Grave Things (Grave Things Series Book 1)

by Lindsay Mead

  "Ms. Danvers, please!" Ian called after. "You're the only person I've met who can help. You can't just abandon me!"

  "Abandon you?" Viola spun about. "There's no hope for you. Your soul is screwed."

  Ian's natural confidence wavered. "What does that mean?"

  "You're bound for Hell, eternal torment—the whole shebang! No less than you deserve, I'm sure," she sneered with a maniacal chuckle. "Hey, give Satan a message for me."

  Viola raised her hand and flipped up her middle finger. Not waiting for a response, she stormed away. The sound of pounding footsteps told her this wasn't over.

  "Are you messing with me to get more money?" he snarled. "Why am I going to Hell?"

  "Well, mass murderers tend to earn a special place in Satan's inner circle," she growled and kept walking.

  "Whoa." Ian grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. "Mass murderer?! What the fuc—"

  At Viola's side instantly, Aaron pointed a gun at Mr. Grave's face. "Let go of her."

  Ian recoiled and raised his hands. The color leached from his face. Grinning like a fool, Vi moved behind her stepbrother. This was no bluff; Aaron was quite the crack shot. Meanwhile, Lana angled for the stairs, prepared to run for it. It wasn't the first time they'd had to make a quick exit.

  "Your priest carries a gun?!" Ian's eyes never wavered from the weapon.

  "Praise the Lord, who is my rock. He trains my hands for war and gives my fingers skill for battle." Aaron raised his chin proudly. "Psalm 144:1."

  "Look, I don't know what you think I did but I am not a mass murderer," he said slowly, treating Aaron like a lunatic as his gaze darted to Vi. "And neither is my grandfather."

  "Your grandfather?" Viola crossed her arms. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

  "It's his money. He's been out of the country and asked me to receive it for him."

  She frowned. "Am I to believe that it's normal for businessmen to pick up large pallets of cash?"

  "For me, it's not, but I just acquire and sell businesses for profit. My grandfather's acquisitions, on the other hand, can be a bit less savory." Ian shrugged as if to imply that there was nothing he could do about that. "Those deals are made to be as untraceable as possible and the exchange of physical money isn't uncommon."

  "And you go along with it?" Aaron asked, narrowing his eyes.

  "My grandfather basically raised me after my parents died." A sudden defensiveness glimmered in Ian's blue eyes. "So, if he needs me, I'm there. I don't ask questions."

  "Yeah, I can understand that." Viola thought of her own grandparents and how she'd go to Hell and back for them. Thank God they were farmers. "What do you know about the money?"

  "Only that weird things have been happening since I brought this money into my house. I started having twisted nightmares; my deals went bad for bizarre reasons. After a while, I actually felt cursed and I knew that the money had to be the cause." He shook his head. "Don't ask me how."

  "Everyone has a certain level of awareness when it comes to evil." Viola uncrossed her arms. God help her, she actually believed he was telling the truth. "It's what happens when you meet someone and dislike them for reasons you can't explain."

  Ian accepted this with a nod, but his thoughts seemed elsewhere. "Anyway, out of desperation, I invited a local pastor. I barely got your name out of him before he ran for the door. Ailbeart and I spent weeks searching the seediest places until we found any reliable information about you."

  She hated to be proud of that. "Why didn't you ask the pastor to reach out to us?"

  "Well, I tried. He threw holy water at me." Ian smirked, and it was annoyingly sexy.

  "That's kind of a go-to for us." Viola looked the man up and down, trying to decide if she should trust him.

  Normally, it was safe to judge a person by the color of their soul. With Ian, it strangely didn't seem right. Vi's gut told her to help him. Stupid gut.

  "I'll pay you double," he said, apparently sensing her indecision.

  Lana shifted closer. "Will the double come from that money?"

  "I'll pay with a credit card."

  "Fine." Viola glanced at her stepbrother. "Put your gun away, Aaron."

  "What's your plan?" The priest lowered his weapon but kept it at hand.

  Ian exhaled, his shoulders noticeably slouching with relief. He glanced at Ailbeart, who was on the phone, and waved him off. The valet did so without question.

