“And what does that mean to you?”
“Damn it, it means I still can’t control my stupid fucking powers that I never wanted in the first place. And it means I owe you. I hate owing anyone.”
She huffed, and then set about disassembling their tent with her excess aggression. Good thing the tent fabric was tough. After she finished wrestling with the tangle of poles and polyester, she gathered up their trash from the previous night. She was about to tackle the cooler when Darkmore persuaded her to sit and eat.
After a few bites, a few deep breaths, and another half cup of coffee, she felt a bit better. “These are good, by the way. How did you learn how to cook in modern times?”
“The Food Network.”
The Grim Reaper watched the cooking channel? Who’d have thought?
Her shock must have registered, since the reaper offered her a wry smile. “Truly, cable television is one of many things I enjoy in this realm. During my off time.”
“So you like more than just Westerns?” She’d found out early in their acquaintance that Darkmore had a thing for old western flicks. That’s where he’d picked up his fondness for Stetson hats, and possibly where he’d found inspiration for his mortal form. He could’ve been a young Robert Redford with icy blond hair, chiseled features, and deceptively winning smile.
Not that she thought of him that way. Much. There was the time not so long ago when she’d asked him to be her date for a friend’s wedding, but that had been desperation. Her ex-lover had been the best man and had brought the woman he’d dumped her for—the one he’d cheated on her with—to the wedding. Pride and anger, two of the seven deadly sins, had driven her to ask Darkmore to accompany her.
More than that, several small and not so small acts of kindness, unexpected and more powerful because of it, had built trust between them. Only a few threads, but it had been enough.
Until she’d seen him work, helped him torture a damned soul, seen how much he enjoyed it.
“I like many things,” Darkmore said, gaze knowing, as if he’d read her confusion and dismay. “Now then, as to your debt to me, are you more disturbed at the prospect of causing me harm, the idea that you must ‘fix me,’ or how I might calculate the terms of payment once I am restored?”
Just when she was getting comfortable, he just had to go and say something so cold, so calculating, and so reaperish that she had to start from scratch.
“All great questions, but I think the second is foremost on my mind. Have you thought about asking Uphir? I thought she was the expert for your kind.”
“Though she suspects something is amiss, I’d rather not. Her rates are far too high. Any other ideas?”
She’d been afraid of that. Uphir might help him, but he’d spend eternity in her service. Someone as powerful as the reaper would rather face all of the legions of hell than serve another. “I was hoping the folks in Mississippi might be able to help. Barring that, at least I’ll be free to use my powers again when we get there and can work under their protection. I’m surprised you haven’t come up with something, given your vast experience.”
He appeared to consider. “I’ve seen many things in my time, and I’ve chosen to return to the mortal world in human form through the conventional route, though never truly human of course. I’ve witnessed reanimation of a corpse. Not very pretty, but quite an impressive feat. This, however, is an entirely new and different experience.”
She knew Darkmore was difficult to surprise and even more difficult to impress. That she’d had enough power to do something that he hadn’t expected or seen gave her a brief surge of pride. Not good. She shouldn’t get smug, since the whole thing had been an accident. Plus, she still felt guilty for putting him in this predicament. He didn’t seem particularly distraught, though, which made her more than a little suspicious.
“So, about yesterday…that little number you did on McClung, was that a gargantuan bluff?” she asked.
“Hmm,” was all the response he offered.
“And last night, when I was in trouble, you came running awful fast.” She paused, deep in thought. “Plus, you managed to suck the terror right out of me.”
Why hadn’t it dawned on her before?
She stared at him for a moment before asking, “So, exactly how much of your former powers do you still have?”
He grinned. “I believe most remain intact. You’ve been worried about that for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, voice sharper than she’d intended. “And you were more than happy to sit back and watch me worry over it, weren’t you?”
“You are at your best when you are hell-bent on protecting those for whom you care. More often than not, you’re at your worst then, too. At any rate, regardless of the outcome, I’m guaranteed to get my fair share of wonderful meals while traveling with you. Shall we?”
