Drop Dead (Tess Skye Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  She turns her back to me and holds the eyeglass up to her face. “This isn’t possible.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  With no further details forthcoming, I say, “Come on, don’t hold out. The suspense is killing me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I almost slip and fall from surprise, but manage to say, “About?”

  Miranda enters the bathroom. Her glasses fog up from the water, and she wipes them hastily. “These…these are the ward-breakers. For the dam.”

  She holds them up so I can see them. They look like little marbles shimmering in her palm.

  “That sounds promising.”

  “It’s the key to stopping that foul man Dominic.” She shakes her head in wonderment, still in a state of disbelief. “A year we’ve been searching for these.”

  “So does that mean you trust me now?”

  She furrows her brow as if to say don’t push your luck. Despite her expression, she says, “There’s no way that miserable parasite Dominic would have given you these as a trick.”

  “Glad to be of service, then.” But I can’t help adding, “You know, you could’ve spared my blood pressure if you’d opened that ten minutes ago.”

  “You know what they say.” Miranda wipes her glasses again as she exits the bathroom, clutching the ward-breakers tightly in her fist. “Trust but verify.”

  “Sure.” I breathe out and let the hot water wash over me. Faint pink swirls race around the drain. “About that.”

  “Yes?”

  “Javy seemed skeptical that those ward-breakers were the real deal. Think he got them from some guy in Rillo’s organization that he was blackmailing.”

  “I suppose that’s why he sent you to me.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I trust but verify,” Miranda says. “Or, in other words, I’m a Professor of Magical Archeology.”

  “Sounds fancy.”

  “Ragnarok College doesn’t pay much,” Miranda says. “But it does grant me certain access to rare books and equipment.” She holds up the eyeglass. “A magus reader. Detects magical signatures.”

  “Signatures, I’m assuming, that verified that those ward-breakers are authentic.”

  “Exactly, dear.”

  I turn off the shower and grab the clean towel. “Don’t suppose you could analyze a blood sample as well. For magical markers.”

  “That should be a fairly simple matter.” She raises her eyebrows. “Whose blood?”

  Now it’s my turn to trust but verify. “How well do we know each other?”

  She shrugs. “We’ve met a few times over the past year.”

  “And why?”

  “We have a shared interest in ridding the town of the pestilence that is Dominic.”

  I’m definitely on board with that. “And you know Javy how?”

  “He’s the leader of our little plan, I suppose you could say.” When my expression suggests this isn’t good enough, she adds, “He came to the college and asked for my help with the wards. That’s how I first met him.”

  I wring my hair out and examine my face in the mirror. It’s both familiar and foreign—a strange sensation. I watch my lips move as I reply with, “And what—”

  “A little late to be suspicious of me.” Miranda holds up the ward-breakers as if to say, I have these already. “Don’t you think, dear?”

  “Forgive me, Miranda, but I have had a very long day.” I touch my shoulder and wince.

  “I can see that.”

  She’s right, though. Javy sent me here for a reason with the ward-breakers. To get help. To get answers. Either I trust her completely—or I’m on my own.

  And I don’t like my odds solo. Especially not with the entire town’s fate hanging in the balance.

  So as I limp to my stack of clothes, I say, “Fine. The blood’s mine. And it has the serum in it.”

  Miranda takes this in and says, “Perhaps your story would’ve been enough to convince me after all.”

  Somehow I doubt that. She hasn’t lived this long believing stories alone. But it doesn’t matter now—water, bridges, all that.

  I open my mouth to reply. I’m about to tell her everything I know.

  And that’s when there’s a hurried knock at the thrift shop door.

  Sixteen

  “Wait here,” Miranda says before grabbing the shotgun. She slips through the curtains separating the small living area from the rest of the Big Zipper.

  I pull the jeans and tank top on. The tank top feels softer than silk against my skin after being trapped in the sweaty leather catsuit for the past few hours. I crane my neck to listen for who might be at the door.

  At first, all I can hear are the water droplets from the shower head.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Then the front door chimes with a merry jingle.

  “You,” Miranda says.

  I can’t hear the other party’s response. Sounds like a guy.

  I toss the towel over the curtain rod and squeeze back into my boots.

  Miranda says, “I told you to keep that nonsense away from my shop.”

  A murmur.

  “I’m serious, young man.”

  More buzzing from the other party.

  I creep out from behind the curtain to take a peek. The store’s not huge, but I’m still a good hundred feet from the front door. Miranda is blocking my view of the other person.

  She’s not pointing the shotgun at him—or even holding it.

  “You think I won’t call them? Try me, young man.”

  There’s a laugh. Not a mean one—just the guy thinks it’s actually funny.

  Clearly he must not have heard about the shotgun. I duck behind the flannels, but keep my ears perked up. The conversation seems to have stalled.

  Finally, I actually hear who the voice belongs to. Self-assured—one might say cocky—with good projection. “Yo, Tess, I know you’re back there.”

  “I assure you she is not,” Miranda replies.

  “Then why can I see her ass poking out from behind that shirt rack?”

