Certainly not Darkmore, the scariest, most powerful reaper this side of eternity. He’d frightened her when they’d first met, when he’d been hell-bent on claiming her soul by any means necessary.
He still scared her, but that didn’t make her any less responsible for his well-being now that he wore a true mortal form
“Need any help?” she asked, hoping he’d say no.
“I have done this before, my dear. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Shaking her head, she closed her door and engaged the automatic door locks. It wouldn’t keep spirits out, of course, but the living posed a threat, too. Hyper-vigilance in all of its pathologic glory, but in her position it had become a survival skill.
She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on channeling spirit energy, something the living weren’t supposed to be able to do. Part blessing, more curse, and a whole lot of responsibility, the power was something she’d need to learn how to fully control if she had any hope of fending off the guardian spirits. Woefully outmatched, she had to protect herself and Darkmore. Sparks flickered beneath her fingertips as power coursed through her body. Friends and allies had allowed her to absorb their spiritual burdens before leaving her life behind, fortifying her for the journey ahead to what she hoped would be safety.
And more living soul brokers. Strength in numbers was all she could count on now.
She gazed up at the concrete overpass emblazoned with “Natchez Trace Parkway.” It dwarfed the green metal truss bridge they’d crossed a few miles back, the one that spanned part of the Harpeth River. It felt like her beloved city had closed the door on her. Facing the beginning of the long road to Jackson struck her like the slamming of a very large door.
She put her head back on the steering wheel and waited for the reaper.
A knock at her window jolted Vivian awake.
A stranger stood outside of her car. She cracked her window just enough for conversation, trying to stop the surge of panic rushing through her. They didn’t need this kind of attention, especially when there were so many threats lurking around every bend in the road. Plainclothes or undercover cop? Spirit in disguise? Garden-variety pervert or serial killer?
Shit!
“You doin’ all right in there, little lady?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to smile and catch her breath simultaneously. She didn’t do a very good job. “I must have dozed off for a minute.”
“Maybe you ought to get a hotel or something.”
“I’m just waiting for my…traveling companion to come back. He had to make a pit stop.”
“Oh,” he chuckled. “That him?”
She spied the reaper walking back to the car. He tipped his hat to the stranger. Nice of you to show up! “Yes, that’s him.”
“Good afternoon,” Darkmore said, extending his hand. God, no good could come of this. He may be mortal, but she had no doubt that Darkmore could still kill this human and absorb his soul. Or he could simply toy with him, forcing the man to see and experience his personal worst nightmare in vivid and terrifying detail by way of a reaper-powered head fuck.
“Howdy,” the stranger replied, offering his own hand. “The little lady here fell asleep. I was just checking to make sure she was all right.”
“I thank you kindly. Looks like it’s my turn to drive.” Darkmore accepted his hand and Vivian held her breath. If the stranger was a guardian or reaper in disguise, Darkmore could blow their cover. If he was simply a Good Samaritan, then the reaper could unleash the man’s darkest fears and deepest agony.
And feed from it.
“Lazarus, please,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “Let’s go.”
Darkmore held on to the man’s hand a little longer than necessary, and the man’s gaze went dark. Then Darkmore winked at her, the bastard, but thankfully he let go of the man’s hand.
She shot him a nasty look as he helped her out of the car, as much to disguise her terror as to express exasperation. She shuffled over to the passenger side, trying to ignore the testosterone-fueled exchange between the stranger and the reaper. Plopping herself down, she tried her best not to slam the door. She shut her eyes and counted to one hundred and twenty-two, stopping only after Darkmore closed the driver’s side door and pulled back onto the road.
“Take ramp, on right, to Natchez Trace Parkway.”
