What happened after death?

  The question had long bothered me for years, and philosophers since the beginning of humanity. All religions, from pagans to monotheists, put forth their own unprovable theories.

  Would the illusion of separation from an uncaring universe simply end? Would individual consciousness fade into a greater whole? Would their soul remain to reincarnate into a new shell or transcend into a heavenly respite? Was there even such a thing as a soul? For all of the Bible’s proclamations of Jesus’ return, I had yet to see any case of a living man returning from the unknown beyond. The truth was, nobody knew whether or not death was truly the end.

  It wasn’t that I hoped religion was wrong, quite the contrary. The knowledge that there would be something to look forward to after life, that my consciousness would remain in this universe, that everything that made me me would endure, was infinitely preferable to the idea of… blinking out.

  That thought terrified me to my core. The mere possibility that all my experience, all my knowledge, joys, fears, and regrets would simply cease to exist while an uncaring universe moved on was most unsettling.

  The Book of the Lost Deaths hadn’t yet provided a rational answer to those questions, but it might remove the need for men to ask them in the first place. If it spoke the truth.

  I looked on as Mr. Devereaux read the book under a lamp’s glow. The street was nigh empty save for the both of us and a few lowlifes. The good and respected people of Paris already avoided the Belleville quarter for its poverty and insalubrity, and retreated with the sun to abandon the night to drunks, prostitutes not fancy enough for Montmartre, and ruffians. Few police sergeants bothered to visit this part of town, let alone intervene.

  This made it the perfect time and place to arrange a meeting with Marcel Devereaux, one of my book fences—and whose name I strongly suspected to be an alias. He was a man of impeccable taste and dress, with a neatly trimmed mustache flecked with silver, carefully combed hair folded under a hat, and the kind of tailored suit I would have expected from a well-born gentleman rather than a professional criminal. His green eyes flickered with amusement as he flipped through the Book of the Lost Deaths’ pages.

  “This is quite the odd book you’ve brought me, my friend,” he said upon closing the manuscript and returning it to me. “The flax paper used for the pages fit the methods used by pre-Islamic civilizations in the east, but the quality would indicate it was crafted yesterday.”

  “Would you believe me if I said it was likely centuries old?” I asked.

  My fence scoffed. “I would call you a liar, but color me intrigued. Where did you find this?”

  “It comes from the library of Henry Nelson.”

  “Nelson… from the fire during the siege?” Marcel stroked his chin. The mere fact that he found the name familiar surprised me. “I thought the Bureau had confiscated all of his acquisitions over the last decade.”

  I squinted in his direction. Mr. Devereaux didn’t need to tell me which Bureau he was referring to, and their mere mention spoke volumes about the illegal nature of the late Nelson’s bookstore. “I didn’t know he was famous.”

  “I wouldn’t call him famous… more like a near-forgotten curiosity. I’d heard rumors that Nelson trafficked with Russian mystics, African witch doctors, and other people of ill repute. Some collectors paid good money to put their hands on books that didn’t burn with his library, only for the Bureau to take them back.”

  My eyes widened slightly. Henry Nelson was a book-seller and a collector, most of which had burned with his library. Could his occupation have been a front to gather occult grimoires and other artifacts? That would explain why the Bureau confiscated his work.

  “I suppose an empty notebook did not seem worth the effort.” I could imagine why, since Mr. Devereaux didn’t mention the Death entries. I only reveal the truth to my master, the book had said. It showed clueless readers only what it wanted them to see. “I would like to learn more about Nelson, since some of his contacts might still be alive. Could you gather information on my behalf?”

  “Yes… but not for free.”

  I frowned. I’d feared as much. “How much do you want?”

  “That will depend on the work required of me. Maybe a few francs, or a service to be decided at a later date.” The man’s smile had all the sweetness of rancid butter. “I’ve heard that you’re a well-regarded student at the Sorbonne and already assisted a teacher in a surgery.”

  “You are well-informed.” Of course this kind of person investigated those they worked with. The wrong or clueless customer risked exposing them to authorities. “Do you require my skills?”

  “Not yet,” the man replied. “Maybe not ever; but there might come a time when I will knock on your door and ask for your assistance. Should that time ever come, you will assent to my request and you won’t ask questions.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  In short, he would either ask me to participate in a crime or assist in a similar enterprise. I was wary of agreeing to that kind of bargain, but I had little choice. Trustworthy contacts were few and far between in our field. I didn’t have the luxury of haggling.

  “Very well,” I consented. “A favor for a favor.”

