Strong as Death: Born From Death, #1

By MS Kaye

Ilona discovers what it means to have a mother who is a modern woman and a father who is a 19th-century gentleman ghost.

After being hit by a car and taken to the hospital, Ilona starts to realize she’s different from other people, and that her mother has hidden the truth from her. She sneaks out of the hospital in order to discover the truth.

A mysterious boy named Archer guides her through Brooklyn and introduces her to Hendrick, the man who claims to be her father—though he died in 1890.

Ilona must discover not only what she must do to rid the city of Soll, a sadistic and powerful spirit, but also what it means to be half ghost. She proves what her mother told her—love is stronger than death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Jun 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781939590879

Book preview

Strong As Death

Book 1 of the Born from Death Series

M.S. Kaye

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Strong As Death

Copyright © 2016 MS Kaye

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-939590-87-9

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Rie Langdon

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Chapter One

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Ilona let go of the roof overhang and landed with a thunk on the pavement below.

She looked up at her bedroom window, half expecting to see her mother’s terrified face peering down at her. All she saw were her bedroom curtains and the reflection in the glass of the apartment building next door.

She started toward the mouth of the narrow alley. She had walked this way many times—but never alone. No one by her side, no one telling her to keep moving, not dawdle.

At the edge of the curb, she looked up and down the street. She felt like a sailor standing at the bow of a ship, possibilities all around, along with some uncertainty, and the tiniest flicker of fear. But she reminded herself the fear was just of the unknown. She breathed in and could almost smell sea air.

She glanced across the street to the other brick apartment buildings, contemplating walking along the other side. Maybe she could talk a little with the children who were playing on the sidewalk in their puffy coats.

Then she looked back at her bedroom window. Once her mother realized she was gone, she’d freak out—but Ilona was seventeen, almost an adult, perfectly capable of going for a walk by herself.

She turned back to the street in front of her and took a breath. She’ll be fine. She can handle twenty minutes of not knowing where I am.

A woman on the opposite sidewalk stepped backward onto the road. Someone in the deep shadows along the side of a building was talking to her, a low, growling sound. Ilona could see only the faint outline of his features.

The woman took another step and stumbled over a pothole, never looking at her feet, only into the shadows.

What are you doing? Ilona called. Her breath came out in a puff of white.

The woman continued moving backward over the pavement. She held her hands out in front of her. Please don’t, she cried.

Ilona stepped onto the road. Hey.

An engine revved as a yellow sports car turned the corner and sped up. The woman was in its path.

Move! Ilona yelled.

The woman only stared at the shadows.

The car didn’t slow.

Then Ilona was across the street, pushing the woman out of the way. The woman tripped over the curb and fell, palms on the sidewalk.

Pain shot through Ilona’s legs.

She flew through the cold air. The car had hit her. She couldn’t move or struggle or even scream. She was helpless, at the mercy of the wind. The buildings around her blurred, seemed to mix with other images, fuzzy outlines. She thought she saw a familiar face, a young man.

The scent of burning rubber mixed with engine fumes. Children were screaming. She swore she could see how their voices thickened the air. She could feel their fear, as if it was tangible, like a punch in the stomach.

Her body smacked into the pavement.

Pain stabbed her head, like a spear had shot through it and pinned her to the ground. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even open her eyes.

More screams, running footsteps.

Just lie still, a low rough voice said. Just lie still.

~* * *~

Hendrick watched, hidden as always, as Ilona saved the woman from dying and was then struck herself. He could do nothing to stop it, and a part of him didn’t want to, almost wished she would die in this accident.

Then he growled under his breath and moved away, kept Ilona from his sight. But he still saw it all in his mind, in his bloody perfect memory. The pain on Ilona’s lovely face, so like her mother’s. One would think her breakable, but he knew better, or at least he thought he did, hoped he did. Her pale blond hair flowed out across the road as she landed. Her hair, so different from the color of her mother’s, was just as thick, like rain in a storm.

He tried to think of something else, but the memories were too strong. His conflicting emotions fought each other in his head, with swords and daggers, wide, slashing attacks.

Sirens.

The ambulance drove by, and there was much commotion. The doors to the ambulance slammed closed, and the sirens rang through the air again.

And then a voice he knew well, though he had never heard this kind of fear in it. Ilona! Kate screamed.

He moved back around the corner so he could see her, her thick dark hair, those pretty freckles dotting her cheekbones. She ran after the ambulance. Ilona. Tears streaked across her flushed cheeks. She kept running.

The ambulance didn’t stop.

Then Kate’s feet slowed, and she looked around wildly, hair sticking to the tears on her cheeks, surely searching for some kind of transportation. He knew she had no car. She would have to wait for a taxi. That wait would likely drive her mad. He didn’t think he could watch, but in some absurd way, he thought he should be with her. Even though she couldn’t see him.

