Something Grave: The Resurrectionists Series book two

by Leah Clifford

  They’re talking about Brandon. Except he didn’t end up abducted. Jamison gutted him in my boxcar. I latch onto another nugget of information. Our members out in Colorado.

  How many of these hunters are there across the States?

  “We figured he wouldn’t be missed. Everything was going perfect. The night I made the call, I set things up as if I threw a pool party. We accessed a body and arranged him beside the pool like he’d drowned. East waited upstairs for my signal. When Althea showed instead of Brandon, I wasn’t sure what to do. Corbin organized the buy so when she sent me for blankets, I called to ask if it’d be an issue to swap resurrectionists.” She’s awful cavalier for someone discussing human trafficking. “Jamison overheard, insisted we’d be wasting months of work on his part if we interfered with her. That’s when East told me she spooked and bolted through the back gate.”

  They were going to sell Allie.

  “Two resurrectionists slipping through our fingers? I assumed I screwed us,” she says, as I struggle to keep my composure. Nico crooks herself onto the desktop and settles, unperturbed by the conversation, clearly amused by her story. “Luckily, Corbin heard a rumor, an old guy not even on our radar. He lived in this cabin way out in the swamps.”

  The mystery of what happened to Jason Jourdain solves itself. That’s why there wasn’t a body. The hunters sold him.

  I need to call Allie, confess, warn her. Allie, Talia, and the rest of their Fissure’s Whipp cluster are in danger. I have the answer I came for.

  Canvasing the cramped room, I map each of the players in here, wagering who could do me the most damage. Zen, I decide. She’ll go for the jugular.

  East paces the area behind the desk, the window backlighting him while he rubs a brisk hand over his shaved scalp. Too much energy, I think. He’s waiting. He’s nervous.

  I need to go. Now. I play a dozen scenarios, cast them aside, and settle on storming out.

  “Why am I here?” I demand.

  Nico balks at my sudden attitude change. “Did I say something that—”

  East starts a slow saunter, as if to box me between him and his sister. “Cut the shit,” I snarl. I move aside to keep him in view. “Why am I here? You want my permission to sell Allie?”

  “Quinn, didn’t you tell him?” she asks in the perfect unsettling mix of genial and confused that gives the impression she’s in total control.

  Quinn squirms. “I didn’t know where to start,” he says. “He’s…” He squints at me and then breaks eye contact. “He’s got a temper.”

  “You’re scared of him?” East asks, chuckling as he ping-pongs between Quinn and me, clearly finding us both inferior. Nico shushes him like a wave reaching shore, habit more than threat.

  Then she snaps her fingers at Quinn. “What’ve you got on you?” she asks him.

  My own fingers spider closer to the knife at my waist. That horrid, uncertain feeling is back in my gut. They’re going to kill me. To get to Allie, or to get me out of the way, or just because.

  With a sigh, Quinn produces his wallet. He sweeps the contents and passes them to her with a grumble about her conveniently never carrying cash. The day I met Quinn he peeled me off first one fifty, then another, without batting an eye. A very, very large offer, Nico said.

  They sold Jason Jourdain and split the profit between them.

  “Real talk?” Nico folds the money from Quinn in half and tilts the thick stack toward me, more a gesture than an offer. “I’m going to ask you something and I don’t want you to sugarcoat your answer.”

  My nod is tight, neck muscles taut. “Okay,” I manage.

  “Do you think Jamison’s dead?”

  My fingers stray from my hip, the knife. I take a second to recalibrate. I point toward Quinn. “He tells me Jamison is missing and now you’re telling me he’s dead?”

  She pivots and rips Allie’s photo off the wall, not bothering to remove the tack first. A small sound of protest escapes Keeley. Nico ignores it.

  “This bitch knows what happened to Corbin at the least,” she says, letting the picture of Allie flutter to the desktop and then stabbing her fingertip into the empty foreground. “If I had to guess, she’s responsible for Jamison’s disappearing act as well. That never crossed your mind?”

  Her gaze is penetrating, unrelenting. I don’t dare break it. Here we go, I think.

