EPISODE FIVE:
REVELATIONS OF THE DEAD
The Blue Crypt, the swankiest restaurant in the Borderlands, was filled with its usual mix of customers: a few vampires, some werewolves, a mix of zombies, and a myriad of glowing ghosts. It was a giant oval-shaped room crammed with small cloth-covered tables; giant candelabra hung from the low-hanging ceiling to serve as central light. The Reaper and Llorona stepped into the lobby and surveyed these patrons with impatience.
“I hate coming to these places,” Llorona said pulling her long white hooded coat around herself, “I can never get used to them. They’re too fancy for my tastes.”
The Reaper removed his formal black cloak. Beneath it, he wore a gray three-piece suit. He had shined his skull for the occasion and it cast a soft glow under the torch lights of the restaurant. A couple of the elegantly clad customers, a haggard-looking green witch and a young bald male vampire with pointed ears and dark gray skin, glanced over and regarded him with some fascination. “Oh this place isn’t that bad. Let’s try to enjoy the night,” he said.
Much to Llorona’s disgust, a small hunchbacked ghoul in a well-tailored black frock approached them to take their coats. The little thing was abhorrently skinny with mottled orange skin, a large oval head, and a face that resembled a rat. It took The Reaper’s jacket and then reached over to get Llorona’s. She let out a small cry and slightly pulled away.
“Give him your coat.”
She nodded, pulled it off, and handed it to the little creature. It politely bowed and handed her a ticket before heading off into an adjoining room.
“You shouldn’t treat him that way. He’s just like Gus and you like him.”
“Ghouls are crass and ill-mannered. Gus is different.”
The Reaper ignored her remark and peered into the dining room. “Let’s try to find the Banshee. She should be here by now.”
A maître d’, a mummy in decaying bandages and a black tuxedo, hobbled towards them with a smile and curtsey.
“Ah, Mr. Reaper and Mrs. Llorona, I’ve been expecting you. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”
Llorona sighed, smoothed out the wrinkles in her silver gown, and followed the mummy. The Reaper was behind her. He nodded and said hello to various monsters as headed to his table. It was nice to be famous.
The Reaper and Llorona were shown to a bulky square table in the rear. Famine and Morrigan had already arrived and were drinking bright orange drinks from tall chalices. They were seated with a willowy, chalky-skinned woman with large, dark round eyes, and long dark green hair. She wore a gown of tattered white gauze and billowy white silk. Sitting beside her was a bulky golden- skinned reptilian being with a horned round head and glowing beady yellow eyes. He was quietly talking with Famine while wildly gesturing with his clawed hands.
The woman looked up and acknowledged the arrival of her guests. She smiled broadly and spoke in an overly cheerful voice. “Reaper! Llorona! So glad you could make it. I believe you know my husband, Azazel,” she said indicating the gold demon.
“Good evening,” said Azazel turning from his talk with Famine and extending a claw.
The Reaper reached out and shook it. Llorona nodded and smiled at them both. Her voice was not as bright as her host’s, but she tried.
“Glad we could finally come, Banshee. Now that our kids are friends, I thought we should try to get along.”
She spoke through clenched teeth. Her voice was terse. “It’s Bonshay.”
Llorona looked a little confused. She cocked her head slightly to one side. “What?”
“My name. It’s pronounced Bonshay, not Banshee.”
Morrigan gave The Banshee a look that said ‘Please, mom, be quiet.’ Famine weakly smiled, hoping his mother wouldn’t react too harshly to the comment. Llorona nodded and attempted a meager grin, her voice a hollow apologetic tone. “I’m so sorry. It’s always been Banshee as far as I knew. I didn’t mean any offense.”
The Banshee laughed. “It’s quite okay, dearie. Please have a seat, the both of you.”
The Reaper and Llorona pulled out their stone chairs and sat at the table. Morrigan smiled and reached over to pat Llorona on the shoulder. She kept her voice low so that The Banshee wouldn’t hear. “It’s good to see you again, Llorona! I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, though.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Anything to help you kids out. You look nice tonight!”
Morrigan looked down at her long silky white gown and sparkling diamond pendant and smiled. “Thank you! Say, maybe next time we can come over to your home. I tried telling her it was just as good as this place but she didn’t listen.”
“I understand and it’s okay, honey,” said Llorona before looking at Famine, “How are you doing tonight?”
Famine cast his stare off past the Weeping Woman’s head and answered flatly. He was dressed in a tight fitting beige suit with a short silk-lined cape. His hair was pulled into a ponytail. He answered flatly. “I’m okay. Everything is fine.”
