Stolen Souls

by Debra Dunbar

  Curiosity flashed in Tamika’s eyes. “I’ll help, but I’m not coming back into this ghoul’s territory. And I may or may not take you up on the introduction. If a ghoul is this bad, I’m not sure I want to be face–to–face with an actual demon.”

  “Let’s get going then,” Eric said.

  They all exchanged cell–phone numbers, and Nyalla watched Tamika slowly maneuver her van onto the main road. For the second time that morning, she reached out and took Eric’s hand in mute apology.

  “Do you think we have time for a quick nap? Otherwise I’m afraid I’m not going to be very coherent, no matter how much coffee I ingest.”

  Eric squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips. “Only if I get to nap next to you.”

  She smiled, tugging at his arm as she turned to head back to the house. They barely knew each other — that much was evident after last night’s argument. Still, as frightening as it was, taking a risk on someone she liked wasn’t all that bad. What did she have to lose?

  23

  Nyalla woke up encircled by strong arms, Eric’s breath stirring the hair at the top of her head. She wiggled, burying her face into his shoulder and hoping they could squeeze in just a few more moments of sleep. This relationship might not last long, but it was nice for now, and it gave her a certain sense of freedom to just let herself go, to live in the moment.

  “You awake?”

  Eric’s voice was cottony with sleep. She smiled against his shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  Neither one moved, both clearly wanting to forget about the events of last night and hold tight to another living being for a moment. His heart beat against her chest, and she felt the warmth of him, so very different from the heat of the sun against her skin. Warm. How good it felt to be lying on something soft and so very warm.

  A huge sigh moved Eric’s chest, raising Nyalla with it. “We better get moving. We don’t have much time.”

  They didn’t, but hopefully with them trying to find who raised the ghoul, and Tamika attempting to find the nearest necromancer, they’d be able to put this thing back where it belonged. Hopefully before nightfall. Nyalla didn’t think she could spend another night like the last one.

  “The good news is he’s probably weak after not eating last night. I doubt he’ll go on a killing spree until he can dig up and eat some corpses,” Nyalla said, getting off the couch and stretching.

  “So if we strike out, maybe we’ll just line every new grave with live electrical wire and starve the thing. I’ve got a ton of Christmas lighting stored in my basement. That should cover five or six graves.”

  Nyalla nodded, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, and headed into the kitchen to make some coffee to go. Within ten minutes, they’d piled into the battered Suburban, wearing yesterday’s clothes and cradling cups of coffee. After weeks of blistering sun, the grass was beginning to dry to a crunchy brown. Nyalla glanced up at the cloudy sky, wondering if they’d finally get some rain. She preferred the sun, but the dying foliage was more depressing than the rain would be.

  It was nine o’clock by the time they reached Westminster, so Eric directed her to Ben’s place of employment instead. It was a squat two–story building, housing an eclectic array of businesses. Driving around, they finally found Westminster Graphic Design Concepts.

  Sitting at the desk as they walked in was an older replica of John Mayfield. Nyalla stared, trying to differentiate the man before her from the man in Shelly’s wedding pictures. Ben was heavier, his hair starting to thin at the temples. The biggest difference, though, was in his expression. Deep grooves were around his eyes and dark bags underneath. His mouth was a tense line. He looked like a man who had lost everything.

  “Eric, hey. Long time no see.” His voice held a forced cheerful quality.

  Eric got right to the point. “Ben, we need to talk. Someone raised a ghoul into your brother’s body, and we need the necromancer who did it to put him back.”

  Ben sat motionless, and Nyalla couldn’t tell if he was in shock from the absurdity of Eric’s statement, or from guilt.

  “If you weren’t one of Shelly’s closest friends, I’d be planting my fist in your face right now. I don’t know what sicko desecrated my brother’s grave, but I had nothing to do with it. How dare you come in here and accuse me.”

