halfway across the ballroom. “I’m walking.”

“It’s 2 in the morning!”

Tayte raised her hand and waved.

###

Tayte walked down the cold, snowless street, clenching onto her black coat in her arms. The night sky was almost as dark as the asphalt beside her. The streetlights were barely working, making everything blend into a void. Like walking in an empty space where all directions are meaningless.

While in the darkness, she imagined the outlines of the dead trees and vacant cars that lined the path she had taken many times before in the past. There was a musty aroma in the crisp air, coupled with a calm, howling wind.

A sphere of yellow light appeared at the end of the path. As Tayte neared the working streetlight—where a massive dead tree kept it company, she noticed a large building to her side. She read the entrance sign: SUGARMAPLE HISTORICAL ARMORY.

The entrance and building had nothing of note. Tayte had heard of the museum of historic weaponry with artifacts from all over the world but was never interested enough to go in, even though it is considered to be the most notable thing about the city aside from its terrible weather.

There was a faint squawk. Tayte looked around the darkness until she spotted a bird lying on its side near the base of the bare tree. She moved up to it and stared down — it was a raven. Its single brown eye focused on Tayte as it made more croaks, which got continually weaker.

What is a raven doing out here alone at night?

Tayte stared at the dying bird.

Bang! Tayte wheeled to the museum as soon as she heard the sound. The silence lingered for just a moment. The raven’s gurgling croaks arose suddenly, gaining vigor in its dying voice.

Tayte looked back at the raven, and its calls were deep and piercing to the ear now. The raven’s eye started moving downward as if it were signaling something.

By the time Tayte spun around, it was already too late.

A massive callous hand cupped her face and shoved her back. The raven gave out one last cry, as the sound of organs squished together arose from under Tayte’s boot and she hit decaying tree bark.

Everything went dark.

###

Tayte woke up staring at a wall of classical patterns moving up her vision. She felt her legs dangle in the open air but was somehow walking backward at the same time.

Her wrists felt much colder than the rest of her body. When she tried to pull them apart, she only managed a few inches, followed by a soft clink. Then, she noticed a hardened object pressing into her gut and a heated arm wrapped tightly around her lower back.

She was being carried over the shoulder, and without difficulty, it seemed as if she was nothing more than a training dummy. The scent of manly musk and faint perfume messed with her nose. She was actually staring at the floor and before she had the chance to lift her head; the world flipped for her, catching colored blurs on the way down and after a hard thump, she was facing the ceiling where a line of strip lights was eyeballing at her. She turned over to her stomach and surveyed her surroundings — six people were in the room with her.

They were all hiding their faces behind ski masks and wore generic black outfits, but were distinct from each other in body shape. As the group exchanged looks in silence, Tayte scanned the rest of her surroundings — wooden crates and chests of varying sizes, steel shelves that almost touched the ceiling filled with boxes, and wall mounts. Each spot was occupied by artistic firearms and ornamental swords from all over the ancient world. But most of the items she observed were on the other side. She and the unnamed six were in a smaller division of the room, separated by a curved glass wall as if they were in a giant display case.

One of the six stood before a towering red metal box. Its side was lined with complex-looking combination locks that differed from each other. She had a petite figure and was halfway through the locks, focusing on the third one, keeping her ear close to the lock as she turned the dials. She was the only one who didn’t turn to Tayte when she hit the floor. Closest to her was a man with his left arm in a sling. Everybody was fixated on him at one point as if waiting for orders. He was the leader, for sure.

The one who carried Tayte was the tallest and most muscular out of all of them. His physical features filled in his clothing nicely.

The Leader glanced at Tayte and then back at Muscles. “What is this? I tell you to scout the premises and you come back with some girl?” He eyed the handcuffs on Tayte’s wrists and sighed. “I don’t care what your needs are or about your lack of self-control, but do this kind of stuff in your own time.”

“She was outside,” Muscles started. “Standing completely still, watching the building. She might be a spy.” He pulled out Tayte’s cell from his pocket. It was snapped in two.

Another one of the criminals was a woman who was terribly thin. She had spindly arms and legs. Gangly looked over to Muscles and asked, “Did you search for a badge on her?”

Click. Lock Cracker got the lock to open and moved on to the next.

“Yeah, and she doesn’t have one,” Muscles said.

“So, she’s not a spy,” Gangly said.

“Spies don’t wear badges.”

“Really? Spies don’t wear badges? You sure?”

“Yes.”

One that had distractingly light green eyes chimed in. “Dude, FBI agents have badges. What’re you talking about?”

“I’m not talking about those kinds of spies,” Muscles rasped. “I mean, the real shit, you know? Have you ever seen James Bond flashing a badge?”

