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The zombie was standing on the corner, dressed in his graveyard best and looking a little down. I pulled over to give him a ride. “I’d appreciate it if you could direct me to Piedmont Avenue, son,” he said through the rolled-down window. It’s a ’57 Bel Air, a sky-blue creature of another era; I was hoping it had enough metaphorical oomph to launch me on a slipside trip. The dead gentleman was a good sign. “I seem to have gotten myself disoriented,” he continued. “The Fox Theatre is where I expected, but what about the Ford building?” Late-riser, I thought. He wore a wide-shouldered four-buttoned suit, a tasteful take on snazzy that I put at around 1930. “Gone.” I shook my head, wondering how to explain the last seventy years of Atlanta. He held up a hand; his skin was blackened and shrunk onto the bone, kind of a mummified look. “Gone like I should be?” He pursed his lips, then swung the car door open. “Don’t worry yourself trying to break it to me easy. A man doesn’t climb out of his own coffin without suspecting that something’s changed.” “How’d that go?” I asked. Turning undead is rare and usually quick, before they can get the body in the ground. Still, I’ve had a horror of waking up in a casket ever since reading Poe. He slipped onto the bench seat with a sigh. “Not too bad. They were moving my grave—illegal as hell, I don’t doubt—and my casket was right on the surface when I woke up.” He closed the door and I pulled out from the curb. He smelled clean, to my relief, just a faint tang of earth and salt. “So who are you? Some new-fangled Charon, on wheels instead of water? Daniel Hartwell’s the name,” he added. “In case you didn’t already know.” “I didn’t and I’m not, in reverse order,” I said. “I’m Bryon Mandrake.” I smiled, feeling sheepish. “Actually I’m looking for the love of my life tonight.” “And you picked me up?” He laughed, a wheezy but pleasant sound. I laughed too, feeling the wind in my hair as I floored it down Ponce, whipping past the ’Hot Donuts Now’ sign flashing in the Krispy Kreme. “I wouldn’t mind a little company on the way,” I said. Misleading, but I wasn’t yet comfortable asking for his help.  He looked at me with surprisingly well-preserved eyes, a disbelieving glance. He reminded me of my father, always feeling for the undercurrents. “I was in love once,” the zombie said. He smiled, a lopsided curve to the right. “Can’t say it ended well.” I didn’t say anything; male emotion made me feel awkward, like a gawky teenager with nothing to say. I’d meant the comment about finding love to sound breezy, the ultimate joke, even though it was completely true. The street signs were becoming less familiar and I hung a left at a flashing purple stoplight. I knew to follow the circles of incongruity; they wound up and around our destination like a mobius strip. “I smelled her perfume tonight I’m sure,” the zombie continued. I couldn’t seem to think of him as Daniel, or even Mr. Hartwell and it disturbed me; I’d never thought of myself as a discriminator against the dead. “Mai, it was called, sweet, almost musky. I think that’s what woke me up.” “What happened to her?” I asked. “The kempai-tai took her.” He looked away. “That doesn’t sound very Southern.” I turned at a sign advertising ’Hot Buttered Grockets’ and sped past a row of small dark houses. “Not even southern Japan,” he said. “Tokyo. I was there in 1923, just after the earthquake. Risako didn’t seem to mind that I was ‘gaijin.’” He laughed. “She probably preferred it. She never met a tradition she didn’t want to smash.” I kept my eyes on the road and turned at a shimmying street sign. Behind every zombie is a tragic love story, at least according to legend, but I wasn’t sure how to comfort the dead. Daniel sighed but I needn’t have worried; ’30s-era men were stoic. “The kempai-tai were the secret police, Hirohito’s men. The last time I saw her was in the back of Lieutenant Amakasu’s limousine.” The road curved around to the right and I felt a tug on the wheel as the asphalt changed to something older and smoother. I clenched my fingers, momentarily peeved, wondering if my father was greasing the way. Did he think I couldn’t make the crossing myself? I slowed down and the Majestic Diner slid past on the left, exuding deep fat fumes. Daniel saw it and nodded, distracted from his story. “I should have known that place extended to every plain of existence.” The diner was looking a little stranger every time I saw it; tonight I could see hunched figures at the counter and plates that shook and wiggled. “Looks like I might fit in here,” he said, smiling. “How about you drop me off now, son?” His request caught me off guard, no excuse ready. My heart raced but I put on my blinker and