~* * *~

Soll stepped out from the shadows and bent down next to the woman he had been terrorizing. He knew she couldn’t see him in the light, but he made sure she could hear him.

You were supposed to die.

She searched around her.

He breathed through his throat, savoring the taste of terror. It tasted the sweetest just before death—but that had been stolen from him. Now, I suppose, one of your children will have to die in your stead.

No, she whimpered. Please. I’ll do anything.

He filled himself with the scent, almost taste, of her fear. It wasn’t quite like any mortal food he could remember, but something stronger, something that affected more than just his palate, did something more than fill him and give him strength. The more he tasted it, the more he wanted.

Choose which one, he murmured. Which child shall die? That last speck of humanity, weakness, in him twinged. He stomped at it, like a combat boot on a flea.

She cried against the sidewalk, begging, praying.

The sound of the medical workers made Soll look up, the slam of the ambulance doors. They were trying to save her, the little bitch who had stolen his taste of death. The Bible said an eye for an eye. He would take back what she had stolen, and he would take it from the one who had stolen it

For now, he turned back to the woman in front of him, absorbed every last drop he could from her. Tell no one about me, he murmured, or I’ll take all of them.

The woman shook with sobs.

Soll smiled, the contented smile of a letch in a whorehouse.

~* * *~

Everything was too bright. The light hurt Ilona’s eyes, even through her lids. There were voices, lots of them, even more than when she went to the grocery store with her mother. And there were beeps and footsteps. Too much. The smell was like all of her mother’s cleaners sprayed in her face at once, and yet all mixed with the stench of body fluids.

Ilona tried to move but it hurt—her legs, her head, her arm.

Then she remembered why she hurt.

She slit her eyes open and peeked out into the room. The space was small, surrounded by pastel curtains. She was lying down.

A hospital. She recognized it by the movies she had watched and the books she read—so many books. For a few seconds, her mind jumped to those books, the scenes, the people who seemed so real to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, focused on reality, and opened her eyes again. She had never had this kind of difficulty concentrating, but then she had never been hit by a car before.

Through a gap in the curtains, she saw people rushing back and forth. The voices were hurried, urgent. There’s another accident coming in. At least ten patients.

We need more beds opened up.

A large man in white scrubs rushed past. His shoes squeaked across the polished floor.

Emergency room—that was where she was. The car accident, the woman. Was she all right?

Ilona lifted her head off the pillow, and it spun circles like a merry-go-round.

Oh, lie still, sweetie. A woman in blue scrubs had come into the curtained space. The doctor says you shouldn’t move.

The other woman— Ilona’s voice wasn’t cooperating. She tried again. Is the other woman all right?

The nurse smiled, bright with full lips and a slight gap between her two front teeth. You saved her. She was treated for a few scrapes. That’s it.

Ilona took a breath, and almost coughed up the hospital scents.

That was some brave thing you did, the nurse said.

Ilona rested her head back and closed her eyes. She listened to the nurse checking the monitors next to the bed. Then she opened her eyes again. What about the man?

The nurse looked over at her. What man?

The one in the shadows next to the building. He was harassing the woman. He’s why she stepped into the street.

She said she thought she heard a noise, nothing about a man.

Ilona opened her mouth, sure of what she had seen, ready to argue. Then she closed it.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and glanced toward the crack in the curtains. Maybe the doctor should have another look at you.

No, I think I’m all right. Her head had stopped spinning, leaving just a headache. Those she could handle fine.

The nurse hurried out of the space.

Ilona sighed and stared at the white ceiling.

Then she remembered her mother and sat up. She’s probably about had a heart attack. She pulled the blanket off her legs, and the tube in her arm yanked. A drop of blood slipped down the inside of her elbow.

Well, now. Be careful, a man in a lab coat said as he walked in. He reached for Ilona’s shoulders to guide her back to the pillows.

My mother.

I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.

You don’t understand. I’m never away from her. She’s got to be freaking out.

The doctor glanced back at the same nurse. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Then he turned back to Ilona. Let’s take care of you first. That car hit you pretty hard. He turned his attention to her now uncovered legs. She had been changed into a hospital gown, so her slender legs were bare. We’ll probably need to cast— He stopped.

He reached to the end of the bed to grab a clipboard. He flipped through the pages. He looked at the nurse. Eyes wide, she shook her head.

What’s wrong? Ilona said. Was he about to say they were going to put casts on her legs? But they were fine, just a little bruised.

But shouldn’t they be broken? I was hit by a car.

The doctor smiled at Ilona, and the corner of his mouth wavered. Nothing’s wrong. We just have to run a few more tests. Just relax.