  “A pleasure then. I will come back to you once I learn more.” Mr. Devereaux coughed. “I must issue a warning, however. If you fly too close to the sun like Icarus, you’ll only get burned.”

  I smiled. “That’s not the moral I took from that tale.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “And which lesson did you learn from it then?”

  “That men could fly if they put their minds to it.”

  He chuckled, and I watched him disappear into the darkness of Belleville soon after. I hoped he would prove true to his word. The asylum was legally required to disclose an inmate’s death to the authorities as soon as possible, and if my suspicions were correct, then it was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate Henry’s demise.

  I did not leave Belleville yet, however. I had another reason to set our meeting here, as the Book of the Lost Deaths had promised me a ‘dark miracle’ if I waited long enough.

  And so did I, for the Lord knew how long. I stood in the cold near the streetlight, waving off whores and drunks alike, keeping to the shadows. I couldn’t tell if I waited for hours or minutes, but I eventually sensed the Book of the Lost Deaths faintly shuddering in my hands in what could pass for trepidation.

  I heard the sound of horse hooves hitting stones.

  I turned to look at a black carriage advancing on the road. It looked normal at first glance, almost ordinary, but that illusion lasted until it passed under the light. My heart pounded so hard in my chest that I thought I would have a stroke.

  This was a coach of the dead.

  The two horses pulling it were little more than walking corpses with sunken eyes, their hides stretching over fleshless bones. I had no idea how they could pull anything without collapsing dead on the ground. The coachman himself looked no better, with pallid skin and the bluish fingers of a dead man. His hat barely hid a set of black holes devoid of life where the eyes should have been, and I could hear his vertebrae hiss when he turned to stare at me.

  I wasn’t the kind of mind to be easily frightened, but I found the sight so unsettling that I avoided the coachman’s gaze. The carriage continued without pausing for a few meters and then stopped to take a drunkard waving at it with a bottle.

  I dared to take a peek at the vehicle. Its surface was black and its interior was hidden behind windows adorned with crimson curtains. I didn’t see any joints linking the wheels to the rest of the structure, as if the entire vehicle formed a single whole. If the drunkard noticed that detail—or the corpse-like driver for that matter—he didn’t show it and opened the door wide enough for me to catch a glimpse of the inside. It seemed normal at first glance, with four passenger seats… except for one small anomaly.

  The door had teeth for locks.

  By the time I realized what kind of abomination I’d stumbled onto, it was already too late. The drunkard had walked inside and the door closed on him. The corpse-horses carried the carriage away into the dark soon after with a condemned passenger.

  I’d always believed in the supernatural, or rather, in phenomena that science could not yet explain, but that… that thing defied nature itself. I’d faced a true monster of legends, and no one noticed. None of the ruffians in the street so much as blinked at this crew of the dead. This entity hid its true nature from them all, while I’d been blessed with the truth.

  I opened the Lost Deaths and wrote the question burning on my mind: “What was that creature?”

  “The Coach-Eater,” the book replied. “The lesser death by carriage, servant of the Hecatomb of Misfortune. Such is the beast whose blood you must obtain if you covet the power of a Chassemort.”

  A Chassemort? A death-hunter? I supposed it would be an appropriate title for someone following this book’s guidelines. It called itself a guide to murdering Mortalities, after all.

  Nonetheless, why would I need this creature’s blood? I didn’t even have to write this question before the book answered it for me.

  “I have opened your eyes to the hidden truth, but to step through the threshold of true magic requires greater dedication and sacrifice. To refine your body into that of a sorcerer and connect to the Web of Life, you must undergo the Nigredo: the blackness and putrefaction that comes from feeding on death itself.”

  I’d read enough censored alchemy books to recognize the word Nigredo for the first step in creating the legendary Philosopher’s Stone, a device said to grant immortality. However, the Lost Deaths spoke of refining my body instead of a substance.

  “This is but the first step of a long journey, isn’t it?” I wrote into the book. “Do you expect me to become a Philosopher’s Stone?”

  “Like any other substance, the human body and mind can be perfected,” it replied. “True immortality will only be achieved once all Mortalities will have been exterminated, but imperishable youth and immense power are nonetheless within your grasp.”

  I could read between the lines: I had to seize the power of magic from this demon the same way Prometheus stole fire from the gods.

  I wasn’t foolish enough to take the book’s promises of power and youth at face value, but if half of what it said was true… nay, I was simply too curious to turn back now. I had taken a peek behind the curtain and now craved to see more.

