The Living and the Dead (Tyler G Book 3) (28 page)

"Nope. I... Really, I kind
of worked out how to make myself um, have un-life. I only have part of it, but
most of the energy is being collected by me now. I... I can't live,
really."

He must have sounded sad about
it, though Ginger faked a snort.

"Who would want to? Super
powers, eternal youth and awesome abs. You're great the way you are."

That got him to smile at his
girlfriend.

"I love you, too. An Angel
told me that I
could
be alive if I wanted. I'd just have to kill
millions of people to make it happen. So I have to stay dead, which is way
harder. I think it
might
be that Angels are assholes. Too bad he seemed
so nice about it the whole time. I can't even hate him. Not joking, by the way.
A real Archangel. Michael. I know it sounds made up." His words felt
stilted, his current concept not really built to sustain itself yet.

Because, naturally, he was using
death energy to power it, and needed to feed it with that first, so it could
become operative and do that for itself. It still wasn't going to make him move
around, even when he had the power for it. Life energy would have done that for
him, wanting to be all helpful like it was. But no, he was stuck with crappy
death energy that was like a kid with ADD.

Tyler got up and dressed. Then
laid on the bed.

"Right, so, I need to do
this now I think. It's going to be a fun night. Or... A fun
year
, if I
don't get this correct. That could happen, so try not to freak out. I won't die
or anything. I can't, so it isn't an option on the table."

They both looked at him, with
expressions of concerns on their faces. That... Well, chances were he wasn't
going to do it very soon. After all, it was new, and he was just some guy that
had started to learn to do magic a few days before.

The others either got that, or
they realized that he felt a little intimidated by the whole thing. It was so
hard to do that he kind of figured that failure was going to be in his near
future. Several times, most likely, if not hundreds. First though, there was a
thing he needed to make certain of. That he could power his brain. Or his
thoughts, more likely. It was most likely the case that he didn't really have a
working brain in his head. Just like his heart, it would be dead. Not doing
anything but being a place holder.

So, he had to find out how that
worked. It was right there, inside of him, but made of death, not life the way
everyone else did it. When he found it, sitting there, looking into Calley's
eyes, then glancing over at Ginger, he nodded. As long as he made sure that
part stayed working, having power, he could do it all. Eventually.

"All right, I'm going to
grab a different room. I have no clue how long this will take. I'll try to be
around though, as soon as I can move again. Wish me luck?"

Ginger nodded, her face somber.

"Much luck. All of it in the
world."

Calley took a deep, warm breath,
filled with life and power. Just the wrong kind for him. He, Tyler Gartner, was
a creature that thrived on death, and
had
to.

Even if living
would
be
easier for him. That wasn't what he was. The living were a different kind of
thing altogether. He found the space he wanted on the fourth floor, near the
back. It was, he guessed, supposed to have been the servant's quarters. It
wasn't decorated, but
did
have a twin bed, and a large dresser with four
drawers that he didn't need, and a mirror on the top, with a decorative frame
around it. Turning off the single light, one that hung down in the middle of
the room, he tried to get his mind in order.

A thing that was spread through
his entire being. Part of it was outside of his body even. He could feel it
tickle and work, creating the concepts that would in turn allow him to make
more of them. It was a bit confusing at first, but in the end he understood
that he didn't have to hold them all really. Just make them so that they held
themselves. Allowing his mind to coax in the needed forces and arrange them,
all the time.

Then he settled on the bed, and
tried to feel what was going on inside of him. Death was the opposite of what
he would have thought. It worked in negative. Backwards from what he believed
it should. For hours Tyler just lay there, a thing instead of a person. A body
that wasn't alive, and didn't move now.

Because when he threw power and a
sense of motion at things, nothing happened. His concepts were different than
what he'd seen in everyone else. Even the Vampires moved using the power of the
living. It wasn't what he had to do.

Finally he worked something out.
Mainly by reminding himself of what normally happened when he moved around. It
happened by putting pressure around his entire being, the flesh falling into
the unoccupied space, moving away from the energy of destruction and chaos. It
was an annoying way to think of things. His new way of being. Same as the old,
but now Tyler G. was in charge of it.

It changed everything, when he
tried to stand. Not because he didn't move, but because it was
so
very
awkward. Standing up wasn't the set of normal looking and feeling things he'd
thought of it being for the most part.

No, he sort of floated up, like
an old time movie Vampire, his body rigid. Okay, it was a cool effect, he had
to admit that, but it was so freaking odd that it wasn't going to do long term.
Worse, before he got all the way up, he lost focus and fell back onto the bed.
That got him to laugh. Sort of. Nothing came out, except a strained squeak.

Rather than fret over that, he
just practiced until things worked into some semblance of movement. For a long
time, he gathered the needed power, then pushed his body around, trying to work
out how to make it look right. Then, he failed hard. Not hundreds of times, but
thousands
. It was complicated, doing things like that. Also, while he
could move, a bit like he was a real zombie, it was
not
smooth, and he
really didn't know how to speak yet.

That took breathing, which meant
he had to pump air back and forth, pushing his chest in and out, which was
doable. Then he constricted the flow in his throat as he moved it out, and
managed to moan. It was a low, guttural thing. So, in short, he was a tiny bit
of discipline and practice away from being able to call for brains. Not that he
wanted
that
.

The line between himself and Lucy
grew thinner over time, until it was the barest thread between them. Connected,
a thing that couldn't be broken unless she died, or he lived and then died, but
so minor he was pretty much in control of his own being in truth.

For the first time since he died.
Meaning that he'd moved up from meat puppet to real slave already.