  Nyalla winced. “We’re not accusing you of anything. We just want to see if you know who might have done this. We think that someone tried a resurrection spell on your brother, and it backfired. I’m sure whoever did it had the best of intentions, but now we have a ghoul on the loose, and he’s killing people. He’ll kill a whole lot more if we don’t find a way to get rid of him.”

  Ben’s laugh was brittle. “I don’t know what you all have been smoking, but it’s way too early in the morning for this. I’ve got work to do, so if you’ll excuse me… .”

  “The Findleys are dead — all of them except Max. Their dog was eviscerated on the front porch, and they were torn to bits inside their own home. We’ve seen this monster, Ben. He attacked us. Guns don’t kill him; he regenerates within minutes. Help us.”

  Indecision flickered across Ben’s eyes, but his face quickly regained composure. “I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about what happened at the cemeteries, or to the Findleys.”

  Eric clenched his fists in frustration. They were on the losing end. No matter how hard they pushed, Ben seemed unwilling to give in. Did he really know nothing about the ghoul? Was it possible there was another person involved that they hadn’t even suspected? Nyalla took a breath, and reached out with her gift, stealing herself for the onslaught of another’s emotions and thoughts.

  John. John. A small boy crying with a larger boy hugging him. A toddler, his arm deep inside a Christmas stocking, a candy cane protruding from the corner of his mouth. Two boys standing on a bike, screaming gleefully as they sped down a hill. Ben with a newborn baby in his arms, John next to him with a huge grin on his face, saying “You’re next Ben. I’ll give you a year and you’ll be married with a son of your own on the way.” Would our kids be as close as we were? We’ll sit in deck chairs and watch them climb trees in the yard. But now you’re gone.

  Nyalla pulled back, reeling from the memories. Was it him? She couldn’t tell when all she sensed was grief. If it wasn’t Ben, they were back to square one.

  “Please, Ben,” she pleaded. “The ghoul is in John’s body. He’s going to kill countless people, including Shelly and the baby. If you know anyone who may have done this, may have tried to bring John back to life, please tell us.”

  “I had nothing to do with these grave robberies. I’m not involved in this at all. Now leave me to deal with the loss of my brother, and the theft of his body, in peace.”

  Eric met Nyalla’s eyes and inclined his head toward the door. She followed him out, feeling like her legs were cement. They’d failed. There was still that long shot that Tamika would be able to find a necromancer to help them, but even that might come too late. The ghoul would be up tonight, and he’d be pissed. People would die, and Nyalla wasn’t sure if she could stop it from happening.

  “I don’t know if he did it. We’ve talked to all three, and they all deny it. Maybe it’s someone else.”

  Eric shook his head. “Well, we’re at a dead end. Hopefully Tamika will turn something up.”

  Dead end. It was an unfortunate choice of words. “What do we do now?”

  “I’ve got to go to work in an hour. I’ll pick up the Christmas lights from my house and meet you afterwards. We’ll be cutting it close time–wise, but there can’t be that many graves to wire up.”

  Nyalla nodded, fighting back tears. She had a feeling things were going to go really wrong. Maybe not tonight, but eventually the ghoul would either manage to catch them, or he’d get frustrated enough with their delaying tactics and go on a murdering spree. She drove Eric back to his house to drop him off, not even returning his half–hearted hug. She was glad he didn’t lie and tell her it
would all be all right. At least he wasn’t trying to minimize the danger.

  A few fat drops of rain hit the windshield as Nyalla drove home. Both Sam’s cars looked like they’d been tossed around by a forklift, and the house had broken glass and gouged wood boards on every side. For once, she didn’t want to go back there. Her sanctuary now was a reminder of the danger she was in. The old, familiar panic trickled through her, expanding painfully in her chest. There was nowhere safe. She was vulnerable, weak. Maybe she could hide out in Wyatt’s house.

  Her brother. The pain in her chest lessened. She had a brother, a step–sister, friends — things she never thought she’d have when she’d been in Hel. Nyalla pulled off the road and took out her phone, her fingers hovering over the number pad. She couldn’t call Wyatt. He’d race home once he heard about the ghoul, and then his life would be in danger too.

