by Debra Dunbar
She couldn’t tell this woman that a ghoul had seized control of her husband’s body and was murdering others. Shelly was at a very vulnerable point in her life, and that might just push her over the edge.
“I just can’t imagine it. That sort of thing doesn’t happen here. It’s a small town. We’d know if someone was dabbling in black magic.”
Or not. Nyalla winced, thinking of all those she knew, living among these humans as “other”. A werewolf was a prominent member of the real–estate community — in fact, an entire pack resided in the neighboring county. Then there was Satan herself, and a half–demon/half–elf hybrid who’d attended high school here. Most humans were happy to turn a blind eye to the unusual. Heck, they all believed she was an exchange student from Finland.
“You’d be surprised at the secrets people keep,” Nyalla said. “What about John’s mother? Eric told me she fought with you about taking John off life support. Do you think she could have possibly been desperate enough to explore this kind of thing?”
Shelly’s mouth tightened into a thin, white line. “She was angry at me for more than wanting to take John off life support. He’d left late that morning because he’d gotten up with Jack in the middle of the night so I could sleep. If he hadn’t been running late, he’d never have been in the path of that dump truck. She blamed me for that and blamed me for giving up hope. She hasn’t spoken to me since John died. Even at the funeral, she never said a word to me.”
Nyalla took a ragged breath. Some people just seemed to need to blame someone for everything, but to accuse Shelly of being responsible for her husband’s death after all she’d been through was downright cruel.
“Would she do it?” Shelly hesitated and looked at the baby playing on the floor, oblivious to the grief saturating the room. “She’s a good woman, a church–going woman, but there are things a mother would do for her child that are beyond all reason. I thought for a brief moment of selling my soul for John’s recovery, but for Jack, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d give everything I had for him. I’d trade my soul without a moment of hesitation.”
It pained Nyalla to think of a love so fierce. Would she ever feel that for someone? She looked down at the baby and felt tightness in her chest. Someday. Something had happened to her over the last few days, and she felt like she was on the edge of something. It felt like she was about to break into a million pieces. But maybe that’s what needed to happen — like a chrysalis coming apart so the butterfly could emerge.
“Who would know? Is there someone that John’s mother would have confided in? I hate to ask, but I need to know.” She could hardly walk up to the man’s mother, a total stranger, and demand to know if she’d paid someone to resurrect her dead son. Eric could possibly do it as a police inquiry, but the line of questioning would be bizarre.
Shelly shook her head. “I really don’t know. She doesn’t use a computer, doesn’t even have a cell phone. She’s very anti–technology. The only way she would have contacted someone is if they were local and rumored to do such things. Or possibly if there was a book in the library, maybe she would have tried it herself.”
Library. Nyalla could swing by there and see what their occult selection had to offer. As for the other… . “I know you said there was no one in the area who was involved with this sort of thing, but what about rumors? Anyone odd, or suspected of unusual practices?”
The woman bit her lip, obviously reluctant to rat out her neighbors. Well, there’s a young woman down on Hunter Street who some say is a witch. I think she’s just a Presbyterian, but you know how people talk. And there’s old Mr. Carney on Dollyhyde who claims he needs to salt his lawn to keep the demons out. You should see his lawn — it’s dead and brown with big rings around his house from the stuff. Oh, and Mrs. Simpson on Granger Road. Some teenagers toilet–papered her house on Halloween and the next day they all came down with some horrible rash. They looked like a bunch of raspberries for a whole week. Lots of people thought she’d cursed them.”
It was better than nothing. She could check out the library herself and text all the leads to Eric. Hopefully he could help her in any questioning so she didn’t feel like a complete idiot showing up at these people’s homes uninvited, accusing them of trying to raise the dead. Fear spiked through her at the thought of visiting total strangers, but with Eric beside her, she’d find the strength to do it.