  “He’s not missing. Is it weird he hasn’t called? Yes, but, I mean… He will call.” I drop my eyes to the scuffed wooden floor as if even considering he might be in trouble is a betrayal. “Jamison doesn’t check in with me. When he needs me, he finds me. He tells me what he wants done. I do it. I’m not his keeper. He wants me close to Allie, I’m staying close to Allie.”

  “You slept at her place.” It’s not a question.

  They’ve been watching me. How long? Quinn and I first talked three days ago. I mentally scan all of my movements since for anything incriminating. Aside from last night, Allie and I weren’t in public together. I was downtown busking both days. Did they follow me? They must have known where she lived, but I can’t shake the feeling I led them right to her.

  “I’ve been crashing at her place a couple nights a week since early summer,” I admit. I step toward the dark paneling, eager to have sturdy wood at my back.

  “And when you’re not there?” Nico asks.

  A rush of hot embarrassment burns my cheeks. I don’t have to fake it. “When I’m not at Allie’s, I live at the Boxcar Camp.”

  Keeley makes a sympathetic noise. At least I won’t have to explain.

  “Ploy,” Nico whispers. “No one’s judging you. We’re scared for you.”

  “Don’t be.” I don’t need their pity. “The camp’s not that bad.” I toe at a seam in the floorboards, the white of the shoes Allie bought me gathering a smudge of gray-brown dirt.

  “No,” Keeley says. “She means we’re scared for you having sleepovers at Allie’s. She’s dangerous.”

  I whip toward her, confused.

  “We’re not supposed to get close to them,” she says with a mythical intonement reserved for old horrors passed around campfires. Don’t go into the swamps at night, don’t pick up hitchhikers at crossroads, don’t get close to resurrectionists.

  “You did more than get close,” I say before I confront Nico again. “You think that’s why Corbin got taken? Or Jamison, if you’re right about him? Was it revenge? What happened to the resurrectionist you sold?”

  She pauses, considering it. “The guy we took, he was a homesteader. No visitors. We weren’t spotted before or after.” A strange hesitation passes across her face. “I suppose he could have escaped after the pickup and blabbed.”

  “He was alive?” I ask.

  Quinn runs a hand through his hair and then replaces his ball cap. “Yeah, had to be. It was in the terms.”

  I wonder if Jason Jourdain is still alive, being tortured the way Jamison planned to do to Allie, drained a syringe at a time, hurting and healing and broken. “Huh,” I say, attempting to sound uninterested. “You’re not sure what the guy wanted with him? Aside from blood?”

  Quinn shrugs.

  I should take the hint and drop it. “Could be they’re holding Corbin hostage for trade,” I offer. None of them seem interested in my theory.

  Nico weaves the blood-colored ends of her hair into a half-formed braid before she raises her head. “I’m not sure how close you and Jamison are. He mentions you a lot, but anytime I’ve encouraged him to bring you by or even asked simple questions about you, he shut down.” Her brow furrows. “You’re an enigma, Ploy. We don’t know why he kept you so hidden while preaching you were a brother to him. Any insight on that?”

  I shake my head. The heavy gazes of the others, braced and waiting to follow Nico’s lead on how I’m handled, weigh on me.

  “At any rate,” she says finally. “If the resurrectionists are killing us off, we decided you deserve a heads up.”

  It’s too easy. “You didn’t t
rack me down out of kindness,” I venture. “Spill it. What do you want from me?”

  “You’ve spent significant time with Allie,” Nico says. She leans forward slightly where she’s perched on the desk.

  Behind it, East crosses his massive arms over his chest. Any ebb in the tension disappears. “We’re going to need you to push her. Something happened after her aunt died. That’s when we last heard from Corbin and Jamison.” He pauses. “That fit your timeline?”

  I don’t trust my voice, so I nod instead.

  “We told Jamison, and we’ll tell you,” he says. “Y’all made your claim on Allie. We’re not here to botch your play, Ploy.”

  I picture Jamison defending Allie as his property, unwilling to budge because he moved in first. That’s what saved her life. I could have lost her then. “Noted,” I say.

  “But,” East goes on. “We need to find Corbin.”

  “What, like a body?” I ask. Allie got someone to clean up the scene at the farmhouse, scrub all traces of Jamison, his dead father. But I have no clue on the whereabouts of Corbin’s corpse.