Too stupefied to do anything else, Vivian helped pack up and followed the reaper.
Chapter Five
They made good time on the Trace from Hohenwald to Tupelo, Mississippi, birthplace of Elvis and a convenient place to break for lunch. Vivian volunteered to drive the first leg if for no other reason than to claim sole rights to their music selection. After his little morning confession, she felt the overwhelming urge to discover what type of music the reaper found most offensive so she could play it often over the course of their trip.
They stopped at the Visitor’s Center and parted ways for a pee break and to stretch. She longed for a shower, especially after a glance in the mirror reminded her of the ill effects that too many days without shampoo and excess humidity had on her curls. Plus, her grays were peeking through again. She did a quick sniff test and figured she could go at least another day before she became overripe, but she really wanted some soap, lotion, and a good shave for her neglected legs.
Being on the run wasn’t as romantic in real life as it seemed in books or the movies.
She joined Darkmore at an outdoor picnic table and opened her not-so-appetizing cheese stick. Chancing a glance at him, she smiled while he swallowed a grimace along with his processed food product. At least she had some company in her misery.
“You have a visitor.”
“Huh?” Vivian asked after she swallowed a cracker.
Darkmore motioned to some nearby trees. When she looked, she saw Jeanne and an unfamiliar spirit waiting. They were both in corporeal form.
Jeanne looked much as she had the first time Vivian met the young guardian, who was, in fact, truly young. She’d died young, robbed by cancer of a chance to complete her pre-law studies, to experience the richness of adult life. Recently departed, Jeanne was also a young guardian spirit, though she possessed the power and skill of a much more seasoned soul broker. Being a dedicated student likely hadn’t hurt, and she’d carried that trait with her into the afterlife along with her youthful appearance. With shoulder length honey-colored hair, gorgeous round face, a trim figure, and a bright, bubbly personality, she was a brainiac in sorority girl’s clothing.
Jeanne’s companion, on the other hand, was anything but bubbly.
Vivian turned to back to Darkmore, eyebrows raised. As far as she knew, Jeanne was one of the “good” guardians, if a little too eager and irritatingly perky. She’d assisted Vivian in her flight from the guardian council and put her in contact with Waylon Briggs, leader of a rag-tag band of mortals who, like Vivian, were living soul brokers who could commune with the dead. She wanted to trust Jeanne, but she’d been double-crossed by enough guardian spirits to be wary.
And something about the other spirit had the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention.
“Go,” the reaper said. “See your friend. I’ll finish this abysmal excuse for a lunch and then find some more ice.”
She hesitated, scanning the area for any signs of ambush.
“You needn’t worry. They are alone. Go on. I’ll be nearby in case you get into trouble.”
On impulse, she gave Darkmore a quick pec
k on the cheek, surprising them both, and then jogged over to the tree line. Jeanne beamed and grabbed her hand, pulling her deeper into the patch of forest for privacy. She embraced Vivian and filled her with a healthy dose of warm guardian spirit energy. Though taken aback by the unexpected display of affection, she had to admit that she’d missed the peace that guardians could deliver. She also reminded herself that Jeanne, the spirit world’s version of Cheerleader Barbie, was a hugger.
“It’s so wonderful to see you,” Jeanne whispered.
“You, too,” Vivian said, and meant it.
After a long moment, Jeanne released Vivian and held her at arm’s length. Vivian became more than a little self-conscious. Jeanne manifested as she’d appeared in life: young, blonde, and extraordinarily put-together. The other spirit was equally striking, though in a markedly different way. With her dark hair cut into a severe bob, black jeans and a black T-shirt, and fathomless toffee-colored eyes, this guardian’s aura screamed power and danger.
Not unlike Darkmore. Vivian liked being under this spirit’s scrutiny even less than the reaper’s. The unnamed spirit stared a hole through Vivian, like a big cat judging the quality of a potential kill.