  But that’s not the only reason you don’t want to call him.

  She bit her lip and admitted to herself that there was a more selfish reason she didn’t want to call her brother. Instead, her finger moved to the other speed–dial number, and within two rings, a warm voice greeted her.

  “Nyalla! How are things?”

  Candy. She may have been Sam’s best friend and jogging buddy, but Candy was the closest thing to a mother Nyalla had ever had.

  “Well, a necromancer raised a ghoul and now the monster is running around every night killing people. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could kill a ghoul, do you? Or send it back to wherever it came from?”

  Candy gave a sharp intake of air then released it in a breathy laugh. “I don’t think I heard you right. A ghoul? Or a girl? And did you really mean ‘necromancer’?”

  Nyalla told her the whole story. Well, actually, it was an abbreviated, whitewashed version of the story. There was no sense in worrying Candy any more than necessary.

  “Well, you Lowrys don’t have particularly safe hobbies, do you? No scrapbooking or bird watching for you, no; you’re out chasing ghouls.”

  “Do you know anyone who could help, Candy?” Nyalla felt tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m out of ideas, and come sundown, things are going to get really ugly.”

  “I’m sorry; I don’t know anything about ghouls. I’ll come by and help protect you, though. Do you want me over at your house tonight?”

  “It’s not about protecting me.” Nyalla gripped the phone hard in frustration. “This ghoul is going to kill people. He’s already murdered a family. The only reason he didn’t last night was we kept his attention directed on us. I don’t know how much longer that’s going to work.”

  “What did Wyatt say?”

  Nyalla hesitated, but if she wanted Candy’s help, she’d need to be honest. “He doesn’t know. I haven’t called him. He’ll just come racing home to protect me.”

  “No, he’ll come racing home to help you. Why haven’t you called him?”

  “He smothers me. It’s like he’s afraid I’m going to break, or fall apart. He’s not wrong, I am falling apart, but I need to learn to do things myself if I’m ever going to be a normal woman. I can’t do that with him holding my hand every step of the way.”

  “Nyalla, if he was smothering you, he would have never left you on your own and gone to San Diego. And there’s a big difference between grocery shopping on your own and trying to take out a ghoul.”

  “Nobody thinks I can do anything; even I don’t think I can do anything. You and Michelle might check in, but you don’t constantly fuss over me. You don’t open a can of tuna because I can’t figure out how to operate the opener; you give me pointers and let me struggle through it. Wyatt doesn’t.”

  “Then tell him when you don’t want his help, or when you only want a certain kind of help. Wyatt tries to do that to Sam too, and she tells him to shove off when he does. He’s a guy, Nyalla. You’ve got to let him know in a very clear fashion what you want from him, or you’re never going to get it.”

  Nyalla wiped the tears from her cheek. She imagined Wyatt’s distress over learning about the ghoul, how he’d worry. He’d think she couldn’t handle it, and he’d be right. She couldn’t handle it or she wouldn’t be sitting in a car bawling her eyes out on the phone with a werewolf.

  “He’ll get himself killed. This ghoul is bad, really bad. I don’t know what we’re going to do if we don’t find a necromancer.”

  “Hush there.” Candy’s voice was warm and soothing. “Wyatt may look like he should be on the cover of a surfer magazine, but he’s taken out more demons than I have fingers and toes. A ghoul can’t be worse than a demon. Call him.”

  Nyalla hiccupped into the phone. “Are you sure you don’t know any necromancers?”

  “No, honey, I don’t. I know you’re struggling to put your past behind you and stand on your own two feet, but remember, being strong and capable doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone. We werewolves live and die by the pack. The whole reason I’m strong as an individual is because I know a whole group of wolves has my back. You’ve got your own pack — us, Wyatt, your friends. Don’t hesitate to rely on them to give you strength when you need it most. We’re stronger as a group then we could ever be alone.”