  Nico surveys me expectantly, the wad of money still balanced on her knee. “If Jamison and Corbin are alive, we’re rescuing them. At any cost.” Her plea skews into anger. “You’re already in with her! Do you live up to your name or not?”

  “Wasn’t born with it,” I shoot back. “Right. I mean, yeah, I guess I could go through her stuff when she’s gone. Search for clues or something.” Even Keeley acts unimpressed with my offer. “I’ll reach out to Jamison and see if he answers. Again, I’m positive he’s fine.”

  I wonder if I can convince them I heard back, that Jamison lost trust in them and moved on. I’m watching Nico so intently I almost miss Zen’s flinch before the second girl explodes.

  “Bullshit,” she yells, drilling her finger into the air between us. “Jamison would never disappear like this. I bet you were too busy holed up with your zombie-making meal ticket to even notice he’s missing!”

  I’m not the only one startled by Zen’s outburst. Three of the four hunters are staring at her, gape jawed. Only Keeley seems unsurprised, patting Zen’s arm.

  “You barely know him,” I say.

  Her sudden smile is cruel. “I know him better than you think.”

  I can’t help my shock. What’s written over Zen’s features isn’t concern for a friend. She didn’t mention Corbin. She mentioned Jamison.

  When Zen speaks again, she’s measured and controlled and utterly certain. “He would have called me if he could,” she says as she snags a rubber band from her wrist and wraps her hair in a messy black bun. “He’s in trouble.”

  She’s not his type. The girls Jamison hooked up with always struck me as shells the way he described them, pliable beauties he ran through too fast for me to ever meet. But if Zen shot him down, it might have been enough to snag Jamison’s interest until he could claim the conquest. Maybe they didn’t make it that far. Maybe she thought whatever was starting between them had a future.

  You don’t know the bullet you dodged, I think.

  “You’re a shit friend, Ploy,” she says.

  My genuine shock at her revelation only drives her anger.

  “Jamison told me once he’s responsible for you. Your phone? Does he still pay for that?” Her grimace hardens, warning me I’m on thin ice. East doesn’t seem to know how to protect himself, but I’m guessing Zen can throw a punch. “Bet you would have to notice he’s missing when it got shut off, wouldn’t you?”

  The twins, Nico and East, trade perplexed looks.

  “You and Jamison had a thing?” East asks Zen.

  “What kind of a thing?” Nico chimes in, one hand pawing at Zen.

  Keeley’s shit-eating grin tells me everything I need about Zen and Jamison. Either the kid’s perceptive or the older girl confided in her.

  Zen feigns innocence. “We were talking.”

  “Talking?” Nico says. “Or talking.” The emphasis on the second talking isn’t a thing any of us can miss.

  Color works its way into the small of Zen’s throat and the skin not covered by her tattoo. With her hair pulled back, I can see the gravestones, danse macabre skeletons. They make me wonder if Jamison’s rotting, if he’s been buried, how long before he’s bones.

  “It’s none of your damn business,” Zen snarls, her overdone rage cracking me loose of my thoughts. “We’re clearly not talking now, so he’s probably dead. Just like Corbin.”

  With that, she storms past Quinn out of the room.

  “Holy crap,” Quinn whispers in Zen’s wake.

  “You really didn’t notice those two sneaking off together all the time?” Keeley says, sounding amused. “The hickeys?”

  Now it’s East’s turn to vent his surprise. “I’ve known Zen going on four years,” he says. “That is not a shell that gets cracked.”

  The wording sends a shiver through me. I stare after the girl. Jamison would have broken her to amuse himself. Or could she have gotten to him? Saved him in a way I couldn’t? With a sharp shake of my head, I cast the thought away. No. There was no saving Jamison.

  East knocks his chin upward to draw Nico’s focus. His head wobbles in an uncertain gesture. She scrunches her nose as if she’s tasted something sour.

  Twin speak? I wonder. It’d be just my luck if they were telepathic. Then again, if they were, I’d be dead by now.