He walked out of the curtained area, followed by the nurse.

But we already took x-rays, the nurse murmured. Both of her legs were broken.

Someone must have done something wrong, he said. Do it again. Sirens sounded from outside. But it’ll have to wait. Their footsteps moved quickly away.

Ilona sat there, not sure what to do. She wanted to go home, tell her mother she was fine, but they had likely called her mother already. She was probably on her way.

The sounds outside her little curtained space grew louder—more squeaky shoes, gurney wheels, rushed voices speaking in medical language. Ilona watched through the crack in the curtain as bloody bodies were wheeled past. The curtain got caught on one of the people, or perhaps in the gust of their panicked movement, and pulled back. She continued to watch people rush by, several more gurneys and then just doctors, nurses, and orderlies.

Her pain lessened, eventually just the headache. She bent her legs up closer to her and examined them. The nurse had to be wrong about them being broken—but it made sense that she would have more injuries than this.

A little boy, maybe six years old, wandered past. Mommy, he called, where are you?

A nurse walked by, didn’t even glance at him, even as he looked up at her hopefully.

The boy looked around—blood was drying to the left side of his face, matting his hair to his skin. Why won’t anyone talk to me?

Hey, Ilona said.

He turned and looked at her with brown shiny eyes, like the dew-covered center of a sunflower.

Are you okay? Ilona said.

He moved closer, and still no one stopped to help him. He stood at the edge of her curtained space. I can’t find my mommy.

Ilona smiled a little. I’m sure she’s all right. All the doctors are working hard to make sure everyone’s safe.

But no one will tell me where she is.

They’re really busy. Just stay in one place, and it’ll be easier for them to find you when they come looking.

He wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms. Can I... Can I stay here?

Sure. Come here. We’ll talk.

He moved closer and stood next to her bed. Are you okay?

I was just in a little accident. I’m fine. How about you? Does your head hurt?

He shook his head. She figured that was a good sign—if he had a serious injury, surely he wouldn’t be able to shake his head without pain.

What’s your name? she asked.

Joey Reit.

It’s nice to meet you, Joey. I’m Ilona.

His eyebrows pulled together. Uh-lona?

"Like with an ‘e’ at the beginning. Like event or erase."

"Mommy says eventually a lot. Like eventually I can ride my bike by myself. Eventually I can sit in the front seat. Eventually I’ll be as tall as Daddy."

Ilona smiled. Exactly.

You’re really pretty, he said. I like your hair. It’s almost white, but it doesn’t look like grandma’s. Hers doesn’t look soft like that.

It’ll probably look a lot different when I’m your grandma’s age.

And your eyes look like the sky.

My mom says they’re my dad’s.

He stood straighter. Mommy says I look like Daddy.

Your daddy must be very handsome.

He nodded. Yup.

She grinned.

Voices outside the curtain grew louder, and then a couple nurses walked in, the same one with broad lips from before, but still no more broad smile. The new one flipped the blankets off Ilona’s legs. She curled her legs up, in defense of her modesty. The nurse stared.

Hey— Ilona started. Then her words stopped.

The first nurse stepped up to Ilona’s bed—stepped through Joey.

Joey whimpered and jumped back. Stop doing that. The pastel curtain rippled slightly as he ran through it.

Chapter Two

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What’s wrong?

Ilona realized the nurse was talking to her. Nothing. I, um, I just don’t feel well.

The furrow of the nurse’s forehead shallowed. That’s to be expected.

Why does she look relieved that I don’t feel well?

We have to take you to get some more x-rays, the nurse said. It won’t hurt.

I know what x-rays are. Ilona stared past the second nurse to the spot where Joey had disappeared. She vaguely noticed as the tube was taken out of her arm.

Her bed started rolling. The rails were up, and the first nurse was guiding the bed out of the curtained area and down the hall. Ilona lay back and closed her eyes. It had to be a concussion or something. That might explain Joey. But what about the man she had seen in the shadows earlier? Wouldn’t the woman have told someone about him? Ilona was sure the woman had seen him. Unless she had imagined seeing the woman’s fear...

Her mother didn’t talk about it, but the Morgan side of the family had a history of schizophrenia.

No, that couldn’t be it. It wouldn’t surface all of a sudden like this, would it? But what about...her overactive imagination? Her mother always told her to ignore things that seemed out of place. She said her eyes were playing tricks on her, she was tired, she was simply a very imaginative child...

If her mother suspected mental illness in her daughter, she would have done something about it. Her mother was very intelligent, observant, protective.

Something else was going on—and her mother had to, at least, have suspicions. The realization that she couldn’t trust anything her mother told her slammed into her chest.

The nurse rolled her into a darkened room and started setting up for the x-ray.

