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Chapters (28)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Chapter 20
  21. Chapter 21
  22. Chapter 22
  23. Chapter 23
  24. Chapter 24
  25. Chapter 25
  26. Chapter 26
  27. Chapter 27
  28. Epilogue

It was as if he’d grown out of the fog. His flesh was desiccated, skin pulled tight and parchment thin over the bones. The eye sockets were empty black pits. The hair had long since fallen out, and the skin had split in places over the top of the skull, revealing white bone beneath. I recognized the cut of the uniform from when I’d met him before, only now it was ancient, frayed, and falling apart, bleached nearly colorless by decades of rotting away beneath the sands of a chemical weapons dump.

“Marcus?”

The mummy nodded. The lips had long since peeled back, revealing yellow teeth. The jaw moved, as if he were trying to speak, but no sound came out. The parts that could make sound had long since turned into jerky.

I’m remembering. That was my name once.

The fog was swirling around us, furious. The Nachtmar was gathering its energy, preparing to try another tactic, but it couldn’t stop what I was about to do. It had been a long time since I’d embraced the power granted to me by the Old Ones’ foul magic. Mordechai had understood what I could do. There was a reason he’d risked Mosh’s life to get me here. “I told you I’d help. I kept my promise. I know how to find the woman you’re looking for. Come with me. I need to show you something.” I held out my hand.

The handshake was like grasping iron bars wrapped in a thin leather glove, and a wave of unbearable cold rushed up my arm and threatened to seize my heart.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“Where are we?”

The mummy had been replaced by the same young man that I had met earlier. His uniform had gone from dusty rags to a neat olive drab. His skin was normal instead of a dried-out husk, where before there had been splits in his scalp there was thick dark hair. This was how he saw himself, or, more likely, how the Nachtmar ensured he saw himself. The mummified corpse was all that really remained.

I knew that our bodies were still in Las Vegas. This place was real enough, but we weren’t. This was incredibly dangerous. As Mordechai had warned me long ago, when you leave a perfectly good body empty for long enough, something would come along and live in it.

“Where are we?” the ghost of Marcus Kitashima repeated.

“Look around. You tell me where we are.”