Free The Darkness of Shadows by Chris Little

I pointed to Val’s laptop. “Can you look up what a rune is?”
    Val smiled as her fingers flew over the keyboard.
    “‘Different runes are attributed with different powers, some being imbued with the power to bring that which is dead to life.’” She raised an eyebrow. “Walter failed to mention that.”
    “How about sigils?”
    “‘An inscribed or painted symbol considered to have magical power.’ So if we put them all together, we have a new reality show.” Val made air quotes. “ Chaos Magic and the Grimoires .”
    I laughed. “So the spiral’s in the middle of everything and it represents life?”
    Val checked her notes. “Right, a type of conduit through which spiritual and physical energies flow. And the chevrons surrounding the spiral signify protection.”
    There were a few we couldn’t figure out—strange creations our research couldn’t explain. Probably more sigils, since according to Walter you could make up your own.
    He’d also said that the outer designs represented four points: chaos magic, a choice, the spirit’s fate, and a gateway.
    For once, I wasn’t Miss Tardy to the party. My father just went from psychotic bastard to paranormal megalomaniac with the means to accomplish what he wanted.
    He wanted to raise the dead, and it seemed like he needed what was on my back to do it.
    “Something else happened with my father at my apartment,” I said. “He killed a cat and, um … brought it back to life. I think that’s what all this is about: raising the dead.”
    Val’s eyes narrowed. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
    “No—well, yeah, probably, but—”
    “I’m taking you to see Dr. Carberry.”
    This parade was heading right down Suck Street.
    “No way! I don’t even like being in my head, no way I’m letting a stranger in there.”
    She suppressed a laugh. “So, what you’re saying is that your dad waved a magic wand and abracadabra, here’s your new zombie cat?”
    “I know what I saw.”
    She did the Vanna White arm sweep across the table.
    “You can’t possibly believe any of this stuff. Walter’s just a freak.”
    My breathing was shallow as I tried to hide my anger.
    “You go to church and pray to something you can’t see, believe in all the stories they tell you. Just because I don’t share your beliefs doesn’t mean they don’t exist, and it doesn’t mean I don’t support you.”
    “That’s not the point,” she said. “They abused you because they were insane. What could they possibly want with raising the dead?”
    “My father said he wouldn’t let decades of work go to waste. That he needed me—and my mom.”
    Val stood tall and lean, her head lolled to one side, her arms outstretched. The moaning started as she shuffled toward me.
    “I want to eat your brains,” she said, with the appropriate undead head bob.
    It was funny, but her timing sucked.
    “FUCK YOU!” I pushed off the chair and limped past her to my room.
    The slamming of the door muffled the moaning and shuffling.
    I threw my cane at the bed. It ricocheted off the mattress and slammed into my stomach.
    Perfect.
    I eased into the wing chair. So Val didn’t believe me. Couldn’t blame her. Maybe I had suffered one too many blows to the head.
    I reached for the notebook, flipped to a blank page, and started doodling.
    Beyond the closed door, the blender whirred to life. A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked Val, free of the zombie virus. She held two large tumblers with straws. I was still pissed, but I recognized a peace offering when I saw it: a vanilla peanut butter milkshake.
    She sat on the arm of the chair and nudged my shoulder. I ignored her and continued my masterpiece.
    “Nice stick figures. Is that shark chomping on me or your dad?” She nudged my shoulder again. “Will you take one please?”
    “Thanks.” My voice flat.
    “What’s with the picture?”
    “Originally, I was going to let nature’s cleanup crew take care of the body. Now,