Drop Dead (Tess Skye Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  “You would make an excellent poker player, Tess.” There’s a soft, mirthless laugh. “Because I almost believe you.”

  “Believe this,” I say. “If I don’t hear his voice, you’re not getting shit.”

  “Very well.” Dom snaps his fingers. There’s shuffling in the background. A chair scrapes. “You have a minute.”

  “Javy?”

  A velvety-whiskey voice floats through the speaker. “You can’t come here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t come here.”

  “What’s the security like?” I ask.

  “Goddamnit, Tess, you’re not—” He lets out a guttural yell as he’s dragged away. Fists slam against flesh. Footsteps slap against a hard surface.

  “Javy! Hello?”

  His voice bursts through the speaker like a sonic boom as he screams, “He has someone on call at the dam. To dump the neveria extract directly into the water.”

  A chair crashes and static crackles over the speaker.

  Rillo comes back on the line. “I suppose I buried the lede in regards to the true threat.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Just one call and the entire town is dead. No magic, no backup systems, nothing that can go wrong.” He says it with the confidence of a man who believes he’s thought of this brilliant idea all by himself.

  Why rig up a magical system to poison twenty-thousand people when you can just delegate to someone willing to commit genocide? Cuts out the middleman and any potential glitches.

  I’d say he’s bluffing, but I heard it straight from Javy.

  And besides, even though Rillo is the biggest fraud I’ve ever met in my life, I know one thing.

  He doesn’t make idle threats.

  “Do you understand the gravity of the situation, now?”

  I turn onto a country road. A sign tells me the dam is in four miles. Through gritted teeth, I say, “Yes.”

  “And are you still committed to seeing the town burn to save your friend?”

  My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel so tight that my hands shake. “What do you want, Dom?”

  “See, we’re getting somewhere,” he says. “That’s how negotiations work.”

  I don’t respond.

  Just let the total-fuckedness of the entire enterprise settle on my shoulders.

  It feels pretty damn heavy.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Finn hanging his head.

  Rillo finally says, “We’ll start with what I want, then.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want you. The ward-breakers that Detective Diaz acquired from one of my men. And your Navigator, Finnegan.”

  I glance at Finn, who barely looks up. “Anything else?”

  “The old woman. Miranda.” I can hear him crack his knuckles on the other end of the line. “I need what’s inside her head.”

  A bottomless abyss opens in my stomach. “Meaning?”

  “You understand what I mean,” Rillo says. “And this time, I want you to do everything.”

  “She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Either way, she’s become quite the problem. As have you.” He sighs. “It seems you’re of the false belief that you’re not part of this, Tess. Part of what I’ve done.”

  “I’m aware of my role in this shitshow.”

  “Yet you resist. And that was my mistake. Because you have no skin in the game. Blood on your hands.” He clears his throat. “But no more. You kill Miranda, and tell me what I need to know from her mind.”

  Finn, not following the conversation closely thus far, suddenly comes alive. “I’ll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch.”

  The words drip with venom.

  I have no doubt that Finn believes them.

  Alas, they’re fantasy. Rillo holds all the cards.

  We, on the other hand, have few moves left.

  I say, “Is that all?”

  Finn says, “You can’t do it. We won’t—”

  I punch him right in the jaw. The car swerves slightly, and I jerk the wheel to get us back on the road. “Sorry about Finn.”

  “If the boy was not worried about his family, then I would be concerned,” Rillo says. “That is all I need. You know where I am, I presume?”

  I decide to play dumb and say, “At the estate?”

  “No,” Rillo says. “The lake house. Do you remember, back in the early days? Trying to stop the bombs at the dam?”

  He’s fishing for intel—whether or not my memories have returned. One of the few cards in my own deck that he can’t see.

  So I say, “Not sure what you mean.”

  “No matter. I’ll send you the location.” There’s a pause, then my phone buzzes with the same address I already know. “The moral of the story is, I wasn’t bluffing then, and I’m not bluffing now.”

  “I understand.”

  The road curves sharply ahead. My elbow presses against the leather as I slide in my seat. We’re only a couple miles from the dam now.

  Rillo asks, “And is there anything that you want?”

  I say, “What?”

  “This is a negotiation. We should both feel satisfied by the outcome.”

  It’s not a real offer. More a flex of his power—a way to tower over us and rub the defeat in. But he’s just overconfident enough to make a meaningless concession that could open the slightest of cracks.

  I rack my brain for the next move.

  Any move.

  “I’ll take that as a—”

  “Can we meet one of your guys down by the gate rather than coming up to the house?” I look over at Finn and shoot him a withering glare, so he shuts up during what I have to say next. “Really want to take care of Miranda before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?”

  “Sent her out of town after you attacked the store with that pyre golem,” I say. “Not even Finn knows where she’s gonna end up.” I let that sit, then add, “In case something like this happened. You know, torture, blackmail, all that shit.”