  This comes as a surprise to me, although it shouldn’t. Maybe cheating death has deluded me into thinking that I also possess other superpowers. Like invisibility. Although that quite clearly is not the case, seeing as how everyone has been after me today.

  I call back to Finn, “Like what you see?”

  “Seven outta ten,” he says, but I can tell it’s the good-natured kind of joke that really means I’m a ten-outta-ten, rocking the Richter scale type of knockout.

  I’d blush, but it’s hard to be smitten given the circumstances. I pop out and wave. “Glad to see you made it out of jail.”

  He calls back, “You and me both.”

  “Jail?” Miranda glances between us, her gaze hot enough to melt steel.

  “I think you and me need to have a little chat, Finn,” I say.

  “Would if I could,” he calls back, “but Gram is blocking the way.” He throws his hands up like she’s a hopelessly insurmountable obstacle.

  I’m not sure if he means Gram as in his grandmother—or a nickname because this old woman runs a vast cocaine smuggling ring. Admittedly, the former seems vastly more likely, but the cascading weirdness of today’s events tips the scales more in favor of the latter scenario than I like.

  I decide to test my first theory. “Miranda’s your grandmother?”

  “The one and only.”

  Miranda breaks up our little back-and-forth by clearing her throat loudly. “Okay, young man, it’s time to leave, now. Otherwise I’ll get my gun.”

  “Come on, Gram, you’re not gonna shoot me. Get real.”

  “I wouldn’t test her,” I say. “Seems pretty serious.”

  “I’ll deal with you next, dear.” Miranda doesn’t turn around, but I have no doubt that if I get involved further in this little family matter, she won’t hesitate to jam her foot di
rectly up my ass.

  “Gotta take my chances, I guess.” Finn slips past Miranda’s arm, deftly dodging her attempt to box his ears, and then scampers over to me.

  “Get back here,” Miranda calls, but at this point the cat’s out of the bag and her grandson is staying for the foreseeable future.

  He gives me a nod as he skids to a halt a few feet away and flashes a mega-watt smile, the kind you only see in gum commercials. His hair flops in a sort of jagged cowlick in front of his eyes.

  He’s acting like nothing’s happened, but it’s all laid on a little too thick. Today’s events have shaken him. As they should—if he was really as okay with everything as he’s pretending to be, he’d be a psychopath.

  I adjust my jeans and say, “Seven outta ten, huh?”

  “What can I say, I’m near-sighted.”

  “Up close, then?”

  He strokes his chin like he’s giving it some thought. “Six.”

  I stick my tongue out, then lower my voice to deal with more serious matters. “Thanks for saving me back at the garage.”

  “No big deal.” But the smile falters a bit.

  “How you doing after?”

  “That?” He looks away and shrugs. The smile’s completely gone now. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s a—”

  “Just drop it, okay?”

  “All right, fine man.” I look over at Miranda, who’s approaching us wearing an exasperated expression. “How did you get out of jail, anyway?”

  “Someone posted bail.”

  “Who?”

  “Dunno. They just came in and told me not to leave town.”

  “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  “Maybe thirty minutes ago. I came straight here.”

  “They finally catch you for smoking pot in the back?” Miranda’s eyes look almost ready to fire lasers.

  “I’m telling you, get caught smoking one joint in the back alley, and it’s a problem forever.” Despite the sarcastic words, his shoulders slump.

  “I promised your mother that I’d keep you safe.” She wags a finger in his face. “I intend to keep that promise. Whatever it takes.”

  Finn winks. “I think she’s just mad I found her stash.”

  I turn to Miranda. “Seems like he just learned from the best, then.”

  She shoots me a glare that could wither a cactus. “Don’t for a second act like you know what my family has been through.”

  A chilly silence settles over the thrift shop.

  But it’s not time to tiptoe around the situation. We’re all on the same team. Hopefully. And if we’re going to take Rillo down, then we can’t be keeping secrets.

  That means putting all the cards on the table.

  “Finn didn’t get caught for smoking weed.” I clear my throat and then just go for it. “The cops booked him for murder.”

  Finn’s eyes almost pop out of his head.

  Miranda lets out an explosive cough. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, it’s suboptimal.” I gnaw at my lip. “They just let you go, huh?”

  “Like I said, someone posted bail,” Finn still looks unsure whether he should be furious or relieved that I spilled the beans to his grandmother.

  “And how did you get yourself into this kind of predicament, Finnegan?” Miranda looks like she’s already nostalgic for the world of two minutes ago, when her biggest worry was whether her twenty-something grandson would get caught with a couple dimebags.

  Finn bites his lip. “Um, well, Gene and I made this plan with Tess a week or two ago—”

  “Your grandfather’s involved in this mess?” Miranda lets out a groan. “How long have you been talking with him?”

  “A year.”

  “A year?” Miranda looks liable to have a stroke. “Let me understand this correctly. I have talked with you about the wards and being a Navigator and the problem facing this town how many times?”

  “Not sure.”

  “It’s damn well in the dozens.”

  “I guess,” Finn says, looking like he’s seriously starting to regret his decision to come here.