got ready to turn at the light. Before I could turn another car pulled out of the lot, a stretched classic auto just like he’d described. “What type of car did that Amakasu have?” I asked. The slipside is like that; passion can induce propinquity. He looked at me inquiringly. “A Crossley Canberra, with the driver’s side on the right. English.” He followed my gaze then leaned toward me urgently. His skin looked papery, ashen in the passing streetlights. “Can you follow it?” I sped up but the limo was already disappearing round the corner. We shot round after it; it was gone, but the whole of the twisted city appeared above us, curving s-shaped across the base of a slope-shouldered mesa. I put the pedal to the floor and hit the next corner fast, earning a smile from Daniel. Taillights winked at us and we saw a flash of silver as of a fast car passing under a streetlamp. We gained on it slightly, then lost a little more, speeding upward past parks and shops and weird bright houses. Like a will-o-the-wisp it led us on; the thought connected and I nearly hit the brakes. My family specializes in mirages, the spirit-reading type that manifest just what a person wants to see. “I don’t think we need to catch it,” I said. My suspicion that my father was watching, manipulating Daniel, was on the tip of my tongue. Don’t be such a child, I told myself before I could say another word. Take his help. This image might be false but things would be different at the ceremony. Besides, I thought, if I couldn’t tell one single white lie, then maybe I wasn’t ready for a wife. “I’ve got to be honest with you,” I said feeling duplicitous, “I think that car is taking Risako to the temple.” Daniel looked at me warily. “And where is that?” he asked. I pointed up through the windshield. The city wound back and forth for a distance yet above us, strung through the forest like Christmas lights. Above the tree line the road continued for several miles, dead-ending in a spike-roofed shrine. “The Sanctuary of Tuulikki. The Autumn Festival is tonight.“ I ventured a little further, watching his face. ”I need your help to pay the entry toll.” “What does it have to do with me?” Daniel asked. “Am I some kind of sacrifice, a burnt offering to get you through the gate? He clenched his jaw; it toughened his face and I could see the sharp edges of the depression survivor underneath. “If I needed a burnt offering I would have stopped by a crematorium.” I swallowed; it was hard to discuss the sanctuary’s mysteries with an outsider, and not something that should be done angry. “The price of admission is a love gone wrong, and the willingness to fix it.” This part was absolutely true and my stomach un-clenched. “And you haven’t got one of your own?” Daniel smiled now and leaned back against the seat rest. “I’ve got one of those, to be sure, if Scheherazade up there wants a tale.” “I don’t see it though,” he continued. “You seem like a nice young man and I’d like you get your girl but how does my love story pay your price?” I returned my attention to the road, feeling hope rising. The Goddess was always about helping pairs: parent and child, man and wife, brothers in arms, friends in need. I babbled about this as the last row of shops disappeared behind us, embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t allowed to know the rites in advance. The road grew dark except for our headlights. We were nearing the top of the mesa; the turns were coming faster and the air was colder. Daniel grunted. “So it’s a two-for-one offer, is it? I tell my story and if the great Goddess up there likes it, we each get our girl?” He stared out the window, breathing by habit I suppose, but nothing fogged the window. “Risako’s dead, you know.” He held his hand up as if admiring his shrunken fingers. “Just as well perhaps.” He turned to me with a questioning look. “So why do you need to pay this toll? Why can’t your lady friend come meet you out here?” I felt myself turning red. There weren’t many manifestations of my nature, nothing obvious with clothes on. Without, of course, was different. One reason why I had no love stories to tell. “I’m a mandrake,” I said. I fiddled with the dashboard. “I told you that.” “What does that mean? I thought that was your family name.” I laughed. “Genus, actually. The family name is Solanaceae.” I left out its translation, Deadly Nightshade. No need to spook him again. “You’re a plant?” Daniel asked. He sounded bemused and I could see him looking me up and down. “Tree,” I said, “in my native form at least. Mandragora arboratum.” I was glad I was driving; I would have hated this conversation in the light. There were obvious differences if you looked for them: a barky texture to my skin, especially around the elbows, a certain greenish