  "Yeah, what do you need, boss?" Lana began removing handfuls of strange things from her duffel.

  "Nothing like that." Shaking her head, Viola turned toward the door. "I'm gonna go in."

  Aaron's mouth stretched into a sharp line. "Are you sure?"

  "I don't think it's safe," Ian interjected.

  "I can hear voices coming from that room." Heading toward the evil, an eager anticipation rolled through her. Yeah, it was dangerous and stupid, but this was what Vi's instincts wanted her to do. "I think if I get close to it, maybe touch it, I'll be able to hear what they're saying."

  "And what good would that do?" Ian and the others once again followed her.

  "The voices might tell her what to do," Aaron answered.

  Bouncing to the front of the pack, Lana added excitedly, "It could also trigger some kind of divine inspiration to guide her."

  "Well, I'm uncomfortable with this." Scowling, Ian reopened the door and the voices again grew louder in Vi's mind.

  "Ms. Danvers." Ailbeart offered her a tablet. "Would you mind signing this waiver?"

  Viola laughed. "Is this how you ease your discomfort, Mr. Grave?"

  "You don't have to sign it," he rushed out with an embarrassed cringe. "If anything happens to you, I don't mind taking full responsibility."

  "Aw, I'm touched." She really was. Viola dashed her finger across the screen, spelling her name in cursive. "I'm also just messing with you. Hazards come with the job."

  She turned away from them and faced the open doorway. The strange voices whispered anxiously like they'd been waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, Vi called to Aaron, "Pray for me, Father?"

  "Always." He knelt against the blackened wall, which lightened from the touch of a holy man, and brought his rosary to his lips.

  Ian and his valet stood back, watching from a safe distance. Lana dropped her duffel to the floor and began placing various objects around her. This way she wouldn't need to rummage if Vi needed anything quickly.

  The exorcist inhaled one last time. She raised her hands, crosses away from her, and stepped through the threshold. The voices increased tenfold as if dozens of people stood right next to her and shouted against her eardrums. They drowned everything out, forcing her to close her eyes from the pain.

  Viola pushed on, walking closer toward the center of the room and the money. She wiggled her fingers in the air, testing the weight and texture. Then, the visions started. They were too fast; flashes of blood and death. Nothing was clear, even the voices overlapped. Viola tried to wrestle with it all, tried to quiet the chaos, but it was too much.

  "Ms. Danvers?!" Ian's voice barely broke through the noise. "Can you hear me?"

  "No!" she shouted. "They're too loud. I can't make them stop."

  "Come out." Anger was laced within his barely audible command. "Get out now!"

  Viola tried to turn, but the air was like wading through shoulder high mud. Sweat tumbled down her temple. She peered through the slits in her eyelids. Ian, Lana, and Ailbeart stood at the door with fearful expressions. Aaron still prayed against the wall, his face scrunched with deep concentration.

  "Enough!" Vi shouted at the voices.

  They grew louder, angrier, and she stepped toward the door. A shattering pain gripped her as if electricity ripped through her body. Back arching, her eyes went wide, and the air swept from her lungs. Viola's muscles contracted, bringing her to her knees. The voices kept screaming—the visions now so forceful that she couldn't see through her own eyes.

  Viola gasped for air, only to be
attacked by more pain. She cried out. Shot by a hundred bullets, cut by a thousand knives—Viola felt like she was dying from nonexistent wounds.

  "—God damned rope!" Ian's voice somehow reached her through the onslaught.

  The visions stuttered at her distraction and allowed her eyes to finally see. Aaron and Ailbeart were holding Ian back, preventing him from crossing the salt. His suit was rumpled, his face red from exertion. He was screaming at her, but she couldn't hear.

  Lana was on the ground yelling, tears tumbling from her eyes. She held one end of Vi's rope. Ages ago, Viola burned crosses from end to end into the twisted cords. Lana had thrown it to her. It wasn't far.

  But Viola couldn't move. The evil had a hold of her and it wasn't letting go. The voices never stopped, and the visions returned, throwing spikes of pain behind them. So desperate for her to understand, they were going to kill her.

  Viola gritted her teeth and cried for enough, "Satis!"