Great. Another fan.
Since running wouldn’t do her any good, she’d have to trust that any friend of Jeanne’s would do her no harm. Rather than lower her gaze or betray any signs of the fear coursing through her, Vivian ignored the spirit and focused her attention on Jeanne. “I know I look like shit. Real camping will do that to you. What’s the latest on the home front?”
Jeanne smiled. “You don’t look that bad, but you’ll be pleased to know that it’s safe to grab a hotel. We’ve been working hard to throw Uriel’s forces off your trail.”
Vivian bristled at the mention of the Archangel’s name, anger temporarily displacing fear as the dominant emotion. “Really? That’s surprising, because last night I had a run-in with a spirit-energy seeking missile.”
Jeanne’s face fell and Vivian immediately regretted her snippiness. It wasn’t the young guardian’s fault that she had a target on her back.
Jeanne apologized before Vivian could offer an apology of her own. “I know and I’m so, so sorry we couldn’t get him off your tail in time! But you must have put on a good show. My intel has it that they think you’re heading to the New York base.”
“Just how many bases are there?” Vivian asked. It would be a good idea to learn as much about the rebellion as she could, given that she’d be joining it soon.
“At least ten and more factions are forming every day. But not all are on the same page,” Jeanne added, her normally perky features growing somber.
“Sounds like they need a leader.” Vivian had been joking, but something in Jeanne’s expression made her suspicious.
“They do,” Jeanne said a little too eagerly.
“Wait a minute.” Vivian held up her hands in protest as realization dawned. “I signed on to keep my friends safe and change Darkmore back, not so I could become the General Custer of your rag-tag band of ghost bandits.”
The comment earned her another dark look from Jeanne’s buddy.
Jeanne, who’d grown accustomed to her frequent outbursts, hardly missed a beat. “No, no, you don’t have to worry. Waylon’s the man for the job. But he needs all the help he can get right now. You’ve got firepower, healing power, and talent. Just work with him, help him, and try to encourage him, okay?”
“Fine,” she said. How hard could that be? “Any ideas how I can put the reaper back to rights?”
Jeanne beamed. “I’ve been in contact with some spirits involved in Voudon. They have more experience with this sort of thing. They’ll be in touch once you get to Jackson.”
Voodoo? Seriously?
“Oh no, not Voodoo. Don’t call it that or you’ll offend them,” Jeanne admonished. Freaking guardian spirits. They could read the thoughts of humans, though they usually only pried when necessary. Jeanne, being Jeanne, opted to listen in more often than the rest of her kind.
“It’s not like what they show in the movies—the spirits and practitioners are benevolent. They’re on our side. The Archangel Council has blackened their reputation for years so they could control all crossings and collect the spirit energy associated with crossings.”
“All right. I get it,” Vivian said, taking a step back and holding up her hands in surrender. It sounded like something the Archangels would do. “I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
The Archangel Guardian Council, who sat at the top of what had to be the largest pyramid scheme in the universe, had tried to control her, just as they controlled her mentor. “Mentor” probably wasn’t quite the right word for Ezra, the guardian who’d roped her into the soul broker business. He was a tricky bastard, prone to giving her just enough information to get her in trouble without cluing her in on the endgame of afterlife management politics or the risks inherent in her work.
Steeling herself and tamping down on her anger, Vivian asked, “Any word from Ezra?”
“Nothing much yet. But don’t worry. He’s insinuated himself back into the Council’s good graces, and I’m sure he’ll be in touch once he has some information we can use.”
Yeah, he’s really good at insinuating himself into the confidence of others.
Ezra, the first spirit Vivian ever met, had come to her in the guise of friend and mentor. Only after he’d earned her trust did she learn his true purpose—he’d come to claim Vivian’s soul on behalf of the guardians. Darkmore, the only entity in this game who’d been completely—if brutally—honest, told her that Ezra liked to play both sides. Jeanne seemed to think that Ezra was still firmly on their side, the side that wanted to stop ripping off spirit energy and use it for the intended purpose of helping souls cross. Vivian believed his loyalty rested with himself and no one else.