tint when standing in the sun. “So what? If you can hike up your roots and travel, why not her?” “She hasn’t really been born yet.” He smiled. “A younger woman, I see.” We turned the final bend and came out of the trees. The road ran along a cliff-edge; the drop was startlingly sheer and I clutched the wheel a little tighter. “Not exactly,” I said. “Her parents seeded her at the temple twenty years ago, just after my parents had me.” I decided to skip the ’making the seed’ process. “Girls spend their first twenty years germinating underground.” Daniel laughed. “I always suspected as much.” “Males grow up mobile,” I continued. I jiggled my leg thankful I wasn’t rooted in place. I looked ahead at the Sanctuary; it was still nearly a mile away but it looked enormous. “The ceremony will pull her out of the ground and give her legs to walk. If everything goes right.” “What if you don’t like her?” Daniel asked. He peered out the window, taking in the panoramic view down the cliffside. “What if you meet someone you like better?” I scrunched my face. “There isn’t anyone else to meet. There aren’t very many of us. The next girl won’t be ready for five years and she’s promised to my cousin.” We pulled up before the gate. A pair of creatures, five feet tall and banded like armadillos, scurried out of the entrance. I recognized them from my childhood, from days that I had spent while my parents attended rites inside. I stepped out of the car and nodded to them, walking forward carefully on the crunching gravel. Daniel followed, looking up at the archway that loomed over and around us. A smell of greenery blew through the curving passage in front of us. A stone ledger slid out of the wall as we approached, the top half covered in a complex script I hadn’t yet learned to read. I grabbed the stylus and signed on the left, the recipient’s side my father had said. The pen bit into the granite page, cutting through it like quicksand. “And I have to assume my Risako is inside?” Daniel asked. “I didn’t see that car outside.” “I know you’re new to this,” I said, trying to understand his fears. The night was getting darker, though, and I was worried about the time. I’d been strictly instructed to be through the gate by midnight and I had no idea how long Daniel’s part would take. I didn’t know what else to say to him. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me, or not.” He shook his head slowly, a gesture that reminded me of old movies. ”I’m a good judge of character, and I think you do mean well.” He took the pen from me, signing quickly on the right as if before he could stop himself. “What’s the worst that could happen anyway? I’m already dead.” I half expected the passage to close behind us, trapping us inside the massive gate. Nothing happened and after a minute we moved on, heading down the passage. The gate had seemed short before, the courtyard just on the other side, but it seemed now to recede with every step. The ceiling stayed high, out of range of the few bare bulbs clipped along the way. The walls however grew narrower, interrupted by twists of stone that came down from the ceiling like roots. “Are you feeling herded yet?” Daniel asked. “It’s better than feeling lost, isn’t it?” I hoped he wasn’t considering backing out. Far behind us I saw the lights start winking out, hiding the return trail. Slowly I became aware of a small door a little further down the passage. I wasn’t sure if it had just opened, or if a light had turned on, or if it had been there all along. A mist swirled out of the bottom of the door; not a spectral or eerie mist, but a fog like that of an industrial city. “I’d know that smell anywhere.” Daniel laughed. “But it’s not what I was expecting.” I took a deep breath too; it smelled like earth and sewer and something strange, like ginger rotting. I followed him through the door and felt a wrench, a double-spaced gap like the skipping of a heartbeat.  We stood on a small rise, a stone path beneath our feet. Fog licked our ankles and clustered more thickly at the base of the hill. A donkey plodded by, pulling a cart and driver; the smell intensified, then passed. “Honey wagon,” Daniel said, nodding at it as it passed. “Good euphemism, I always thought.” “Where are we?” “Tokyo, it’s got to be.” He pointed to a stretch of greenery down and to the right. “Meiji Park. Risako lived down there.” He crooked a smile. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” We started walking, following the wagon down the hill. The sloped-roof houses on either side of the street looked shaken and fire-damaged, but most of the rubble had been cleared from the street. “Looks like we’ve arrived after the earthquake.” He fell silent. “It’s September 16, then, if it’s my little tragedy you’re after.” By the time we reached the bottom of the hill the sun was already burning off the mist. Up ahead I could see an apartment complex, three-stories high and looking relatively intact. Small balconies dotted its face; a few had railings missing. “What were you doing over here?” I asked. “Engineer. I worked at an American port firm for a while then helped with the water mains after the quake. More people died from fire and disease than ever died in the tremors.” A door near the base of the apartment opened and a few people came out: two men, simply dressed, followed by a woman with a basket. “Is that her?” I asked, as she came closer. Daniel snorted. “Wearing long skirts and carrying a basket? Not Risako.” The door opened again and another woman came out. She wore her hair surprisingly short and she walked with quick assurance. “That’s her,” Daniel said. He brightened palpably. “She looks so real, so healthy. Has your Goddess sent us back to change what happened?” I didn’t know what was possible but that seemed unlikely. She crossed the street and came straight for us. I was nervous, wondering how we would appear. She stopped right before us and bowed slightly to me before turning to Daniel. “You’re finally here,” she said. Her English was perfect, just a trace of an accent. “I’ve come to warn you,” Daniel said. “Risako—” She interrupted. “Call me Risa. Ko denotes a child.” “What do your parents have to say about that?” Daniel asked. He leaned toward her, more like a tropism than a touch. “They don’t talk to the dead, Daniel,” she said, mocking him gently. He took it well. “Ah. That’s what I’d heard. I just thought,” he waved a hand at the surroundings, “maybe I’d come back to you that day.” “No,” she said. “I’ll show you what you came back for.” The air shimmered; my father would have appreciated the speed with which she was moving to the point. When my vision settled we were in a small windowless cell. A futon lay on the floor and the air smelled of sweat and misery. The door burst open and an officer threw a Risako-double in. They took no notice of us; we’d turned to shadows in their presence. “That’s Amakasu,” said Risako. “The police blame the fires, the chaos, on anyone who’s different. They take advantage of the disaster to clear out all the deviants who disturb them.” She watched impassively as the policeman beat and kicked her solid self; I winced with every blow. “Ito Noe, Sakae Osugi, even little Tachebana Munekazu: they all died this way that day.” “And you,” I asked. “Did you die too?” “Do you know the definition of a ghost?” Her other self lay on the floor. The policeman squatted down and wrapped his fingers around her throat. I shook my head. “Ghosts are people who see their death.” She fingered her neck in unconscious sympathy. “Like me. People who see their death and won’t go through with it.” “No one wants you to go through with it!” Daniel looked acutely ill, an achievement for a zombie. He grabbed at the policeman but his hands just stirred the air. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “How many times did I warn you, tell you to be more traditional, to keep safe?” “Too many.” She raised a hand to his chest, touching him gently. A light shimmered around her hand, faintly outlining it. “I believe you, and that’s the problem. I can’t go through with this if I think my life was wrong. I need you to say I was right,” she said. She curled her hand around the light in her palm; she looked darker in comparison. “Give me a ribbon of this, a piece to hold onto. I can do it then.” “What are you talking about Risa?” Daniel asked. He looked confused, as if the voice didn’t match the words he expected in his head. She opened her hand; a small silver knife lay in it. “Cut yourself.” She stroked his neck, drawing his eye downward to the silvery sheen that pulsed in the V of his neck. “I know you love me. Only true love can bring a soul so close to the surface.” Daniel was motionless. “Bryon, help me,” Risako said. I started at the sound of my name but I agreed with her. It would be hell to stand here, to watch your death over and over again, to search for the courage to move through it. I thought Daniel would weaken. Surely he would give her a little strip of soul, if that was what she needed to move on. He shook his head violently. “Absolutely not! I will not be the cause of your death.” Risako looked anguished. I felt a sudden heaviness in my right hand; I looked down and saw the knife. She drew him close; they stood face-to-face ignoring me. He was already dead; how could it hurt? I touched his shoulder. He turned, scowling, and I sank the knife into his throat. It penetrated with a pop, a slight resistance. His soul still lingered at the surface from her touch; it oozed around the