  A forcefield shot from her body and thrust the energies away. The voices retreated to the corners, the visions ceased, and her muscles went lax. Viola fell forward. Panting and exhausted, she only had enough wherewithal to grab the rope. She felt the silkiness of the dried oils Lana had once applied to it. That girl was always prepared.

  "Satis," Vi whispered breathlessly for good measure.

  The men gripped the rope and pulled, though the voices followed her out of the room. They kept their distance, held at bay by that single word. The second Viola's feet were dragged across the threshold, Lana was there to lay down a new layer of salt. Mr. Grave pushed a button on the keypad and hydraulic pumps yanked the door shut.

  As bad as the hall had felt before, it was like Heaven compared to being in that room. The air was lighter, the voices a distant murmur. Aaron helped her into a sitting position as Lana put a bottle of water to her lips.

  "Viola, are you all right?" Ian knelt beside her, his gaze checking her over.

  "Are we on a first name basis now?" Her voice was hoarse.

  "Yeah, I think we're gonna have to be from now on." He smiled, but it was strained.

  One's first paranormal encounter could really shake a person. Unfortunately for Mr. Grave, this had been a doozy. Vi could attest to that.

  Viola slumped against her stepbrother. "How long was I in there?"

  Aaron was her support system who never failed; her guide away from the darkness. She could feel him form the sign of the cross over her, the beads of his rosary clicking from the gesture. There was the faintest sound of his lips moving as he prayed.

  "Thirty-three minutes," Lana answered with a sniffle. "You wouldn't talk to us and you were in pain."

  "I couldn't hear you; the voices were too loud." Still hearing them at the edge of her thoughts, Viola rubbed her temple.

  "We guessed as much since you didn't respond until I yelled at you," Ian said gently and let out a long exhale. "You are far too reckless."

  Viola forced a grin. "It's a job requirement."

  "Did you at least learn anything?" He didn't sound amused.

  "Yeah, something awful happened to a lot of people." She opened her eyes to find Ian just a foot away. His features were soft as he peered at her. It would have been sweet if not for the voices at the back of her consciousness. They were waiting, needful. It made Viola afraid of everything she still didn't know—afraid for Ian's life. "It created an evil that I've never experienced before."

  6

  Viola was dead on her feet as Ailbeart opened the door to her room. There was a seating area with a fireplace, a large bathroom with a whirlpool tub, and a four-poster bed large enough to accommodate even the wildest of parties. Viola didn't care about all of that. She kicked off her shoes and fell into the massive bed before Ailbeart could shut the door.

  Sleep hit her hard, but it didn't last. The nagging began hours later, permeating her quiet slumber and making her restless. Visions of horrid things filled her mind, just as they had Mr. Grave's dreams. Viola thrashed and muttered until suddenly she was startled awake. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Viola waited for the evil's nagging to fade from her soul.

  A gentle knock sounded on her bedroom door. Vi climbed out of bed, feeling light. Much like when she'd been sick for days and her fever had finally broken. Ignoring the shake in her limbs, Viola went to open the door.

  Ailbeart waited in the hall, holding a coffee tray. "Good afternoon, Ms. Danvers. I hope I did not wake you?"

  "If you did, it wasn't a good sleep anyway." She leaned against the door frame for support.

  "I'm sorry to hear that." He passed her a steaming mug. "Mr. Grave wanted to convey his heartfelt apologies for the incident this afternoon."

  Viola wrapped her fingers greedily around the cup and shook her head. "That's not necessary."

  "Be that as it may, he still wished to make it up to you by taking you to dinner."

  Viola straightened at that. "What kind of dinner?"

  "A formal dinner at the Scottish Rose." He offered her sugar, but she declined. "They have some of the best chefs in the world."

  "I'd love to"—Viola gestured to her jeans and tank top—"but I don't really have the right attire for a place like that."

  Being an exorcist might have been a calling but working for God didn't pay shit.

  "Not to worry." He stepped aside, revealing a little woman holding a long pink box. "Mr. Grave sent out for something."

  The servant lifted the lid. Carefully, Viola brushed the white tissue paper aside and gasped at the black dress nestled within. Expensive silk brushed her fingertips, making her heart beat excitedly. It was so gorgeous, she could hardly breathe.