  “How do I kill this creature?” I asked the book. “You said I required magic to kill death. How can I do that if I can only gain magic by slaying it first?”

  “A lesser death like this one will perish like any other beast, through guile or strength.”

  “I would have preferred detailed steps,” I retorted.

  Its answer disappointed me. “I am a guide to immortality and hunting down Mortalities, but the path I offer is fraught with peril. I will not teach my secrets to an unworthy master. The Coach-Eater’s death, thus, I demand as proof of your skills.”

  My jaw clenched in frustration. “What of your former master’s inheritance then? Or this Ankou Society you mentioned?”

  “All will be revealed once you undergo the rite.”

  I snapped the book shut. I was tempted to threaten it with burned pages to force it to reveal its secrets, but I had the intuition it would backfire. A magical artifact capable of altering the perception of others could easily slip through my grasp at any point. I couldn’t let this one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn the truth about death slip through my grasp.

  Moreover… to be honest with myself, I would have hunted down that Coach-Eater for free anyway; both because a monster like that one shouldn’t exist in the first place, and because its mere existence drove me to intense curiosity.

  The hunt was on.

  (access to advance chapters, arts and other bonuses)

  My Amazon if you wanna check my other books

  on Tapas

  Thanks to my patrons on :

  Andriy Karpus Thejasvi Prahlad Taccohunter Brian Mccarthy Steph mightyMiso ?a?an O'san Prem Chanumalla M Plaszczykov Shaun norden C?me Roy Pear Adrian Castillo Luis Hernandez sageco ProxReader Fritz Kühn Seth Baker Armani Mena Federico Randy FaronAan John Lim Rom Yaskant Cap'nSmurfy Max Schneider Bombastic101 SovereignDag Roma Ivanets CrossingInk ryan dougherty krakan delux Warren (Stephen) Rose Jay David Andrew B Alexander Sampson Blitzcread Maxime Bray Brendan D. King John Baugher Colonel Doloryas RA Lizy Flore Alexzendor Misra Charles Konstantin eeee elforo Pius Tumwebaze Lemky Wilfire Costaud 3107 Zomboss Zonbikirā DatUser higby Adrian Wright SirDeP Josh schneefhoove Exal DKM Mike Baker MomentarilyDisabled Julio Leite Lord Voldemorty industriousrevolution Almander Shrigma Aleck E. S.P AMERICUH Montana Peter Parker Maxum Tristan Koyamatsu Publius Decius Mus Syom Trasen56 RepossessedSoul Josiah Henderson Keith Rowland Kingman ioajfidsnmfomds77 CentaureHeart Endre Mitchell Nobody Matthew Mocias I Eat Pain Legogredo AnimeKay king ramp GloryHound Arnoud Diego Villa Flufflez Matthew Escobar CJ Tamberella Leonardo Yang General Mustard Joseph Abrathat AL Zaid Hyasat Vincent Mourey Spoop Reno BetterMike Charlie Burstiner Emil Takman Matthew Collins Abbie TPG bingus1234 Sleep J. K. Mohamed William Keith Sean Coker Patrick Booth Terv Jay Dune Black Pranshu Dhungana Yuval Roth Dorian Hampton Mmaze Jeff G Aaron U'Ren Mr. Nut undercoverducky Shadow Wing Rainer Jenning Runaway_Cactuar chidera onwuegbu MoEl Christopher Hahn Maria Cobos Mateos Arjun Aletty Eric M MadAdder FirstKingofthePotatoes Tinman Nithhogg Mason Kamer Guessed Dr. Rage Lonnie Tanay Singhvi wahtique Carlos Robert Tylena Simmonds Zharele Thomas Block Monster M Alec Ruth Okman202 Lol Isaac Mcdonald dogmaster20070 Suer Garret Chris Briar hannah922 John Hyland Mikael Markus Malex Seth P Jay Halfcrzy Nicholas Martin dxpt12 Hex Federico Bellavista Andreas Toffi coffe Dylan Alexander Matthew Flowers Tom Scheibe Tri