blade, dripping from his neck like beads of mercury. The sides dropped out of the world. I gasped and flung out my hands to break the fall. Arms caught me before I could hit whatever floor there was and I heard a familiar voice. I opened my eyes to see my father leaning over me. Two of my cousins held Daniel; white fluid continued to drip from his chest. He seemed dazed, unresisting as they milked the fluid into a small stone dish. “Well done, son,” my father said. He looked proud, as if I’d done something right and difficult. “Slippery things, souls. So hard to get them to show themselves. He put an arm around my shoulder and took the knife out of my hand; I felt ill and used, but didn’t back away. My uncle stepped through the door. He wore his red ceremonial robes, the ones I’d played in as a kid. He beamed at me and turned to my father. “Took him less time than Seamat’s son, eh?” Moonlight shone through a door in the far wall revealing a small chamber. The floor was formed of roots, twisted in eye-catching designs and planed flat. “Still no time to waste,” my father said. “It’s a dog’s job to get these girls out of bed sometimes.” They guided me to the door. I felt like a toddler, weak-kneed, with adults making incomprehensible decisions around me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my cousins dragging Daniel out behind me. I locked my knees at the threshold and refused to take another step. “What happened?” I demanded. “What about Risako? Was that all one of your mirages?” My uncle threw my father a sympathetic look and moved past us into the courtyard. My father drew me to one side and motioned the others through. I pushed away and stood upright. He looked hurt and my heartstrings twisted. “It wasn’t my mirage, Bryon. I helped a little at the end but the rest was yours. Your first.” “Mine?” I asked aghast. “I pulled that scene from his mind and made it seem real?” I felt ill; I’d never liked my family’s power, had assumed it was something learned, not inherited. “No one’s told ahead of time,” he said. “The first hunt’s hard enough without having to hide your true intentions.” I wanted to ask what he meant by ’first’ but his voice got gruff and I could feel a ’facts of life’ speech coming on. “I know it’s hard Bryon, but it’s the only way to raise that girl of yours.” He pointed through the door; I saw a ring of great trees, thick-barked and reaching for the sky. “Do you want to spend the rest of your lives like these ancients, planted in the garden?” He softened suddenly and I wondered if I looked stricken. “One soul to animate your future wife. Isn’t she worth that price?” I nodded, remembering Daniel’s glow when Risako first appeared. My father clasped my hand and I followed him into the courtyard. It was already done in any case. There was no point stopping now. The courtyard was vast, larger than it had seemed from inside. The grass beneath my feet was springy, spreading between the trees to wrap around a circular stone wall. My extended family, every male within three generations, had taken a place by the harvest bed. They started a low chant, similar to a temple song I knew. My hear beat a little faster, looking at the rich dirt inside it. My intended, my one true love was just beneath the surface ready to emerge. “Are you ready?” my father asked. I nodded and we stepped to opposite sides of the perimeter one hundred and eight degrees apart. My uncle approached; he held a robe, bright white, and helped me into it. I turned back to see my father holding out a wide double-edged sword. My uncle leaned forward and whispered that I was supposed to inscribe a double circle with it halfway to the centre. I crossed the bed and took the sword, wondering if it was polite to walk above my intended’s head. Nothing stirred beneath the soil yet, though, so I trusted she was undisturbed. I took the sword from my father and bowed; he looked proud and relieved. Halfway through the second circle I caught sight of Daniel. He was sitting up, his back against a tree and a rope halter around his shoulders. He looked more alert but still drained, undone. I finished the inscription feeling guilty. The chanting intensified and I returned to my place in the circle. My uncle stayed by my side, guiding me through the complex series of prayers and motions and calls. I had nearly forgotten Daniel again when one of my cousins broke from the circle and fetched him. He shambled between them, looking more like a caricature of the living dead than the gentleman I’d known; intelligence still sparked in his eyes but despair seemed to have overwhelmed his limbs. Four other relatives, one who I barely recognized, stepped forward them with thin shovels. They dug along the inscribed circle, deepening it slowly and