Past Life

by C S Winchester

  PaST LIFE

  by

  Catherine Winchester

  PaST LIFE

  by Catherine Winchester

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by C.S. Winchester. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover picture copyright © Sachin Ghodke 2012. All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Frankie cried out as she was hurled into a headstone.

  “Son of a bitch!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet. “Oh, you are asking for it now, you bastard!”

  “Don't tell me I've upset you again.” Frankie would recognise that voice anywhere, with its rich timbre and the American accent.

  She turned to see Dante lounging casually against another headstone, doing his best impression of a Calvin Kline model; only with more clothes.

  “Not unless you're an evil, malevolent ghost,” she said, looking around warily. “Be careful,” she warned him.

  “Be careful of a ghost?” Dante mocked, shaking his head at the quaint little human superstition.

  Frankie almost laughed as the ghost sent him flying. The surprise on his face as he climbed to his feet was something Frankie wouldn't forget any time soon.

  “Now hold on, George,” she tried to pacify the ghost before he struck either of them again. “I just want to talk. There's no harm in talking, right?”

  Obviously there was, Frankie realised, as she found herself bouncing off the railings around his mausoleum.

  “George, if you don't talk to me now, the next time you see me it'll be to exorcise you! That's the ghost version of dying, George. No heaven, no hell, no haunting, just poof! Gone.”

  George clearly wasn't impressed with her threats, as he picked her up and held her off the ground by her throat.

  To Dante she just appeared to be hanging in mid air, but he could tell that she was in distress. He grabbed her leg and pulled, but the ghost was strong and wouldn't let her go of her.

  Frankie was growing light headed and she knew that if George didn't drop her soon, she was going to suffocate. She tried to speak but there was no air passing into her lungs.

  Suddenly it released her and she crumpled to the ground. She lay there for a few moments, panting and trying to recover herself.

  “Where is it?” Dante asked, crouched beside her and ready to pounce. For once he looked every inch the predator that he was, though his hunting skills would be useless against a ghost.

  “He's gone,” Frankie said, her voice hoarse.

  Dante looked confused. “Gone where?”

  Frankie didn't answer him but smiled and began talking in a baby voice. “Oh, who's my big brave boy!”

  Dante briefly wondered if he'd slipped into some alternate dimension where nothing made sense.

  “You are. Yes you are.” She held her hand out about a foot off the ground as she rubbed thin air.

  “Frankie, who are you talking to?”

  “Bobby,” she said, bringing her other hand up to cup... nothing. “He's a good boy, isn't he?”

  “Okay, unless the next thing out of your mouth actually makes sense, I'm leaving.”

  Frankie ignored him as she got to her feet. Dante was at least gracious enough to help her up.

  “See you later, buddy,” she said, bending over to be closer to the nothing that she had been stroking. “And just as soon as I figure out how, I'll bring you a big ol' ghost bone, how does that sound? Good boy.”

  Finally she turned her attention to Dante. She opened her mouth to explain but instead gave a long sigh. “It's a really long story.”

  “I've got time.”

  “Then let's get a drink. My throat is killing me.” She raised her hand towards her neck but hesitated when she saw a bloody graze on her finger. She was about to put the finger in her mouth when Dante caught her wrist.

  “Don't waste it,” he admonished, popping the digit into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure as the blood hit his tongue.

  Frankie allowed it because she knew that his saliva had healing properties, but it made her more than a little uncomfortable. Finally he took her finger out of his mouth and opened his eyes.

  “Delicious,” he said, his eyelids heavy with desire. “Does the rest of you taste as good?”

  “No,” she said, perhaps a little too sharply as she snatched her hand back.

  Dante shrugged then tilted her chin up and looked at her neck.

  “That's going to bruise I'm afraid,” he told her.

  Frankie grimaced at the thought and pulled the collar of her shirt higher. Seeing that she was still unsteady, Dante offered her his elbow and after a moment's hesitation, she took it and they left the cemetery together.

  “Okay, so where do I start?” she asked, rhetorically. “You know that ghosts are real, right?”

  “Not until now, no.”

  “Well they are. Most are harmless but some actually start hurting people.”

  “Poltergeists.”

  “Exactly. This one, George 'Bloody' Mackenzie, has been hurting a lot of people recently,”

  “Why?”

  “His mausoleum was vandalised a few weeks ago. It's been cleaned up but apparently he's still pissed. He's been bruising and biting people for years but there's nothing new there, they even have tours for people who want to encounter a ghost, so I was going to leave him be. Then a few days ago he struck a woman in the head and she suffered a nasty concussion.”

  “So you came to exorcise him?”

  “No, I came to talk to him. Exorcising a ghost is bloody difficult and not always successful. Plus, most ghosts can be reasoned with and convinced to cross over into the afterlife.”

  “So they don't often toss you around like a rag doll.”

  “No.” Frankie shook her head. “Even most poltergeists just want someone to hear them. As soon as they realise that I can, they tend to calm down.”