Turtar Silim Eric S Chillitsagame Nasa Wofford Paul Kowalski Raymond Dillon Regan Santiago Cortes CaptainFlowers locky 0gain antares48 Dylan Crawford Colin Love Marquel Miles TenDust8752 Veraenderer Hussar L Karl Marc Berkowicz Arxigal noises Leyse Jacob Ward Diego Urbina R3ad Jeff Israel bobnob Aluereon Arthur Ibanda Jimmy J.K. Dixon Gao Lukasz Podgorski H Jayel Savaris Sqishy AirjellyFish Vertdure Bazoo juanmi Miles Larson George R Ceagle TheLazerCat TMKnight Nomad Myrrdin Sarcastic Traitor Kris Bruns Joshua Lau Nicholas Al Capone Roberto Tomás Jesper L?mo-Hansen Igor S. Carvalho mark harrell Robert Whitaker Mai0e TGZ Samuel Patterson Carlos Torres Rrazy HonestMan Shadeepta Deggo36 Alexander Ksendzov jak0b Benjamin Hermes The Tallest Tree Nicholas Hoekstra Stultus Yi xiu DB Alidraco richard wechsler Hunter LostOx Droog mea Doctor Zero Ozzy Randall Wald J T Lord Freezy Pop Jujuan tillery Dawil3000 Evan Fleischer Joel Magnuson Adam Jordy Broussard David Cullen John Ness Janwardha Maulana Vaulex PalmTrees Cd Lluis Jimenez Puig Chri Andrew Moreton Angus Losier SCout75 Sam Kyle Badello Trisper Brennon Shippee Halesmash Ali Cattell Gres Om V Julian Hinck Connor McCaul Joseph Barratt Francisco Rosado Pradian Darrel Kincade Joseph Duchesne Ramapriya Rangaraju Skinnybonz Michael Chermside Joseph Klos Innes PizzaNachos PcKc Xophos Justin Huddleston Kiru hunter117x Joshua Thompson Mike222 Tamás Bodnár Harry John Young Jio TheBlackfirebird Blaize Haynes Garrett Smith B1w2c3 Graham Hildebrandt Dirk Kefferpütz Elijah Tan tdb Stoney06 Dimitar Slavchev Django munkasir masud Darth Bayes Dr_Njitram Jukka V?limaa Morgan D Kauffman Elros Notcreepycreeper BoadBoad Trausti Sigurgeirsson Brett Labat thomas flipsen Alex Timothy Smith James Ryan Porcine Pirate Bernardino Campa IV boo Christopher Walker Christopher Sigmann EmliTGM Ikit Claw Orion1024 Tim Joseph Dumol padanu SundayGlasses Raphael Mengha Duco Van der Ploeg Treeman4 cadis R. B. Ezo Caleb Smith Kaleb Orduno Ethan Chen Ted Berkowitz My name is Klondike Kooooomakimi P enyuk Ran Rain song gemer Disclancer Luke Delakar John Pratt Eddie Epiphaner Chris Ferguson Dallas Gillespie BlueGraine Wei b0urne78 Frostbound slammer evan peat Niloc Necrologist Iwritestrangethings Alexander Rodriguez Adrien Matricon Slim Dakhch Miran RandomAnkle Adwait Gautam andrew barnes Dirkk Diggler Jeremy Engelberg Clawseeker Sterban Friz DHNightshadow Trucinox JohnFish Impetusin TheFool HeavenDragon Cal Fiala Jarrod Young Sir Sloth Josh Enterman Pride Ricardian Timothy Felker S T Deepsealife Grosbilljunior Loki Gianni Ghiribelli Josh Delgado42 ScottDR Contractk4 Matt Hollowlce Adrian Engel Massgamer T T Deinos AlthePal Rectum Amaury Valcry Charlie Ivan Kal Thundabear95 Adam Johnston Heikki Aitakangas Richard Lee Erik Aleksander Z Dietz Djinn Kite7 Michael S. evilperson41 Josh Turple edmuck Dalton Cade Spence mhaj58 William Johnson John Evans HarbingTarbl KilledbyBooks Guy Incognito HenryMorgan Andreas H. Conor lennon ExtraKeys202 Spartanstoryteller MasterofNova Walter Sam Paley Bob of Doom Kody Ihnat Puri Iresan morganmoll Jdosnoen Maalsc TTG Siphor Nikhil Majumdar glare31337 Slipperyfish Birbman Jonathan Spaulding H. Scott Taylor Tilbury Ashley Cameron Tate Browder Ryan Trueman Chris Mezmer Roden Alex Lindsay Sadinar Daniel Everest Ausner Gentil Kyle Reese Zach Svarog Peter Christensen-Calvin Matteo Viktor D victorious Maxwell Margetts Hulg Gohen Karthic PbookR John Carroll Parker Groseclose Zack Grog_Guy Marc Claude Louis Durand Rhodri Thornber Dax