  “We’re wasting time,” East says. “What’s he gonna do? Find her diary? I said from the start, we go to the source.” He lowers his voice and leans in toward Nico and Quinn. I only make out a few words, but it’s enough to set me on edge. “—off him. Allie is—”

  “No!” I blurt.

  Four sets of eyes swivel in my direction.

  “I got this,” I insist to Nico alone.

  She’s desperate. I’m willing to bet fourteen days of searching with zero results is dulling the luster on her rule. Bringing me in is a roll of the dice. I snag the cash from her hand and jam it into my pocket.

  “Write a timeline for me. Details on Corbin, places he went or could be, what he was up to, last contact. You paid me. I’ll show you what I can do.” In my jeans pocket, my fingers skim the bills. How much did she give me if they’re twenties? All fifties? If the center’s thick with hundreds? “Come on,” I whisper, holding my arm out as if to stop the attack I’m sure is coming. “Give me a chance.”

  The information Allie needs to protect her cluster is already in my head, and the money she needs to keep herself safe is in my pocket. If I make it out of here alive, she’ll see I can hold my own in her world. She’ll see I’m useful to keep around.

  “Who’s the boy?” Keeley says.

  “Boy?” I repeat, lost.

  “Last night,” she says. She smooths her hair behind her ears again, a nervous tic though she’s smiling. “You and your girlfriend were fighting. Talia came to pick her up. The boy was in the back seat.” There’s genuine curiosity in Keeley’s voice. “Who is he?”

  “I didn’t see a boy. You were watching us?” Every time one of them opens their damn mouth, I’m thrown in a new direction. “She’s not my girlfriend,” I add, but already it feels too late.

  “They took that boy to the resurrection.” Keeley takes a step closer, head tilting as she studies me. “But they didn’t take you, did they? What makes you think she’ll tell you anything about Corbin or Jamison?”

  Shit. I underestimated the tween.

  When I sputter over an answer, Keeley frowns. “It’s not like you can tell her you know them, Ploy.” The cadence of her voice bounces along in a melancholy singsong. “She might kill you for asking. Do you think she would?”

  Don’t panic, I think. This is some sort of test. “No one’s going to find out I’m hunting the resurrectionists because no one knows but us,” I say. “And Jamison.” I’m screwing up, forgetting I’m supposed to be a friend still clinging to hope.

  There’s a pause, calculating in a way no thirteen-year-old sh
ould have mastered yet. “Hunting them? Wow.” She sounds disappointed in me, like I’m not getting it at all. “They’re not animals, Ploy.” The kid’s a middle schooler. She shouldn’t be capable of the dead-eyed stare she levels on me. “They’re so much smarter than that, and if Allie catches you? You’ll beg her not to bring you back to life when she’s done with you.”

  The silence grows stifling. I wipe my palms on the hips of my jeans. “Jesus! I won’t get caught!”

  Her mouth screws into a frown as she considers me. “I saw you kiss her,” she says. “You were fighting and then you kissed her.”

  We were watched. Allie never told me she was going on a resurrection, which means they followed last night wherever Talia drove her. Keeley isn’t digging for details though. She’s jealous, I think.

  Somehow I whip on an easygoing grin. “Yup,” I say lightly. “She’s a roof over my head, and like Zen said, a meal-ticket. If it takes a kiss to stay on her good side and keep her happy, well…” I trail off, crooking a disarming knuckle under Keeley’s chin. “If Allie stays mad, who’s gonna buy me dinner? You offering?”

  Her mouth opens, but I’ve got her tongue tied. “What—no,” she sputters before looking to Nico for help.

  “I think he’s a little old for you, Keeley,” Nico says with an indulgent sigh. “Besides, now he’s got cash enough to buy his own food.”

  I latch onto the distraction. “Next time you feel like selling a resurrectionist, cut me in on that.”

  Nico hops down from the desk and pats my stomach once as she passes by me. “I’m giving him two days,” she says to East, bargaining on my behalf as if I’m not standing right there. “Jamison trusted him.”

  Of all things, it’s this that makes East pause. He shakes his head and then, with a dramatic sigh, rounds on Nico. “Yeah but…”

  I wait as they muddle through their decision.

  “A location on Corbin and Jamison.” Nico holds up a fist. Two of her fingers flash skyward. “Two days.”