  “I see. I’ll send Thurmond down to get the ward-breakers from you.”

  “I have a blood sample, too,” I say. “With the Vitalysm in it.”

  An extra olive branch never hurt in defraying suspicion.

  It seems to work, because he says, “You really have accepted your fate.”

  I don’t want to overplay things too much, so I say, “We’ll see about that.”

  “It is a process. But you’ll see the light before the day is through.”

  “Be there in twenty,” I say.

  “Make it ten,” Rillo replies. “The Vitalysm product announcement launch party is later tonight.”

  “Will do.” I hang up.

  Finn almost leaps at my throat when the call is over. “You’re going to kill her?”

  “No.” The lake house is already up ahead, about a quarter mile beyond the bend. I slow the Benz down and pull off to the side of the road so it can’t be seen from Rillo’s property.

  “Then what?”

  I say, “I’m going to Soulwalk.”

  Twenty-Five

  There are two things required for a Soulwalk: a dead body and a Navigator. Technically, the latter is optional, but it’s a trippy experience and easy to fall in too deep without that tether to the real world—and who you actually are.

  I head up to the lake house gate on foot. I leave the shotgun with Finn, taking Miranda’s hunting knife instead. That’s more concealable and also quieter. Finn stays behind with the car, keeping out of harm’s way.

  The walk gives me a little time to think, but I’ve done enough of that.

  Once you pick a path, there’s nothing left but to take the first step.

  And then you deal with the consequences.

  So I just focus on my breathing.

  In, out.

  In, out.

  I repeat the little mantra until I’m fifty yards from the gatehouse.

  Thurmon
d is standing beside the red brick structure smoking a cigarette. I’ve only met him a couple times, but I’ve seen him plenty of times in the Soulwalks. After all, he was the last person many of the people I retrieved memories from saw. Right before he killed them.

  Just that leer. The shock of thin hair, the gaunt features, the lifeless eyes.

  I rub my neck. I’ve felt his hands squeezing, shaking, choking. He likes it up close and personal.

  He spies me and flicks his cigarette into the bushes. “Over here.”

  I scan the gate. There are at least two cameras—one on the gate itself, another inside the gatehouse to scan incoming drivers’ faces.

  “Fuck off, man, I got places to be.” I stand my ground over by the large pines, out of camera view.

  He throws his hands up like I’m really putting him out, but saunters over nonetheless.

  I can smell a cheap cologne drifting off him as he gets closer. “Got a hot date, later?”

  “Never know.” His lip curls up as he steps off the asphalt into the grass. “It’s the announcement party later. Gotta be fresh for the ladies. Always some dime pieces hanging around.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Could be you gettin’ lucky with me later, babe.”

  “Don’t count on that.” My arm tenses as Thurmond walks closer and I prepare to spring at him.

  Four feet.

  Two feet.

  We’re almost nose to nose when he says, “Hand this shit over so I can go get laid.”

  “No problem.”

  I snatch the knife tucked in the back of my jeans and jam it right into his gut.

  “You fucking—”

  I slide it out and stab him again, this time in the chest.

  Thurmond still stumbles forward and latches on to me. For a wiry guy with two stab wounds, he’s surprisingly strong. Then we’re tumbling into the grass, warm blood soaking through my shirt and jeans. The knife slips from my grasp.

  He manages to get on top. A forearm smashes against my chin.

  I jam my fingers into the holes in his shirt oozing blood.

  He screams and pulls at my wrist with both hands. His flesh tears as he yanks my fingers out.

  I buck, and he flops off to the side, gasping hard, struggling to get up.

  I flail for the knife in the grass.

  Thurmond claws at my arm.

  I find the handle. Roll over.

  And with a primal scream, thrust it right in his heart.

  He lets out a final burble then sprawls out, blank face staring up at the placid midday sky.

  I take a few deep breaths, then, with a wince, stagger to my feet. Check his pulse. Dead. A little hint of a memory seeps through into my head.

  His last moment.

  Hot fire in his gut, organs chewed up by the blade.

  Thinking I’m going to kill this bitch.

  “Joke’s on you, buddy.” I take my hand away and glance back at the house. No cars or personnel are coming over to check out the commotion. That’s one of the downsides of living exclusively in mansions with sprawling estates: even with an expansive security team, things can slip past your surveillance.

  Hopefully this incident is one of them.

  I wipe the blood on my pants and dial Finn.

  He picks up on the first ring.

  “I heard you scream,” he says. “You okay?”

  “It’s done.” I take a deep breath and exhale into the perfect air. “Time for the next step.”

  Twenty-Six

  Finn and I drag Thurmond back to the car. I try to stick to areas of his clothing, which guards against the memory transfer, but occasionally his skin brushes mine.