I have to use the restroom, Ilona said.

We’ll be just a few minutes.

I really can’t wait. She reached around the side of the bed and figured out how to lower the bedrail.

All right. We’ll get you a wheelchair, and—

I can walk. Ilona swung her legs around and dropped down to the cold floor. Her feet felt a little numb. She managed to stand steadily.

The nurse’s mouth opened.

Ilona took a careful step.

Here, I’ll help you. The nurse stepped forward and reached to take Ilona’s arm.

I’m okay, but, um, I don’t want to walk around in just this gown. You don’t happen to have some pants around here, do you? Maybe some scrubs?

Yeah, um, the tech keeps an extra set for shy patients. She reached into the cabinet and handed a set of pale blue scrubs to Ilona.

Ilona slipped the pants on under the white gown, held on to the tunic, and headed for the hall.

The bathrooms are left out of the room, and then down the hall, the nurse said.

Thanks. Ilona walked out, looked around the bright white space, and turned right, toward the emergency exit. The shiny floor was cool against her feet. Along the way, she found on a nurse’s cart a pair of those slippers with thin rubber soles the hospital gave to the patients who were allowed to walk around.

The emergency room was still bustling from the car accident that had just come in. She wondered if Joey was somehow connected to that accident.

She glanced around, and her steps paused. She half expected, half hoped, to see her mother running toward her. But she knew her mother wouldn’t help her figure things out. She would smile that sweet smile and tell her she was seeing things, that her imagination was going haywire, that she needed to pay closer attention and not let her mind wander—all the things her mother always told her.

No, Ilona refused to live in the dark, refused to argue with her mother anymore. She would figure everything out on her own.

She walked out the emergency room door into the night and headed down the street.

~* * *~

Archer stood in the middle of the funeral home, the same place he’d first met Hendrick. He’d been here for a funeral. Funerals used to creep him out a little. Not so much anymore.

He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and meandered around the darkened room. The few fluorescent emergency lights throughout the space made odd shadows of the various objects—the spindly chairs, the cloth draped over the stand that held caskets, the few remaining flower arrangements.

Hendrick came in through the outside wall, through the largest grouping of flowers. The carnations turned brown, and the baby’s breath wilted like the lowered head of a beaten dog.

Hendrick looked back. Bloody hell. They don’t usually place arrangements there.

Looks like they already took the ones they wanted, Archer said. He’d always liked how Hendrick actually gave a crap about the physical world.

Hendrick sighed and adjusted his vest, an apparently absentminded habit. Archer never mentioned it, never asked. He’d caught a glimpse once—the knife wound. There was a slit in his white shirt and blood stains around it.

I have a favor, Hendrick said.

Archer lifted his chin, and the scar above his eyebrow caught the light. He had an idea of what this was about. What can I do?

Things might get a bit dodgy. You sure you’re in?

Archer’s rough voice was strong, steady. What do you want me to do?

~* * *~

Ilona slipped the tunic portion of the scrubs over the hospital gown, and wrapped her arms around herself. Normally, she handled the cold extremely well, but her only clothing was thinner than a sheet and the temperature was dropping into the realm of morning frost.

She kept glancing around, waiting to be discovered, expecting to see her mother right there beside her, where she always was. It made her feel a little unsettled and a little relieved not to see her, not to see anyone.

The streetlights seemed to dim as she walked. The area was unfamiliar—she knew very few roads firsthand, though she had studied the layout of New York and the surrounding areas. She found a street sign and pictured her map of Brooklyn, searched over it in her head until she found the street. Central, not the safest area. Great.

And she had no idea what in the world her plan was now that she had officially run away.

Lost?

Ilona whipped around just as a young man, maybe eighteen, stepped out from behind the corner of the closest building. He leaned his shoulder against the gray stucco.

I’m not lost, Ilona said. Her heart felt like fluttery curtains, but it wasn’t from fear. She’d never felt this before.

He smirked, showing more clearly the slight angle of his eyes; obviously he had Asian blood. You look lost.

Well, I’m not. But thank you for your offer to help.

I didn’t offer anything.

She paused. He hadn’t offered. Perhaps she was so used to dealing with the few people she knew, all of whom always offered to help her or her mother, that she had just assumed.

She turned to walk away, hiding her frustration at her own lack of understanding, her lack of experience with the world around her.

"I didn’t say I wouldn’t offer to help," he said.

She looked back at him, at his shadowed jaw line. His slightly unkempt hair, which made him look like he’d recently been in a fight. How his dark jeans and black hooded sweatshirt and T-shirt made him mesh with the darkness of his surroundings, even while the light from the lamppost several yards away glinted off the silver ring on his middle finger. The way he stood, not the stance of the