Chapter Two
Vivian didn’t know how long she’d slept. Her intention had been to stay alert and awake, of course. Spirit willing, flesh weak. She remembered, vividly, the moment they’d entered the quaint wooden gateway onto the Trace proper after a short stint on the overpass. It was like taking a step back through time. They’d left metropolitan life well before, trading the civilization of West End Avenue and Belle Meade glamour for the rolling hills of west Nashville. From there, city life morphed seamlessly into pockets of suburban charm mingled with farmsteads and even a bit of redneck splendor.
But upon entering the Trace, no homes, shopping centers, office high rises, or other cars interrupted the tree-bordered meadows that flanked the windy stretch of two-lane highway. Their only company, aside from a couple of Lance Armstrong wannabes, had been a flock of wild turkeys loping close to the highway’s shoulder.
Her heart sank further when she spied a field of gold and green nestled to the right of the trace. Not the black-eyed Susans from her glimpse of the paradise she’d lost, but the goldenrod flowers were close enough to open old wounds. The reaper could ease her pain, feeding from her misery, but that was a temptation neither of them could afford to test. They moved on, and she had the sense that her return to paradise would be long and difficult.
Assuming she ever made it back.
So she’d closed her eyes in a moment of reflection, or perhaps deflection, and then drifted off to sleep.
She might not have known exactly how long she slept, but it had been long enough to give her a king-sized crick in the neck from dozing too long with her head rammed against the door. She also heard a voice that didn’t belong to Darkmore, and she cursed herself for letting down her guard.
Someone else was in the car, someone she hadn’t invited along on their escape to join the rebellion.
The voice, low, feminine, and decidedly seductive, belonged to Uphir. Vivian had met the demoness only once while working with Darkmore, but once had been enough. Sly and attractive if you could overlook the cloven hooves, she sometimes worked with the reaper as he tormented souls not long for this world and destined for the dark side of the afterlife. The wicked souls they targeted had it coming, though the brutality with which they doled out karmic justice sickened Vivian’s human sensibilities, as did their obvious enjoyment of their work. Judging from their last encounter, Vivian suspected Uphir had a thing for Darkmore and enjoyed playtime with him as well.
She didn’t like Uphir. More to the point, she didn’t trust the demoness. It was more than jealousy, which Vivian could admit was part of the issue. In spite of her fear of the reaper, Vivian was…fond of him, and now had become protective. Uphir’s sudden appearance brought out those protective instincts. She didn’t like being caught unaware with Darkmore in such a vulnerable state. Uphir was a fickle ally with the instincts of a predator. In his weakened, mortal condition, Darkmore might become prey.
Instead of attacking, Vivian pretended to sleep so she could eavesdrop and find out what the demon wanted and if she posed a threat.
“How did you find us?” Darkmore asked with his trademark calm.
“Worried, my darling? After all we’ve been through?” The demon’s voice had become a low purr.
Excuse me while I lose my lunch.
“Oh it’s nothing personal. Given our current predicament, you’ll understand my concerns about being tracked by my associates, not to mention the competition.” Darkmore’s reply was cool and distant. It made Vivian happier than it should have.
Uphir huffed. “Well, if you must know, Earl has proven to be rather more useful than I antici
pated. He can sniff out even the smallest trace of spirit energy and track it to the source.”
Well surprise, surprise. Vivian wouldn’t have figured the guy had it in him.
Earl was one of Uphir’s human servants. Vivian met him recently while working on a particularly nasty reaping with Darkmore and Uphir. A small man with a penchant for outrageous demon cosplay, pathologic devotion to his mistress, and a hunger for power, Vivian hadn’t been fond of the man—assuming he was still mostly man. He’d probably been one of those “nice guy” types who spent a little too much time in his mom’s basement harassing women online. No wonder Uphir was able to nab him. She may have treated him like dirt beneath her feet, but she’d given him the power he’d never possessed in normal life.
And he appeared to like being treated like dirt beneath her feet. Whatever. That was their business, not hers.
“Earl? Really? I never would have guessed it.”
“Tell me about it,” Uphir said, voice dripping with disdain. “How’s yours, by the way?”