  “And who is Bobby?”

  As they exited the graveyard through a short alley, Frankie smiled and pointed.

  “See that statue?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That's Greyfriars Bobby.”

  “But that's a dog.”

  “Yep,” Frankie grinned and they went into the bar opposite the statue, aptly named Bobby's Bar.

  “So you're telling me that dogs can leave ghosts now?” Dante frowned. “What's next, rat ghosts? Spider ghosts?”

  Frankie shivered. “Ugh! I hope not, I hate spiders. But in answer to your original question, Bobby's the first animal ghost I've ever seen but given his story, if any dog was going to become a ghost, it's him.”

  “What story?”

  They approached the bar and Frankie ordered a double whisky for herself and a water for Dante. Since the bartender could hear them, they remained silent as he prepared their drinks. When they'd been served, they found a booth in the corner that afforded them some privacy, and Frankie explained Bobby's story.

  “Bobby was a terrier who belonged to John Gray, a night watchman. They patroled together and were pretty inseparable by all accounts. Then when Bobby was only two, John died. Bobby was adopted but he would never stay with the families who took him in, and for the next fourteen years he went to sit on John's grave every night. After a few years they
tried to put him to sleep because he didn't have an owner or a dog licence. Thankfully the Lord Provost intervened, bought him a dog licence and made him the responsibility of the council, so Bobby carried on protecting his master's grave every night until he died. He's buried just inside the Kirkyard. ”

  Frankie took a long sip of her whisky.

  “Ow, that stings,” she said.

  “I'll bet,” Dante sympathised. “Do you want some...?” He showed her his wrist to indicate he was offering her his blood. Vampire blood was a powerful healing aid.

  Frankie shook her head. She still felt supercharged from the last time, even though that had been six months ago. “But thank you.”

  Dante shrugged it off. “So this dog is still there, then?”

  “Who do you think chased Bloody Mackenzie off? It certainly wasn't us.”

  “How do you know it's a dog?”

  “I can see it.” She tapped her head and lowered her voice. “I'm psychic, remember.” She took another long sip of her drink and closed her eyes as it burned the inside of her throat. It was having a slight anaesthetic effect though.

  “I met Bobby when I was at university here. Poor chap's lonely, so I used to come and sit with him sometimes.”

  “How do you know he's lonely? Can you sense his emotions?”

  “Strangely no. I can with human ghosts but it seems that animals are as hard to read in death as in life. I knew he was lonely because I could see him jumping up at passers-by. Sometimes he left scratch marks, which people blamed on Bloody Mackenzie, but he just wanted some attention.”

  “This is all very surreal.” Dante shook his head.

  “What did you think I do on ghost hunts?” Frankie asked. It always amused her when one supernatural creature had trouble accepting the existence of another.

  Dante laughed. “To be honest I always pictured you dressed like something out of Ghostbusters.”

  “That's an interesting visual,” Frankie smiled.

  “Okay, back to real ghosts. Why would a ghost be afraid of another ghost?”

  Frankie shrugged. “I haven't the foggiest. To be honest, most ghosts don't seem very aware of each other. But maybe if they can harm us, they can harm each other. Anyway, whatever the reason I'm just glad Bobby was on our side.”

  “Yes, me too. Can Bobby feel it when you scratch him?”

  Frankie shrugged. “I don't know for sure but he looks like he enjoys it.” She finished her drink and turned serious. “So what do you have for me this time?”

  “Down to business,” Dante said, raising his eyebrows as he reached into his jacket and withdrew two Mont Blanc pens. “Another blood feud. Both say the other started the latest altercation. Their human partners both gave evidence to the council's proxy while holding these.”

  Frankie nodded her understanding.

  For reasons unknown, Frankie's psychic abilities meant that she was immune to vampire mind control. As such the council were very worried that she would expose them, and share what she knew about them with the world at large. Six months ago she had been forced to make a deal with the council. In order to carry on living (at least as a human) she must have a guardian, Dante, and must offer them the use of her psychic gift.

  Unfortunately her gift wasn't very helpful in day to day life; she couldn't see current or future events, she could only read the memories people left on the objects they touched, which made her a very good lie detector.

  “No one but vampires have handled these since?” she checked with Dante.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  One of the reasons she enjoyed vampire company, was that they were as immune to her gift as she was to their mind control. Vampires were completely silent to her, and that was a quality she found very attractive.

  She took the first pen and closed her eyes to concentrate. Slowly she separated out the memories and reviewed them. Frankie could see a young woman answering questions and as she answered she was remembering the events that she was speaking of, leaving an imprint of those memories on the pen.

  “This is the pen Janet was holding. Everything she said is true.” She picked up the other pen and repeated the process. “This one belonged to Georgina. She also-”

  She stopped talking and frowned.

  “Frankie?”