carefully. I was nervous, watching; did they know exactly where she was? There seemed to be no problem, though, and they all stepped back after accomplishing a three-foot trench. My father stepped down and kneeled before the trench. I expected another round of prayers but instead he thrust his arms into the earth. He kept pushing and the dirt gave way before his mandrake arms. He felt this way then that; my excitement rose with every minute. A grin crossed my dad’s face, making him look younger than I’d ever seen. “’I’ve got her!” My cousin brought him the end of the zombie’s harness. He worked the rope beneath the earth. I was puzzled until I realized that he must be threading it beneath her shoulders. “You’re going to make him pull her out?” I said. “That’s obscene. Hasn’t he given enough tonight?” My father continued fixing Daniel’s harness. “We used to use dogs for this,” he said. “It kills them, of course. Is that what you want, for us to go get Natty’s pup?” I shook my head; I couldn’t bear to see another creature hurt tonight. “It’s not going to kill Daniel, is it?” My uncle broke in. “It’s better this way. He’s just a husk without a soul.” I took that for a yes. “He’s already dead, for Tuulikki’s sake,” my father said. “What’s wrong with putting him back in the ground?” “It’s nearly midnight,” my uncle said, quieting us both. He handed me a pair of earplugs, thick wax. I thought he just meant to stop the argument until I realized that everyone was putting them in. “What’s this for?” “The screaming. It’s very important that you don’t hear it.” He leaned toward me, his round face serious. “This is a transformation, Bryon, and it can go either way. Pull her up or she will pull you under. The ceremony seemed to be reaching a climax: the rest of the gathering took their places around the circle, eyes closed in prayer for a successful harvest. My father crossed to the centre of the circle and motioned for me to join him. He held forth the stone dish and retreated after I took it, ignoring my look of distaste with its silver contents. I knelt on the soil and held the dish, wishing that my hands would stop trembling. I looked at Daniel, just on the edge of the circle. “I’m sorry.” “Good, you should be. Don’t put those earplugs in,” he said. “That’s my only advice.” For a moment I wondered if he hoped the screams would injure me. He almost smiled, that lopsided look of his, and I know he wanted me to wonder. “I did that with Risa, that’s why,” he said. “Not literally, of course. But I wish that I had listened more and lectured less.” My father opened his eyes and looked immediately annoyed. He gestured, a forward motion—just spill the dish. I felt even worse than before. “It was a trick, Daniel. She was never there. You were just talking to yourself, or to me.” My father motioned again, this time at the stars. Time must be running out. Daniel shook his head. “No. There’s more to it than that. I know what my Risa feels like.” He shook his head, a look of wonder on his face. “There's more to your Goddess than you think right now, maybe. A price, a love, and something fixed.” He looked bone tired. “Spill it, Bryon. I want to die.” I did. It had gelled a little and poured slowly, hanging over the edge to drop into the soil in one thick clump. It puddled on the surface then sank into the ground. Daniel groaned. His face sucked inward down onto the bone and the earth shuddered. I waited for a scream, a shriek of birth or anger. All I heard was crying. It was quiet, not what I had expected. Almost silent, in fact, until you listened and then it overwhelmed. I looked at Daniel one last time. My cousins goaded him, forcing him forward in the harness like a mule. They were careful not to touch him, as if his burden was contagious. Each step forward brought a convulsion from the earth and a renewal of the cries. He said something, hard to hear over the voice, the pleas to stop. They drove him forward three more steps and something fine and willowy began to break the surface. I lost myself in that first look; a moment later I realized what he had said. “Where’s your mother?” he had asked. Home, home of course. Women wouldn’t come to this ceremony; they refused and I’d never known why. I felt my left hand turn to wood. A sense of gravity enveloped me and I tuned in only to the voice inside my head. I saw my uncle yelling “No, don’t let her pull you in.” They were wrong. I fell toward the force and was sucked both up and down. I felt roots extruding, felt branches reaching up, felt leaves sprouting as if spring came in one single minute. I wrapped around her, tight, and she sank into me: deeper, steady, right. Both male and female, the way a tree is meant to be. Perfect.
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