Nyalla got up to leave, wondering if she should warn Shelly about the threat to her and Jack. There wasn’t much Shelly could do to defend against a ghoul. Nyalla didn’t want the other woman to worry herself sick, but she also didn’t want her to be surprised by a murdering corpse in the night. Ideally this ghoul would be laid to rest before he ever got within a hundred feet of John’s family, but Nyalla was beginning to fear killing the thing wouldn’t be so easy. What if it got away from them and got to Shelly? Nyalla looked over at baby Jack and had an idea.
“You and Jack really need a little vacation, a quiet spot to grieve in peace and think about your future.” It was what she’d been doing the past few months in Sam’s house. Maybe Shelly would benefit from the same, and it would get her out of reach of the ghoul.
The woman’s laugh was short and bitter. “Nyalla, I don’t have a dime to my name. I’m going to lose my house in a few months. I don’t have any money for a trip to the zoo, let alone a vacation.”
“I’ll pay,” Nyalla blurted out. Well, Sam would pay. She had stacks of money in that safe, borrowing a handful for Shelly wouldn’t be a big deal.
Shelly frowned. “Aren’t you an exchange student from Finland? Certainly you don’t have enough money to be sending me on vacation.”
“I have funds that my mother left me,” she lied. “I’ll give you some extra to help pay for your mortgage, too. That way you and Jack can go the beach, spend a week there and not worry. Chincoteague to see the ponies, or maybe Bethany Beach.” Nyalla thought with a twinge of envy of all the brochures on her dining–room table. If only it were her heading to the beach.
“I barely know you.” Shelly shook her head in disbelief. “Why would you do this for a stranger you’ve just met?”
Nyalla hesitated then realized the best reason wasn’t a lie at all. “I know what it’s like to be suddenly thrown into a life you didn’t expect. I know what it’s like to look at the future with fear and confusion, to wonder how you’ll ever survive. Kind people have helped me; I want to do the same for you.”
Shelly covered her mouth to choke back a sob and grabbed Nyalla in a tight hug. “’Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’”
“Umm, I’m not an angel; I’m just a human.” Had Shelly guessed her gift? Even so, it hardly put her in the same league as those celestial beings.
“You’re an angel to me.” Shelly pulled back and gave Nyalla a wobbly smile, her eyes shining with tears.
Nyalla smiled back. “Well, pack your bags. I’ll make your hotel reservations and I’ll be back with cash for you before nightfall. Can you leave tonight?”
Shelly looked around her at the happy chaos of toys and pictures. “Sure, why not? There’s nothing here that can’t wait for a week.”
18
The library didn’t have much in the way of magical readings. There were a few books on Wicca, another on the Salem witch trials, and a handful on exorcism. None held anything remotely close to instructions on how to raise the dead, or bring a loved one back to life. Eric had messaged asking her to meet him at a local pub to exchange information before they set out for the evening. She checked out one intriguing book on tantric sex then headed to the Roadside Tavern to meet him.
Eric was already seated when she arrived, a basket of fried pickles and a plate of nachos on the table. Nyalla gorged herself on the fried food, starving after a long day with only the breakfast eggs and a soda to hold her hunger at bay. Finally, feeling like she could communicate in a rational fashion, she told Eric about what Shelly had said, a
nd the dead ends she’d found at the library.
“I really want to go visit these three people Shelly mentioned, to see if one of them is the necromancer, but we don’t have enough time before nightfall.”
Eric nodded. “I think the Findley murders are connected. Major portions of their bodies are missing, and the pieces remaining look …chewed. The little boy that survived didn’t see anything, but he said there were lots of growls, like an animal did it. We need to stop this thing from murdering anyone else. But how?”
“Feel like digging?” Nyalla grinned. “Aunt Marie mentioned dirt from John Mayfield’s grave might send the ghoul back where he belongs. A specialist she knows is supposed to call me, but until then this is the only suggestion I have.”
“So we walk around graveyards all night carrying buckets of dirt then hope we manage to throw it on the ghoul before he kills us?”
It did sound ridiculous. “Do you have any better ideas?”