Jeanne must have guessed where her thoughts had led her. Or perhaps the young guardian had read her thoughts. Some guardian spirits could do that. “Oh, Vivian, I know you’re mad at him, but you have to understand the situation. We’ve been trying to avoid open rebellion with the Council for so long. You know, trying to change things from within?”
She nodded reluctantly. It made sense and fit with Ezra’s natural style of playing politics. And she knew a thing or two about playing both sides for protection and survival.
Jeanne’s features relaxed a bit as she continued. “Ezra’s been walking a fine line, working with the rebellion in secret while staying in the council’s good graces. He just couldn’t tell you everything.”
Vivian snorted and rolled her eyes as a fresh wave of anger washed over her. “Oh, I don’t doubt his skills at lying and double-crossing. I’ve experienced that first hand.” Ezra was also inclined to keep secrets—the kind that had cost her and those she loved dearly.
“Any word from Zeke?” Her voice only shook a little and she held Jeanne’s gaze.
Jeanne’s gaze darted to the left before returning to hers. The young guardian was about to lie to her, and her chest went tight as dread warred with anger. More secrets. With Zeke, it was always secrets.
“He’s working for the cause…and for you. That’s all I can say.”
“Fine. I won’t ask again. Just promise me you’ll…” What? Tell him I miss him? Tell him I still love him? Tell him to come and take me away from all of this? No. “Promise you’ll look out for him.”
Jeanne dropped her gaze and nodded, remaining oddly quiet. The other spirit just kept glaring. Before her patience reached the breaking point, Vivian said, “Okay, what gives?”
Jeanne kept her eyes on the ground. Vivian mustered enough manufactured courage to turn to the other spirit and say, “I’m Vivian, by the way. I’d say nice to meet you, but we haven’t been introduced, and you don’t seem particularly happy to be here, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
That earned Vivian a smile. Not exactly friendly, but not unfriendly, either. It would do. She understood. Hard to know whom to tru
st in afterlife management these days.
“I was called Marguerite in life,” the spirit said in a softly accented voice, extending her hand. Vivian accepted. It was warm and her handshake firm. Marguerite’s eyes reminded her of Darkmore’s, ancient and fathomless. She had to be a very old guardian spirit. Her accent had likely softened over centuries—or more—making it impossible to identify, at least for Vivian. Likely not as old as Darkmore then, whose crisp, flawless Midwestern American accent was too flawless to be genuine and perfected with untold eons of practice in blending with mortals. Then again, perhaps Marguerite used her accent as a disguise. Ezra’s good old boy Southern charm was disarming, hiding his power and the threat he posed, making those he met underestimate him.
A change in the atmosphere brought Vivian’s attention back to her companions. The temperature rose, but she didn’t think it signaled anger from the guardian spirits. Other strong emotions could bring out their power and the heat that came with it, though.
Marguerite had turned back to Jeanne, and Vivian noted the softening of her gaze. Looks like Jeanne got herself an upgraded mentor. Jeanne’s former mentor, Wallace, hadn’t been very nice. In fact, he was the rogue guardian responsible for Darkmore’s condition and the rest of their current mess. Uriel and the guardian council had given him the green light to stop Vivian at all costs, and the rogue had taken his work very seriously. Instead, Vivian had sent him to spirit realms unknown. Good riddance.
“Well,” Marguerite said, stern look back in place. “Perhaps I should give you and Jeanne a minute.” She nodded to Vivian before placing a comforting hand on Jeanne’s shoulder.
After Marguerite disappeared, Vivian shook her head and grabbed ahold of Jeanne “Whatever it is, just say it. I’ve had more suspense the past twenty-four hours than I can handle.” Though curious about Marguerite, safety and survival were her top priorities.
The Quick and the Dead Page 5