  “And not once did you mention that worthless shell of a man.”

  “He told me you’d put a stop to it.”

  “Damn right I would’ve. Right after I kicked his ass into next week.” Miranda’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Put a stop to what, exactly.”

  If Finn looked uncomfortable before, his current expression would best be described as man gets hot fire poker shoved in eye. After a long pause, he says, “He’s been teaching me, Gram. How to Navigate—for Tess.”

  “No wonder no one made any progress over the past year.” Miranda fires a glare over at me. “Did you know?”

  I point at my head. “Can’t remember anything.”

  “Oh, you’ll remember every damn thing when I’m done with you, dear.” Miranda rolls her eyes. “Well, I guess we’re stuck with him. Where is your grandfather?”

  She says the word like it’s radioactive.

  Finn stares at the floor. “He’s dead, Gram. Dominic Rillo had him killed.”

  Miranda rubs her forehead and adjusts her horn-rimmed glasses. It’s a good thing I’m not holding my breath for some tears, because I’d pass out and die before seeing even a hint of remorse.

  All the same, I say, “Sorry about your husband.”

  “Don’t be. Ex-husband. Married for six months over fifty years ago.” Then she adds, “I’m surprised he made it this long. Assholes usually die young.”

  Gotta say, this woman is growing on me. No fake words of praise for the dead, just truth.

  I don’t say anything.

  “Only good thing that came of it was Finn’s mother. And then Finn.” She shakes her head, as if remembering a bad dream. “Even if he never listens to me.”

  “Where’s the fun in that, Gram?”

  “The fun is in surviving to see tomorrow, young man.” Then the look of annoyance fades and she hugs him tight. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. And I suppose it’s a good thing Gene taught you some things. There are things about being a Navigator that I’ll never know.”

  “I actually came here to see Tess.” Finn looks over at me. “I could sense her here.”

  “Is that code for tracking my phone?”

  “I told you, back in the garage. We have a bond.”

  I’m still not entirely sure that isn’t just a line, but I say, “Sure, sure.”

  “I figure we’ll finish things. Together.”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” I shoot back.

  Miranda clears her throat, and we both turn around. She pushes up the horn-rimmed glasses and glances between us like we’re both idiots.

  “Your first plan was horrendous.”

  I take offense to this, even if I can’t remember it. “You didn’t even know what it was.”

  “I know the results. My grandson in jail, and you half-dead, wanted by every cop in town.” She shakes her head. “No, I think the last Soulwalker and her Navigator need a third party’s touch.”

  Miranda heads toward the back area.

  I share a look with Finn, who says, “I don’t think she’s asking.”

  Miranda pokes her head out from the curtain. “Tea?”

  I sigh and start walking back.

  Checkmate, Gram.

  Checkmate.

  Seventeen

  Finn says nothing, just watches as his grandmother preps the teapot on the hot plate. The gears are turning feverishly within my own mind, though.

  Or that might be infection starting to set in from my bullet wound.

  One of the two.

  As the water is boiling, I say, “So can someone tell me what a Soulwalker actually is?”

  “The rarest of creatures.” Miranda checks the tea. “Even rarer than an Immortal. A supernatural creature so rare that most people dismiss it as a fantasy. Urban legend. But it’s far from that.”

  “Immortals are mythical,” I say.


  “You have much to learn regarding the ways of the magic, dear.”

  I glance over at Finn. He offers no input. The gelled cowlick is rocking back and forth as his leg bobs up and down violently.

  I don’t blame him for being nervous. My identity, my memories—those may have all faded into nothingness, but I know enough of the pieces to realize the situation is no muy bueno.

  And, like him, I finally have a little time to process it.

  Quite frankly, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

  I’m wanted by a corrupt police captain and vampire warlock detective—who work for a psychotic, driven billionaire. Finn and I both have charges pending. Javy might be dead or in cuffs himself after the accident.

  And the worst part is I helped it happen. Sure, the entire town was—is—under threat by Dom’s bombs at the dam. But the fact still remains: whatever powers I have, Dom used them to build an empire.

  And like the banks or tech companies, I might’ve made him too big to fail.

  That makes me complicit in whatever comes next.

  And I might not remember who I am. But I know that I don’t want to be remembered for that.

  The pot whistles, and I try to strike the thought from my mind.

  Think about something else.

  Her words echo in my mind. The Last Soulwalker.

  As Miranda stirs the tea, I say, “So about Soulwalkers.”

  Color me skeptical about new creatures suddenly waltzing out of the shadows. I might not remember who I am, but I remember history—and magical lineages have been painstakingly documented and traced back ever since the Great Reveal back in 1978. Government studies, private sector research—the interest and corresponding financial incentives were understandably massive.

  Then again, people dismissed vampires and werewolves and everything else associated with the supernatural as bullshit before the Great Reveal. So maybe there are a few secrets still waiting to be discovered.

  And I guess I could be one of them.

  “What powers do I have, exactly?” I ask.

  “Ask my grandson. I’m sure he learned a thing or two during his secret training sessions.”