  The werewolf was right, although it bothered Nyalla to admit it to herself. She’d been so afraid that if she conquered her fears with the help of others, they’d never really be gone, but maybe that wasn’t the case. A memory flashed before her of a Nyalla who struggled to survive as a slave to the elves, a Nyalla who endured, who defied in ways that she could, who found hope even when there was none. That wasn’t the Nyalla who hid in a demon’s house and pretended that all was okay while she quaked with fear every time the pizza–delivery man came. And the last few days had proved that when she needed to, fear wasn’t such a hard foe to conquer.

  “All right. I’ll call him.”

  Nyalla thanked Candy, promising her a home–cooked meal of reheated pizza by the weekend. Then she hung up and dialed Wyatt.

  24

  Wyatt was surprisingly calm as Nyalla unfolded the events of the last few days to him, waiting patiently when sobs stole her ability to speak.

  “Demons die when their physical body does, but since this ghoul is already in a dead body, I can see how shooting it wouldn’t do much. Have you tried other things? Fire? Decapitation? I don’t know, drowning, maybe?”

  “I haven’t tried fire. It’s been so dry here that I’m afraid I’d set the whole town ablaze. He did seem bothered by electricity, but I can’t figure out how to get high enough voltage to kill him. He’s also bothered by dirt from the grave of his host body, but shy of throwing him into the grave and quickly burying him, I don’t see how that will help.”

  “There has to be something besides the magical/necromancer angle. How about exploding him into little bits?”

  Nyalla laughed, her voice teetering on the edge of tears again. “I looked all through your gun safe and couldn’t find any C4, dynamite, or grenades. Trust me; I looked. Eric doesn’t have any either.”

  “I wish Sam were here. She’d cram a lightning bolt through the guy and not even bat an eyelid,” Wyatt said.

  Sam or even her half–sister, Amber, although the half–demon’s abilities to produce lightning were unreliable. Nyalla really needed a demon, or an angel, but all she had was a ghost hunter who may not want to help them anymore, and a rookie cop.

  “Me too. Any ideas? If we could just find a necromancer, or the person who hired one, we might be able to send this ghoul back.”

  “Wait.” Wyatt’s voice lightened. “Mayfield. Do you have any of their e–mail addresses or social media names? I can trace back to their IP address from there and hack into their computer. If any of the family is hiding something, it might be on their computer.”

  “No, but Ben owns Westminster Graphic Design Concepts.”

  “Even better.” Nyalla heard Wyatt typing in the background. “Hang on; I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “I thought you’d be
heading home on a plane by now,” Nyalla confessed. “I really appreciate you having faith in me to handle this, Wyatt.”

  “Hmmm. I’m heading home top speed as soon as we get a game plan in place for you. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Nyalla. Any girl who could go through what you did at the hands of the elves and come out of it a charming, confident, and adaptable woman is amazing, in my opinion. I just don’t want to lose my newfound sister to a grave–monster, and everyone could use a wingman when it comes to the supernatural.”

  Nyalla caught her breath on another sob. “Thank you. I think I could use a whole crowd of wingmen right now.”

  “I’m running a script on the laptop now to access Ben’s business network. I checked through my tablet and it looks like the mother doesn’t have any internet footprint at all. From what I can tell, she doesn’t even do any online shopping.”

  “Mrs. Mayfield doesn’t like technology. She doesn’t have a cell phone either.”

  “Well, I’ll move on to the wife then. She’s on a couple of social media sites. Once my laptop is done with Ben, I’ll trace back and see if I can access her home computer. If it’s on and connected, I may be able to hack in.”

  “She’s out of town. Besides, I don’t think it’s her.” Nyalla remembered she hadn’t used her “gift” on Shelly. She hadn’t wanted to intrude, and the woman seemed to wear her emotion on her face anyway. “I could be wrong, but she seemed very sincere when we discussed it. She knows this thing may come after her. I doubt she’d hide her involvement if she thought she and the baby were at risk.”

  “Bingo.” Nyalla’s heart jumped at the confident tone in Wyatt’s voice. “I’m in at Ben’s company, and it looks like business has been slow. Most of the e–mails the last three weeks have been to someone going by the name of ‘the dark master’.”