  "When you're ready, use the phone by your bed," Ailbeart said as she gaped at the dress. "I'll send someone to assist with your hair and makeup."

  Viola smiled and eagerly accepted the box. "I think I'll soak in the tub first."

  "Very good." With a bow, Ailbeart ushered the servant out and grabbed for the door. "Mr. Grave has a table booked for the evening, so take your time."

  "I will, thank you." Viola placed the pink box on the bed before hurrying to the bathroom.

  Twisting the knobs in the large, oval whirlpool tub, Vi let the tub fill as she stripped. Steam billowed into the room and she uncapped a few of the essential oils lining the ledge. A couple droplets of green tea oil, a few more of jasmine, and the bath was primed for top relaxation. Viola slipped into the hot water, nudging the knobs with her foot to shut off the faucet. That's when she discovered the jets. Dear God, it was the best damn thing she'd ever experienced. Soon her strength returned, and the shakes left her muscles. Aside from her growing hunger, Viola felt totally renewed when she climbed out.

  The tub drained, and she wrapped herself in a lush bathrobe hanging nearby. The stylists knocked on her door within minutes of Viola calling downstairs. They took over instantly, guiding her toward a vanity chair and getting to work. When they were done, Vi had smoky eyes and tumbling bouncy locks.

  Then, it was time for the dress. Sliding it out of the box by the shoulders, part of her was worried that it wouldn't fit. Viola's shape would never appear on the runway; she had hips and a chest—and she was proud as hell of those curves. Dragging it on, by some miracle, her concerns were unfounded. The dress fit perfectly.

  Two straps hung from her shoulders, leading to tear-dropped cleavage. Honest to God, it was like the dress was made for her boobs. It hugged her high on the torso and swept gently along her hips. The silk was soft against her legs with a slit reaching several inches above her knee. A thin layer of sheer black fabric was applied atop the silk. It split down the middle, causing it to flutter around her as she walked. Combined with her tattoos and unusual hair coloring, the dress made her look like a hot demoness. An interesting fashion statement.

  As she marveled at her appearance in the mirror, her stomach growled. Ugh, she was starving. Normally Viola ate immediately after any kind of exorcist work—considering the number of calories it burned, it
really should be a weight loss plan—but today's events left her body too exhausted to be hungry. Now, her gut demanded to be fed.

  There was no denying the needs of the stomach. Viola entered the empty hallway, getting hit a little harder by the darkness this time around. Thankfully, she was leaving the house for a while. Tomorrow she'd have to deal with the room again but for now, she was getting a break.

  "Ah, you look most lovely, Ms. Danvers," Ailbeart said as she descended the stairs.

  "Thank you." She reached the bottom landing. "Your boss has very good taste in women's dresses."

  "It is his best talent." He almost smiled. "If you'll wait here, I will fetch him. Mr. Grave is attending to some business."

  With that, he walked down the hall. Viola waited by the front door, holding a black clutch purse in her hands. There was barely enough room for her lipstick inside, but she'd managed to squeeze in a vial of holy water—just in case.

  A high whistle came from behind.

  "Wow, boss." Lana appeared. "You look amazing."

  "Thank you. Mr. Grave is taking me to dinner." Feeling giddy, Viola scrunched up her nose. "It's like I'm going to prom."

  "Well, you would kill at prom for sure." Lana shifted closer, lowering her voice. "Have you explored this place yet? It's huge!"

  "No, I've only seen my room." She glanced around, suddenly wondering what everyone had been doing while she slept. "Where is Aaron?"

  "Last I saw him, he was out sitting in the garden." Lana shrugged. "You know how he is."

  Aaron was always seeking quiet places; a byproduct of having God in his head. It might appear that he was meditating or thinking, but most likely he was listening. God was apparently quite the chatterbox.

  Peering out the window, she noticed the sun was setting. "Would you check on him? It's getting dark out."

  "Sure, I'll find him."

  "Ah, Ms. Rose, I was searching for you earlier," Ailbeart said, materializing from thin air. "What would you like for dinner?"

  "What do you have?" A cringe crossed her face like she was afraid that her choices were sheep gizzard and more sheep gizzard.