Wicked Magik

Chapter 1

Vesper

Iam no stranger to death.

In fact, I see it every day.

You wouldn’t know by the outside appearance of the home where I live.

The front of this grand mansion evokes elegance. Towering white pillars stand proudly at the entrance, offering a regal welcome. The meticulously manicured hedges, trimmed to perfection, frame the facade with an air of sophistication.

Along the walkway, vibrant flowers bloom in neat rows, their petals burst with color and life. The path itself is a testament to careful maintenance, with its freshly power-washed, stamped stone surface gleaming under the sun, guiding visitors toward the majestic building.

Here is where the living bring their loved ones who have passed and where they will be buried. This is the last time families and friends will tell their loved one goodbye.

This mansion used to be an empty shell until the Marchant’s family bought it a century ago and turned it into what it is today, a funeral home.

It’s been theirs ever since. The name has grown quite famous among the rich. The reading of wills, celebration of life parties, and the viewing of the body all reside within these old walls. I just take care of the dead.

What I do doesn’t require me to leave the confinement of the basement.

I adjusted the snug mask over my nose and mouth.

I felt the elastic bands press against my skin.

With steady hands, I sealed the final incision on the lifeless body, the edges of the skin neatly aligned.

The challenging task to inject the formaldehyde was now behind me.

Its pungent scent still lingered. I placed my instruments on the tray, a sense of anticipation built within me.

The moment I relished drawing near…it was the opportunity to make this lifeless body appear more alive, transform it to make it appear more like a sleeping person with its soul still attached to its body. This was where I could truly appreciate the artistry of my work.

My life has been strange since birth, so if you had asked me when I was younger if I expected to be a mortician, I would have told you it was a possibility. Nothing was ever for certain, but my mother was a mortician, so I suppose these sorts of things run in the family.

I started out wanting to be a beautician and go to beauty school. I enjoyed the art of make up, how you can completely change one’s appearance to look like someone else.

I even thought about theater make-up.

Most of all I wanted to change my appearance, but my mother helped me love myself for who I was.

I still loved experimenting with make up and soon learned how to incorporate it into mom’s work. Once I had a phone of my own, I dove into the world of beauty trends online. I was hooked—watching influencers for hours and practicing every natural look I could.

My mom let me watch far too much, but I think it was because she wanted me out of this basement and see that there was more out there. To have a child raised around the dead wasn’t something she wanted for me, no mother would.

It is what it is. I don’t regret my life. It only made me appreciate it.

The pounding of footsteps from the planks above echoed through the wooden floorboard, but I remained focused as I carefully draped the crisp white sheet over Elaine Cartwright. Her once elegant hands, renowned for their grace on the piano keys, now lay motionless.

In her prime, she had captivated audiences with her music and shrewdly invested her earnings, amassing considerable wealth. Yet, her life had been tragically cut short at forty-five, her battle with cancer leaving her frail and emaciated, her once vibrant body reduced to mere skin and bone.

Her parents and children, who outlived her, wanted her to have an open casket, but worried about her appearance. They wanted people to see who she was, not what the cancer had done to her.

That was where I came in.

The door creaked and I pulled down my mask. When I looked up I saw the funeral home’s cat saunter in and push the door open wider. He was a thinner tabby that had a primordial pouch that would sway when he walked. The thing was a menace and would cause trouble wherever he went.

Definitely orange cat energy.

“Nothing here for you, George. Might as well get out.” I made sure to keep the sheet securely attached to Elaine so George didn’t swat at it to expose her body.

I nudged the metal equipment tray across the tiled floor until it clinked against the counter beside the sink.

With a quick tug, I peeled off the latex gloves.

My back was turned to the door, lost in my thoughts, when George, the ever-friendly tabby cat, brushed his soft, warm body against my leg, purring contentedly.

“You want treats now, huh? After what you did yesterday, I’m not so inclined to.”

While I spoke with Elaine’s family about the preparation of her body in the formal sitting room, George slithered through the curtains, jumped onto tables and knocked over urns that broke into pieces.

George never did reveal himself so it looked like there was an entity in the room.

I’ve noticed a common pattern since I’ve lived here. Many say they aren’t superstitious, believe in ghosts but once they enter a funeral home that harbors bodies, that all can change in an instant.

The Cartwrights were ready to leave after that. As they rushed out the door I promised them I would make sure Elaine would look as if she were sleeping.

At least I hoped it was George that made them leave and not me.

I am not the most social person, nor approachable. It didn’t help that my hair was a naturally ghostly white, my eyes an amethyst purple and known as the girl who lived in a funeral home with a spastic orange cat who played with bodies for a living.

Some people found that disturbing.

Overall, the meeting was a disaster. Mr. Marchant, the funeral director normally speaks with the clients. I would be there to take notes, but yesterday he was meeting with another client.