“Vivian? She’s not mine.”
“So you keep saying. She has a useful talent, though. Does she often improvise?”
Vivian assumed Uphir was referring to the unexpected blast of spirit energy she’d dealt to a child rapist while working with Darkmore. He’d had it coming, and she wasn’t sorry that she’d broken protocol. Still, she’d brought more unwanted attention to Darkmore, which couldn’t be good for either of them.
Had she known then what she knew now, she would have just killed the bastard.
“She’s a bit of a wildcard, indeed, but intriguing,” Darkmore answered, without really answering.
“Is that why you’ve abandoned your post to travel on this fool’s errand?”
“Uphir, you surprise me. I would have thought you’d be amused, tormenting Uriel and his associates on the Council. It could be good for business. Care to join us?”
Vivian fought to keep her breathing steady as her heart rate skyrocketed. What the hell was he playing at? Inviting a demon to join them? It wouldn’t take her long to figure out that Darkmore’s mortal coil was now permanent. She could claim his soul, his service, and make his newfound life a living hell.
And she’d enjoy every minute of it.
This was such a mess. A mess of Vivian’s making.
But she’d had no choice. Darkmore had put himself in the line of fire for her, absorbing a burst of powerful guardian spirit energy meant to kill her. No doubt the rogue guardian spirit would have claimed her soul and brought her back to the Archangel Guardian Council in chains. In the face of a spirit energy crisis, Uriel and his fellows were running the afterlife version of a pyramid scheme, siphoning more spirit energy than the guardian spirits who mediated crossings could handle. Former mortals recruited to afterlife management by the Council upon death, guardian spirits were charged with using the life force released by a soul as they crossed to another plane of existence to help the soul cross, saving what was left to protect themselves and souls in peril from competing reapers. Only the high-level guardians and the Archangel CEOs had become greedy, demanding more and more energy from guardians in the field.
What they were doing with all of the energy they amassed was a mystery, but it couldn’t be good.
As a living soul broker, Vivian had the unique ability to collect spirit energy from the living, something no guardian or reaper could do. It wasn’t pretty. The living didn’t suffer—quite the opposite, actually. Vivian could take in their burdens, the heavy weight of sorrow they carried, and convert it into a version of spirit energy. She suffered in the process, but it gave her some nifty powers, including the power to heal. After Darkmore saved her from the rogue guardian’s blast, he’d been badly injured. She’d had no idea if the damage was permanent to the reaper, so she’d channeled all of her energy into healing the reaper.
It had worked a little too well, rendering him fully mortal and subject to all manner of parties interested in soul harvesting.
Darkmore had made a lot of enemies over his long existence. He was in as much danger as she was. So why on earth would he invite Uphir, a hungry demoness, to join them?
Uphir’s voice brought her attention back to eavesdropping. “Tempting…are you sure Vivian won’t mind?”
“Ask her yourself,” Darkmore said. “She’s awake.”
Opening her eyes and fighting hard to not to glare at Darkmore, Vivian sat up and turned around in her seat. “Hello, Uphir. Nice to see you again.”
“Charmed, my dear,” she purred. Vivian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Making the demoness angry wouldn’t help anyone.
“So, what brings you out here to our, um, car?”
“I’m checking in with Darkmore, and I come bearing news. Earl has been tracking guardian movement in the area. I suggest you stop at the first campsite near Hohenwald and lie low for the night. Perhaps even until tomorrow afternoon. There are unaffiliated spirits lingering in a nearby cemetery who are sympathetic to your little revolutionary cause. You’ll be safe under their watch. I can advise you when it is safe to resume your travels.”
“Gee, thanks. Why go out of your way to help us?” Vivian asked. It probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonize her, but she didn’t appreciate the demon’s attitude.
“I have a vested interest in Darkmore’s well-being. Besides, Earl is rather fond of you.”