Eric scowled. “No. We spend the night ghoul hunting, then tomorrow interviewing possible necromancers and John’s mother?”
“Yes, and maybe his brother if we can fit it all in. We’re running out of time.”
Eric stood, tossing money on the table and grabbing the last fried pickle. “Then I guess I better start digging. I’ll swing by my house to get buckets and shovels. Meet you at the gravesite at dusk? Say around nine thirty?”
Nyalla nodded. That would give her enough time to make arrangements for Shelly and see her off. She stood, eyeing Eric with concern. He seemed unhappy. Was he mad at her about something?
“Thank you for dinner.” She tugged on his sleeve, lifting her face for a kiss. It was unsatisfyingly brief. “Is something wrong?”
He caressed a hand down her cheek and cupped her chin, his eyes full of regret. “This isn’t how I wanted to spend an evening with you. All that gruesome stuff at work today, and now I’m going to spend the night running around a cemetery and my day off interviewing suspects. It’s like work after work, and I really want to just take you out to a movie and back to my house for the night.”
It sounded rather selfish given the circumstances, but she understood how he felt. She’d rather be having sex with him than trying to track down and kill a ghoul, too, but people’s lives were at stake.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to come with me.”
He sighed and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I do. I’m a cop, even when I’m off duty. And there’s no way I want you to face something like this alone.”
“I’m glad.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll meet you at the cemetery, and I’ll bring coffee.”
“Now you’re talking,” Eric said as he walked her to her car.
***
“Here.” Nyalla thrust an envelope full of money and a stack of papers into Shelly’s hand. As promised, the woman had several bags loaded in the car and Jack snug in his car seat.
“Chincoteague.” Shelly looked through the printouts and brochure Nyalla had stapled to one page.
“I booked you a boat tour to see the wild ponies. It’s not too long, so Jack should be okay for it. They even have a baby water vest for him. And the reservation is at a bed and breakfast inn. It’s only a few blocks from the ocean.”
“We always wanted to go here,” Shelly choked out, pausing a moment to wipe her eyes. “John and I … we had a lot of good memories at the beach. When we were first dating, we went a lot.”
“Then this will be perfect. The wildlife refuge at Assateague is only a few miles away. It’s a beautiful, quiet place. You’ll come back next week strong and ready to face the world.”
Shelly bent down to stuff the envelope and papers into an oversized bag while Nyalla picked up the carrier holding the baby. He cooed at her, waving a tiny fist, and again she felt that stab of longing. They walked to Shelly’s car, and Nyalla watched as the woman carefully strapped Jack’s carrier into the back seat.
“I’m so grateful for this, Nyalla. I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” Shelly said, turning to hug Nyalla in a tight embrace.
“Call me when you get back?” Nyalla had another idea. “Hey, what did you do for work before you and John were married?”
Shelly wrinkled her nose. “I was an assistant for a real estate developer. I know, I know — it sounds lame, but I was hoping to eventually get my real estate license. Why?”
Nyalla grinned. “I know someone. Well, I know two someones, actually. Call me when you get back, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Shelly raised her eyebrows as she climbed into the car. “You know someone? I’m starting to think you are an angel.”
Hardly. Nyalla glanced up at the darkening sky and the faint peach tint on the horizon. She waved as Shelly backed out of the driveway and headed down the road, watching the little car turn left at the intersection to disappear from view. Then she pulled out her cell phone.
“Hello, Candy?”
19
Eric had two backpacks and several buckets filled with dirt by the time Nyalla and Boomer arrived at the cemetery. All the police tape had been removed, but Eric still jumped when he saw them, his hand reaching toward the gun at his hip.
“Sheesh, Nyalla, give a guy some warning. I’m a little edgy here, digging up dirt in what was a crime scene a few days ago, worrying some crazy monster is going to attack me from behind while I’m shoveling.”