“I think so,” Green eyes said.

“Stop lying.”

“I’m pretty sure that James Bond has a badge.”

“Guys, literally a single internet search can end this conversation,” Gangly said.

“How about we just end it right now anyway?” said the Leader.

Muscles fixated on him again for instructions. “Boss, what do we do with her?”

The chill of the handcuffs started to bite into Tayte’s skin, causing tremors through her body. She squirmed, hoping to get more comfortable, and then realized that the sixth criminal was silently studying her. He wore a holster by the hip; the corroded grip of his red firearm was sticking out. His traits were average and there was a single bullet mark on the floor near him.

Click.

“Wait, you brought this random girl here and now you expect me to decide what to do?” The Leader said. “I don’t care. She’s not part of this story. Do what you want, just let her focus.” He turned to Lock Cracker.

Muscles shrugged and pulled out a service pistol. “Okay, I guess she dies.”

“Wait, don’t kill her here,” the Leader hissed.

“I thought you said you didn’t care.”

“I don’t care about what you do to her, but I care about the where. Do what you want, but don’t be stupid about it. Do I really have to explain this to you?”

Average stepped forward and shouted, “No!”

All eyes fell on him, and they all watched his confidence fade away before them.

“You can’t kill her,” he said on a low level.

“Why?” Muscles asked, disgruntled.

“Because…!” Average stopped for a moment to collect his words carefully. “Because I know her, okay?”

“So, what? You’re in love with her?” Green eyes asked.

“No!” Average snapped back. “It’s not like that. It’s just that our families know each other, and like, if she dies then I’ll probably have to go to the funeral and that would be… really awkward for me, so I’d appreciate it if you just let her go… to save me the trouble… pretty please?”

His comrades stared in silence.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Muscles said.

“Well, she definitely has to die now.” the Leader said while glaring at Average. “If we let her go, she could figure out who you are, given that you know each other and your families being so close and all, it can screw all of us over.”

“Wow, if you really wanted to protect her, maybe revealing your connection wasn’t the best idea, moron,” Gangly said.

“Really dropped the ball on that one, huh, buddy?” Green eyes said, grinning behind his mask.

“When doesn’t he drop the ball? That’s all he does,” Muscles said.

“That is true,” Lock Cracker said. “How do you fire a gun by accident while it’s in its holster?”

Tayte tilted her head to the side, focusing on Average as he scowled at Lock Cracker moving onto the next lock. “Chris?” She uttered.

Average’s eyes widened in horror.

Muscles cocked his gun. “Okay, goodbye, Chris’s girlfriend.”

Chris stepped in front of the gun and whipped out his rusty, scoped pistol. He pointed it back at Muscles. “No.”

“I really hope that you’ve at least slept with her,” Muscles said. “That would make this less sad.”

“He hasn’t,” Tayte said.

“Figures.”

Chris turned his head back to Tayte for a second. “What? Why would you say that?”

“But, we haven’t.”

“I know that, but there’s no need to confirm it! We’re just old friends and we’ve never pursued each other.”

“Why would I want to pursue you?”

“That’s the point!”

“Hah! I like her,” Lock Cracker said. “Wait, do we have to kill her?”

“Wow, all this just because of one girl,” the Leader said.

“That doesn’t even like him back,” Green eyes said.

“That’s not what this is about! I’m not doing this because of her!” Chris shouted, pulling off his mask. His charcoal skin glistened under the light. He looked over to the Leader. “I always planned on betraying you. You’re kind of an asshole.”

“Oh? So, you want to make an enemy out of me, Chris?” the Leader replied. “And I thought you were afraid of death.”

“Not only will I beat the trials, but if it comes to it, I will end your life, too, without hesitation, asshole.”

The Leader scanned Chris’ trembling frame from top to bottom and then smirked. “Your body doesn’t seem to believe in the words coming out of your mouth.”

“I just have to pee. Get over yourself, Adisa.”

“I wish you nothing but luck. Going up against me, you’re going to need it. That’s if you manage to get out of here alive.”

Click! Lock Cracker stepped aside as the door opened, letting out an irritating screech, revealing a scythe inside. The weapon was massive and beautiful. It was almost as tall as Muscles. The giant crescent black blade with a silver underside glimmered like moonlight from inside the box. The heel of the blade was shaped like a spiral with snow-white fur looping down the onyx snath of the scythe.

“Got it,” the Lock Cracker said.

Chris pulled Tayte close and whispered in her ear. “Say ‘Kamaitachi!’”

Tayte’s face wrinkled with confusion. “‘Kamaitachi’?”

The Leader spun to him, “You son of a—!”

The scythe blasted from its container.

Tayte jerked back and looked down. The long snath protruded from her impaled chest.