These intakes were standard and I should not have had any problem, but of course, I make them a problem.

“George.” I groaned and bent down to scratch the orange tabby. He instantly purred and pawed at the dress so he could see directly in my face. “Did you get kicked out from upstairs and they sent you down here?”

He meowed.

That was a yes.

This cat had to be older than dirt. He’s followed me around since I was in diapers, but he warmed my bed at night, a constant companion.

The echoing of footsteps from the stairs caught my attention. I stood and washed my hands ready to speak with Mr. Marchant. He was my mother’s boss and he was now mine. He was the only one that dared to come down here besides the men that would wheel the bodies in through the elevator.

Marchant liked to take the stairs.

Once my feet landed on the cold, hard concrete of the basement floor, I left Elaine in the prep room and headed toward the main area.

The space was modestly furnished with two well-worn couches positioned around a sturdy coffee table, all resting on a faded rug that added a touch of warmth.

Each couch had a small table beside it, topped with a simple, functional lamp casting a soft glow.

It wasn't anything luxurious, just a practical spot where I could retreat to enjoy my lunch in peace during a hectic day, eliminating the need to trek upstairs.

“Mr. Marchant, anything I can help you with?” I pressed my hands down my apron that I forgot to take off. Luckily it didn’t reek of formaldehyde, I had gotten precise and stayed relatively clean.

Mr. Marchant cleared his throat and adjusted his suit tie. His salt and peppered hair was featuring more salt as of late. The wrinkles around his mouth are more defined and the bags under his eyes darker. His son, Leo, was set to take over The Divine Funeral Home, a decision I wasn’t ready for.

“Vesper, how is Mrs. Cartwrights’ body coming?” Mr. Marchant pulled out a handkerchief and put it to his nose.

The man had a problem with smells and obviously he could still smell the preparation of Elaine’s body.

I nodded. “Great. I just need to prepare her for the viewing. The embalming is complete.”

Mr. Marchant stepped around me and paced around the room. I stood still, trying not to stare. I could feel a shift in the room, an emotional one. There was something weighing on his mind, I could feel it. The way he walked, how he pulled the handkerchief away from his nose.

“I’d like to talk to you about my son taking over.”

I held back my distaste. This was a family run business. Who was I to say anything about it?

I’ve met the man once or twice, he was stuck up and too much a materialistic city man who only cared about the money he took from the living.

Higher prices, which this place was high, anyway. Now he wanted to raise it higher and offer more that wasn’t needed.

Leo was also a crook. These walls were old, the ventilation was hollow.

I could hear him from my apartment, where I lived my whole life, late into the night while he talked on the phone to people in the city.

He spoke about digging up graves and taking the caskets back to be sold again.

He wanted to throw the bodies back into the graves like they were nothing.

I won't be staying here if Leo takes control. The only reason why I was here now was because of my mother.

“The reason I wasn’t with you yesterday was because I was attending an intake of a very high profile family. They lost their father, and this will be a very expensive funeral. The only reason we received this was because of Leo and this will put us on the map.”

I tilted my head. “But sir, we are taking very well known celebrities already.” I chuckled nervously.

Mr. Marchant cleared his throat. “This is even more so. We cannot say no to this now. Please, do as Leo asks of you. Any work put on the back burner until this one is completed. This goes for the Cartwright family. The Blackstones are now top priority. You will begin his intake as soon as the body arrives. This will be a more complicated case for you. It will test your skill.”

My brows furrowed. Tomorrow was the anniversary of my mother’s death. The reason why I was doing Elaine’s body now was so I could take the day off tomorrow.

“But sir, tomorrow…”

Mr. Marchant held up his finger and pointed it at me, all the while covering his mouth with his handkerchief. “No buts, Vesper. Do this, and you will be rewarded. I promise you. You have been an asset to the family for years. Your talents have gotten us to where we are today.”

I took a step back and laid a hand on my chest. “Sir? Me?”

“You are unaware of your talents. You make the dead look alive, like their spirit still resides in them. Why do you think we only allow you to take care of the bodies? Why do you think we have such high profile celebrity families that want you to do their families?”

I bit my lip in hesitation. “I’ll do it for you, Mr. Marchant. But consider it repayment for my mother.”

“Vesper…” He sighed. “I thought we were family.”

“We are like family sir. But while I enjoy working for you. I am afraid I will not enjoy working under Leo as much as I do you.”

Not that I was going to tell him that his son was probably a crook. I did not feel that was my responsibility. He would believe his blood over me.

Mr. Marchant's shoulders slumped. “Let’s talk about this after intake. Please. Don’t make any decisions just yet.”

I gave a noncommittal nod. Mr. Marchant had been good to me, but I wouldn’t stand for it if Leo did what he claimed he was going to do.