That he wasn't doing it very well
was just the price he had to pay for that kind of freedom. It took him a few
minutes, but he finally got himself to think about it philosophically. True, he
wasn't perfect, but Lucy was allowing him what freedom she could, like she'd
promised. The rest, no matter how hard, was up to him.

Standing, he moved to the door,
then, a bit clumsily, he walked down the stairs. He didn't look good doing it,
but it was actually really easy to balance, since his body wasn't playing by
the rules that others seemed to have to. When he started to topple, he just
moved, nearly floating back into place. He couldn't fly that way, which he
tried, but he could spin on the toes of one foot, without stopping or doing
anything else.

Why that was he didn't know, but
he didn't need to be touching the Earth. He
wasn't
, and the death energy
still was coaxed into him easily enough. Well, it
was
hard work, but
he'd gotten to a point where it functioned for him. His power set up worked
without him having to control it consciously all the time, finally. Eventually
the movement would be the same way. That would take time and practice, but he
could feel it happening already. The concept for each thing he needed was
there, having been around for years. He just had to activate them again.

Lucy had already done most of the
hard work that way, so it wasn't like he had to start from scratch really.
Thankfully. Otherwise he really might have taken years, if not decades, to
learn to do even what he was at the moment.

When he got down the stairs, no
one else was around. That was a bit odd, since it looked to be dark out. The
clock said that it was about ten in the evening. Moving like he was going to
fall down the whole time, he worked his mouth into a smile, or what he thought
might be one, and tottled toward the kitchen. He didn't need to eat, but he
thought he could smell something cooking. There was noise too, and voices
talking.

Also, he realized with a thought
that made him happy, he could smell things. That hadn't been something he was
certain about. True, he could before, but that had been Lucy doing all the
work. Apparently whatever she'd done to make that happen was permanent.

At the door, as the band, Ginger
and Calley turned to look at him, he held up his right hand.

"Hiiiii." It was funny
sounding, but better than he thought he would have done.

Ginger waved at him, her face
beaming.

"Ha! That wasn't even six
hours. How do you feel?" Her gaze seemed to search him, but everyone was
patient when he took a while to get the words out.

He tried to make it seem like he
wasn't struggling however, and got his voice to sound nearly normal. He
couldn't
walk
and do that at the same time, but it really was all coming
back to him now.

"Not too bad. Clumsy and slow,
but I'm coming back to myself now. The information on how to do it is all still
here. I'm doing it all. I mean, I'm still a slave, but Lucy isn't making me
talk and move like she used to. So, I am become death. Savior of worlds?"
The one he wasn't draining to power himself, at least.

Rebekah grinned, since she was
the only one there that understood the paraphrasing of the old quote, for some
reason. Calley jumped up and hugged him. He didn't feel it at all, which wasn't
great. He didn't mention it. It would be, in the end, a thing that he could
learn. After all, he could see and hear, and smell the veggie burgers that
Calley and Steve were going to be having.

The bone white Vampire woman
smiled at him, showing hundreds of sharp, fang like, teeth. That meant she was
really happy, or faking it very hard. Normally she tried to keep her mouth
closed.

"The thing there is, can you
still sing and play?"

"Right now? No. Give me a
week or two, and I should have it all back." Not that he could prove that
one. Not yet.

Soon though, he was going to have
to make that one reality, or he'd be kicked out of the band. On the good side,
he didn't need to eat. Though now he got how he could, and what had to have
been happening that way. Inside his being was a small place, in his gut, that
took food, and turned it into raw life energy. Or, more to the point, removed
the residual life from it, and passed it out to Lucy. It wasn't really a part
of him, but rode around in his middle all the time anyway.

"So, a sandwich for me
too?" They were Boca patties, but the original kind that Calley could put
up with. He liked the fake chicken ones himself, but those were from a
different company. The Boca brand sucked for that kind of thing.

Being that he was at the stove,
Steve tossed another patty into the already hot pan.

"Here, take mine, I'll have
this one. I have to hurry. Keeley is coming over later. We're going to a
movie." He said it like it was a special treat, and something real, rather
than him just being used by his slave master.

Maybe it was better that way. He didn't
think
that The Rotted was controlling him anymore, but was that correct?
In the end he was never going to know. Not unless she allowed him to. That was
a thing that he'd learned from Tina and Darren. No one had cared enough to ever
hide what they were from them. There had been no pretense that they were free.
It was, he knew, probably better to be ignorant then, if you had to serve like
that. No one wanted to be a slave for the rest of their life. He didn't, at any
rate.

No, he wanted to have dreams, and
goals and hopes.

That he hadn't really yet in life
was kind of painfully clear now. Lucy had done
everything
for him,
working his body like a puppet for a decade and a half. Sixteen years. Every
jog he'd taken had been her doing that for him. For that matter, every boner
he'd had, and all that time in the bathroom when he was younger was actually
her doing it all.

So
that
wasn't going to
cause mental problems later. On the good side, he was in charge of himself now.
A bit slowly, like he was drugged, but not dead, he moved to the table and
settled next to Ginger. That caused him to bump into her, which made her smile,
like it wasn't accidental.

Sitting there, he tried to
generate a small conceptual thought that would let him feel her. It was no
harder than it had been before, but when he tried to add power to it, the death
around and within him did nothing. Cheating, he took a tiny bit of life from
the room, as a test. That worked, but after a moment he could feel the wrong
kind of energy trying to settle into place. It filled the room with darkness
that shouldn't be there. Worse than what he was doing to power himself, because
he was converting
that
energy into thought and motion.