Llorona looked at him with doubt. She knew the kid too well to take that statement as fact. The incident on that road in the Borderlands had worried and concerned her; she couldn’t imagine what Famine must be feeling. She took comfort that Morrigan had been there for support the last few days.
“I hope it really is, child. You know where to come if you need to talk.”
The boy picked up his drink and took a swig without acknowledging her comment. Morrigan saw the exchange and whispered to the worried woman. “I’ll talk to him if you want me too.”
“That would be great,” she answered in the same hushed voice, “he’ll listen to you.”
The girl winked and started a conversation about the weather with the women at the table. They were talking about the unusual amount of rain that had fallen in the Borderlands lately and how much wetter things had become. He wasn’t interested in talking about any of this. His last experience with water had been a bad one. Azazel leaned towards the Reaper, who had now picked up the bulky leatherbound menu and was looking through it.
“It’s brilliant to finally meet you, mate.”
The Reaper looked up from the menu. If he had eyes with which to look surprised, they would have been full of it. Instead, he had to sound astonished. It worked most of the time. “Really? Most everyone else hates to meet me. Something about dying upsets them.”
“Ah, mortals, that’s how they are,” answered Azazel, “they hate me, too. I’m not always out to take them to the netherworld. There’re times when I just want to chat it up a bit.”
“Right, right. Who else is going to know more about the living realm? I like to keep up with the latest trends and news and they’re the ones who know what’s going on. There’ve been many times when I tapped someone on the shoulder to inquire about the latest goings on and guess what happens?”
“They run and scream!”
“Yes! It’s downright frustrating at times, I tell you…”
A bat-faced goblin waiter came to the table with a towel draped over his winged arm. He stood straight, his head in the air, and spoke pompously: “Excuse me, sirs, welcome to the Blue Crypt. I am Something Unpronounceable by Your Tongue and I will be your servant tonight. May I start you off with a drink?”
“Might you have a Tarantula Tequila?” asked Llorona.
“Yes, ma’am, a very potent variety.”
“Bring me a glass of that, please.”
The waiter turned to The Reaper, who had again resumed looking at the menu. “And for you, sir?”
The Reaper answered without glancing up. “A Blood Chardonnay thanks.”
“Very well, sir.”
The waiter bowed and left with the same indignant attitude with which he had arrived. Morrigan rose from the table and threw her cloth napkin to the chair. She thought it was time to make good on the promise she had made Llorona, and a clever excuse to get away from the adul
ts would provide her a chance to do it.
“I’m going to go outside for a few minutes. It’s too stuffy in here and I need some air. Just order me a soul soufflé when that little guy gets back. You want to come with me, Famine?”
He got up to follow her. “I think I will.”
“What shall we order for you?” asked The Reaper.
Famine thought about it for a few seconds before answering. “Some hemlock and deadly nightshade salad with tortured spirit dressing. I’m in the mood for something light.”
“Will do,” said Llorona. The kids left the dining room and she turned her attention to the Banshee. “So, what have you been up to? Still haunting the same stretch of moors?”
The Banshee laughed, tilted her head a bit, and put her hand through her hair. “Oh, no. I took up residence on those roads you left. Someone had to work them, after all.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes things come up and you have to take a different route.”
“We all have our crosses to bear, honey.”
Llorona opened her mouth to speak then shut it. When she spoke, her voice had the same forced politeness it had had when she’d first arrived at the table. “I don’t see my choice as an arduous task. I’m quite content with where I am.”
The Banshee had picked up her goblet of green liquid. She removed the eyeball that served as an olive and took a drink before she replied. “That’s great, honey. Glad to see that we’re all so happy here.”
Llorona gave her a quick smile and picked up the menu. The Reaper had seen a few items that appealed to him and was now asking Azazel about the cuisine. It wasn’t too often that he got the chance to taste the wares of other chefs. He liked to compare himself to them and take pride in being better than any of them. “How is this Tortured Soul Casserole? I don’t do sweets that often.”
The horned demon shook head, his eyes dancing in excitement. “It’s actually pretty good. It can be a bit gamy, depending on whom they give you. But not a bad choice at all, mate.”
“You’ve sold me. Anyway, I’m famished. Been working all day and didn’t have time to eat. Think I’ll get an appetizer to tide me over, though.”
A moment later, the drinks arrived and appetizers had been ordered. Llorona stopped sipping from her opaque goblet, took off the dead tarantula clinging to its rim, and glanced towards the door behind her. She wondered if air was really the reason the kids had left. She hoped Morrigan was getting to the root of Famine’s silence.