  “Something's off,” she said after a few moments. “She does genuinely believe what she's saying but as she's remembering the events there's like a- I don't know how to explain it. It's a bit like when televisions used to get a mixed signal, and you would see a ghost of another image.”

  She concentrated harder. Ever since she'd had blood from Josh, a very old and powerful vampire, her gift had been off the charts in strength. Before then there was no way she would have picked up such a slight impression. Now she tried to separate them out into two different memories.

  She opened her eyes. “She was vamped,” she said with certainty. “A vampire with shoulder length dark brown hair, green eyes and a Roman nose has altered her memories.”

  Dante looked vaguely impressed. “Can you see what the original memory was?”

  Frankie shook her head. “No, because she couldn't see it. Thanks to what he did, that memory is long gone; all I could see was him altering her memories.”

  “Interesting. They'll be thrilled.”

  “You know I can write a report for them. Believe me, I write a lot of reports for MI5.” Frankie was employed by MI5's paranormal division to police the supernatural world. Her department was known as P.a.S.T. the Paranormal and Supernatural Taskforce.

  Dante shook his head. “Verbal only. You know how paranoid they are.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. Their paranoia, justified or not, was the reason she was forced to do this for them in the first place.

  “So how's your apartment coming along?” Frankie asked, changing the subject. She didn't like to think too much about her indentured servitude.

  Since he was now Frankie's permanent guardian, Dante had just bought his own home in Edinburgh's new Quartermile development.

  “Great. I've nearly finished furnishing it, just the spare bedroom to go now. It couldn't be more perfect, really. Underground parking and access from the garage so no one ever need know the hours I keep.”

  “And no direct sunlight?”

  “Obviously. But beautiful views over the city.”

  “I'm glad you seem to be settling in.”

  Dante shrugged. “It's not so bad here. And... it's good to be out of Josh's house.”

  Frankie nodded in understanding. “Too many memories,” she said softly.

  Josh was the reason Dante and Frankie had met, since they both had helped him track down his sire's killer. Unfortunately their little investigation broke the vampire council rules when they allowed Frankie, a human, access to documentation that could be used to prove the existence of vampires. To save their lives, Josh had called in every favour he was owed and offered his own life in exchange for theirs.

  Of course they couldn't be allowed to get off scot free and as punishment Frankie was now forced to use her psychic abilities for the council while Dante was forced to stay in the UK until his fifty year probation was up. To try and protect her, Josh had asked for Dante to be appointed Frankie's guardian, and Dante had given his word that he would look out for her.

  Since then, Dante had become something of a brotherly figure to her and, aside from his sometimes inappropriate humour and his constant flirting with anything that had breath, they jogged along nicely together.

  “How about Alex?” Dante asked bitterly. “Is he leaving you alone?”

  Alex was Frankie's vampire ex-boyfriend, and the one who had betrayed them to the council.

  “Pretty much. He sent a letter two weeks ago which I sent back unopened. I haven't heard from him since then.”

  “You didn't tell me about that,” he accused.

  “It was nothing, I didn't even open it.”

  “Don't keep secrets from me, Frankie,”
he said, his tone was low and warning. “It could get both of us killed.”

  “It wasn't a secret! I just forgot to tell you.”

  “If the council ever finds out you haven't been completely honest with me-”

  Frankie held up her hand. “I know, I know. It's both our necks on the line. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hide anything from you.”

  Dante nodded his acceptance of her apology.

  “Get it over with then,” she said, referring to the ritual that they met up once a week to perform.

  It irritated Dante as much as it did Frankie, but he had to ask the questions. He leaned forward.

  “Have you told anyone about the existence of vampires?” he asked, cocking his head slightly so he could more clearly hear her heartbeat.

  “No.”

  “Other than me, have you spoken to anyone about vampires, real or fictional?”

  “No.”

  “Have you spoken about vampire myths or lore to anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Have you said anything that might give anyone a reason to suspect that vampires might be real?”

  “No.”

  “And have you received any other letters, communications or gifts from vampires that I should know about?”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. “No.”

  “Good. Come on, I'll give you a lift home.”

  Frankie shook her head. “Don't be silly, you only live around the corner. I'll get a cab.”

  “Don't you want to see my new apartment?”

  “I'd love to, but my throat is starting to swell up and I really just want to sleep.”

  “Some other time then,” Dante smiled as they stood up. “I will get you in my bedroom one day, Frankie.”

  “Dream on, lover boy.” She smiled.

  “Oh,” he raised his eyebrows salaciously. “I will.”

  Frankie lightly punched his shoulder. “Ha ha.”

  Dante liked to flirt with her but Frankie always got the feeling that it was just for fun. He never followed through on his promises (or threats) and Frankie was grateful for that. It was depressing to admit at thirty two, but Alex had been her first real boyfriend and her heart was still broken from his betrayal. Plus, aside from weekly meetings with Dante, her life had been relatively vampire free, a situation she found very agreeable, because vampires could be damn scary when they wanted to be, even the nice ones.