“Really?” The last time she’d encountered Uphir’s slimy little minion, she’d made it clear what she thought of his pathologic devotion to his mistress and her…activities.
“Of course. We very much enjoyed our last meal. Take good care of my associate.” With that, Uphir disappeared before Vivian’s eyes.
They pulled into the Meriwether Lewis site a short time later, much to Vivian’s irritation. They’d made precious little progress on the journey to Jackson, Mississippi, home to the so-called rebel guardian spirits and other living soul brokers. She didn’t relish the prospect of spending time at a campground in the boonies, virtually defenseless against the guardians pursing them.
Plus, Darkmore was starting to get on her nerves. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make the irritation any easier to bear.
He’d been calm and quiet during most of the drive, speaking only when she’d asked a specific question of him or chatting with the demon. He had to be angry with her. It was her fault that he was mortal. She hadn’t meant to do it, but her rash actions had left him in a nearly defenseless state and tied him to her. Sure, they’d worked together before her screwup, and they had established a rapport of sorts, but she was under no illusions about Darkmore’s interests. He was a reaper. When they’d first met, he’d wanted her soul. Later, when he found out what she was and what she could do, he wanted her service. After that, they’d become sometimes partners, and Darkmore served as insurance against her guardian spirit boss’ exploitation. She’d fed him her excess spirit energy and he’d protected her from guardian spirit control. It was a relationship of convenience, beneficial to both parties. But he’d gotten more than he’d bargained for when he saved her ass and became stuck in a fragile mortal body. If she were in his position, she’d be furious.
That probably explained the silent treatment. She could hardly blame him.
But, given her druthers, she’d have preferred to hear him shout, swear, or even punch her rather than deal with his silence and indifference. It unnerved her. And now he walked the grounds seemingly without a care in the world, circling the monument marking the grave of the famous explorer. She might as well join him, since they’d be staying in the area for a while. Not that there was much to see, as far as she could tell. The memorial itself looked like a miniature pyramid with a metal stovepipe stuck on top.
Not very impressive.
Milling around a bit, she walked over to a plaque labeled “Grinder House.” She glanced at it, read the dates, and the blood drained from her face. Deciding not to shout his name, she jogged over to Darkmore and asked, “What
day is it?”
Darkmore chuckled. “I wondered when you might inquire about the date and time. It is October 11. October 11 of the year we left when we traveled to Uriel’s realm.”
She hadn’t even thought to worry after the potential shift in time they might have experienced. Nice to know a problem I hadn’t even considered is a non-issue. “I was afraid of that. You don’t suppose he’ll put in an appearance, do you?”
“Who?”
Oh, the reaper was so exasperating. “Meriwether Lewis. He died on this day like, I don’t know, about two hundred years ago.” The ghost of a famous explorer who might attract unwanted attention from the spirit world by putting in an appearance. Just what they needed.
Darkmore shrugged. “Just because he was murdered doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to visit the scene and relive it year after year after year.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She’d only met the spirit of one famous person. Though Eddie was pretty cool, she’d often thought it might be fun to hobnob with more…influential folks. A man who’d made it into textbooks certainly qualified. But now was not the time to chase dead celebrities. They needed to keep a low profile.
“Don’t be so glum, my dear. We won’t lack for company. Why not take the opportunity to learn about life during the early days of your nation?” He spread his arms and gestured to the remnants of the dead, the ones she’d been pointedly ignoring.
He was right. The site was teaming with spirits dressed in pioneer getup along with a few Native Americans. Like most non-reaper and non-guardian spirits, they lacked the energy to assume a corporeal form. Lost and lonely spirits, or perhaps those who chose to remain tethered to the realm of the living rather than cross over, these wispy and often transparent manifestations maintained a safe distance from Vivian and Darkmore. In spite of his mortal body, he apparently still carried the aura and presence of the grim reaper he had been not so very long ago.
The Quick and the Dead Page 2