Sweat darkened patches on his shirt and glistened on his skin; dirt clung to the muscles on his legs and arms. She’d never seen him looking so sexy. Nyalla walked over, removing the shovel from his hand and tossing it aside before grabbing him and pulling his face down for a long kiss. She felt the tension fall from his shoulders, and his hands grabbed her waist, molding her to his body before moving to cup her rear end.
“Think the ghoul will take the night off, so we can go back to my house?” Eric murmured as he scattered kisses across Nyalla’s jaw and down her neck.
“No.” She sighed and pulled back reluctantly. “I think we’ll need to take a water check on this one.”
He chuckled. “Rain check. And I’m a bit worried how we’re going to lug all this around. Dirt is stupidly heavy; I’ve just discovered.”
Nyalla went to pick up a bucket and nearly fell over. They could hardly go chasing all over the county after a ghoul with fifty pounds of dirt in tow. They’d need to somehow make the ghoul come to them.
“Boomer, do you have any idea where this ghoul will target this evening?”
The hellhound raised a dirt–covered nose to look at her and shook his head. She sighed and turned to Eric.
“Were there any other bodies stolen last night? Any reason to believe the Findley family was singled out?”
“No. They’re not near a cemetery. I have no idea why a ghoul would have targeted them.”
Boomer let out a long whine. His eyes glowed an eerie orange, and he pawed the ground, nudging one of the gravestones with his nose.
“Ghosts,” Nyalla announced. “The ghoul also eats ghosts. Did the Findleys have a ghost problem?”
“I’ve got no idea. People don’t talk about that sort of thing, Nyalla. I’ve heard rumors that the old mill is haunted, and a spot down on the Patapsco River where those kids drowned a few years back. Heck, up until last night I didn’t even believe those tales.”
She watched Boomer grab a pail of dirt, the handle in his mouth. He picked it up as though it weighed no more than a mouse. “Well, I guess we better load all this in the Suburban and drive around. Hopefully Boomer can sense the ghoul once he gets up and moving about.”
It was a long evening. Boomer, with his head completely out the window, directed them to nearly a dozen cemeteries, including private ones on old farms and abandoned churchyards. There was no sign of the ghoul, and all the while Eric fiddled with his police scanner, worrying that the monster might be murdering someone as they drove around. Close to three in the morning, Boomer whined excitedly, staring at a wooded area in an empty field.
/> “But there aren’t any graves here,” Nyalla protested. She’d also been perplexed by the ancient cemeteries the hellhound had taken them to earlier. None of the grave robberies had involved corpses past one year of burial. Why there, and why here? Were these places where ghosts roamed?
“Okay, okay,” she assured the dog, who was frantically spinning around in his seat and pawing at the door. Nyalla barely had the car in park before Boomer was out the open window to sniff the air and ground beside the road.
Shouldering a heavy backpack full of dirt, Eric grabbed two flashlights, handing one to Nyalla.
“Do you think you can carry a bucket of dirt?”
She looked at them, lined up in the back of the Suburban. “I better take one of the backpacks instead. We may have to leave them here, as back up, if we get chased back to the car.”
Boomer pulled one out, spilling the dirt on the pavement and rolling in it. Covered, he stood up and grabbed the half–empty pail with his mouth.
“You’re in the lead,” Nyalla told the hellhound.
Boomer trotted off toward the tree line as she and Eric followed. The field was thick with tall grass and briars. Thistles raked Nyalla’s bare legs, stinging painfully as she struggled to keep up with the hound.
“Slow down,” she hissed, using her bucket to push aside thorny plants.
Was that mist close to the ground, or low–spun spider webs? It was impossible to see in the thick foliage and dim light. The insect song grew silent. Nyalla jerked her head up, more worried about what lay ahead than the briars scratching her legs.
I’d hoped for live prey tonight, but hadn’t expected it to walk right up to me. How kind of this hellhound to escort my meal to me.
The voice seemed to come from all around her. Boomer snarled, hidden somewhere ahead in the grass. Nyalla halted, and Eric nearly ran into her.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered
“Yes. Hold here. Back to back until we see what direction he’s coming from.”