  It’s like a skipping tape. One murder in particular: an esteemed magical biologist, a kind old man with a nice smile.

  I’ve already seen it from the scientist’s perspective. I was called in to find out about his research—a proprietary way of binding anima, the magical life force, to human DNA.

  Now I get to replay it again—the director’s cut that I never wanted. The seething, sociopathic lust for blood as Thurmond’s thumbnails rip off from squeezing the old man’s neck so hard.

  We drop the body behind the car. I pant, but not from physical exhaustion. The mind is always what breaks before the body.

  And mine is starting to fray.

  “What about his clothes,” Finn asks, pointing at the bloodstains soaking Thurmond’s shirt from head to toe. “That’s gonna raise some red flags.”

  The knife gashes in the fabric, too.

  “Give me your shirt.”

  “It’s a complete different color,” Finn says.

  “Well, if we were back at the Big Zipper, maybe I’d have my choice of fucking options,” I say. “But as it stands, unless you got a better idea—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Finn peels off his shirt exposing his beach ready body, complete with tan.

  “Put it on the car. We’ll make the change after I’m inside this asshole’s soul.”

  “You sure about this?” Finn asks. “I’ve never done a Soulwalk without Gene.”

  “No time like the present to learn.” I bury the half-dozen reservations deep in my mind and toss mental dirt on them for good measure. Doubts won’t help us now. The die has been cast—and not by us. Rillo is in control of the game, and all we can do is take the best shot we have.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna hold up long.” Finn is staring at the blood pooling on the asphalt beneath Thurmond.

  “Then we’d better get started.” Without further preparation or ceremony, I sit down cross-legged on the ground and grip his wrist.

  At first, it’s just a flow of memories.

  I try to block these out as best I can. Mostly what you’d expect: killing people, telling offensive jokes to the other security team guys, then spending his salary at strip joints by drinking too much tequila and doing too much crappy blow.

  But when I hold on longer, past the memory stream, I start to feel myself merge with his soul.

  His bloodlust mixing with my personality.

  The insatiable desire to kill.

  I realize that, really, he’s just a serial killer who’s found a way to follow his own passion.

  I gag, still in my own head.

  “Tess?” Finn sounds worried.

  “I’m concentrating.”

  I stop breathing.

  Feel his body.

  My—his—chest starts to burn. The blood flows from the open wounds as the damp, warm fabric clings to my skin.

  Every part of his body screams in agony.

  But I press on.

  And when I open my eyes, I’m no longer sitting upright.

  I’m staring at that endless blue sky.

  I bring a hand up in front of my face.

  Look at the wispy strands of hair on my knuckles flitting in the gentle breeze.

  I hear Finn’s voice in my head with the words that start every Soulwalk: Let’s begin, Tess.

  And I respond in Thurmond’s voice, “I’m ready.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Patching up Thurmond’s perforated corpse is an almost impossible task. But we use the remaining gauze and rubbing alcohol from the supermarket to treat the gashes as best we can.

  I don’t need Thurmond’s body to last forever.

  I just need to live long enough to disarm these bombs. The neveria extract. And Javy.

  That might be expecting too much. But Rillo’s done us a favor by positioning his lake house essentially a stone’s throw away from the dam. Can cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time.

  Once we’re done bandaging up Thurmond’s mangled body, I slip on Finn’s shirt. It may be a different color and cut than the mercenary’s original one, but at least the black will hide any blood that seeps through the bandages.

  I stagger upright, each heartbeat feeling like a fire poker to the chest. I’m not sure about the magic involved, but it certainly defies the laws of biology. Even people w
ith their brains blown out can be revived.

  For a little while. The more serious the injuries, the less time you have.

  And these are pretty damn bad.

  Finn sizes me up as I lean against the trunk. “You all right?”

  I pat Thurmond’s—my—rib cage and immediately regret it. “Got what I need.”

  “Did Thurmond know where the guard at the dam with the neveria extract is?”

  It’s the first memory I searched for after I entered his soul.

  “Lower level,” I say. “Near the control room.”

  “Good,” Finn says. “I got your back.”

  “You sure? ’Cause earlier you looked about ready to piss yourself when you shot Alvie in the face.” That’s Thurmond.

  Finn bristles. “I pulled the damn trigger, though.”

  “Lotta responsibility for a pretty boy like you.” More Thurmond. “Not sure you’re ready.”

  “Let’s test the theory right now,” Finn says. “See how things go for you.”

  A smirk paints itself across my borrowed face. “That’s the spirit.”

  “Any idea where Javy is?”

  “I’ll fucking get to that in a minute,” I say through clenched teeth. Staring at his pretty face, I have the sudden urge to crush his neck.

  This is the problem with Soulwalking.

  It’s me versus the person, fighting for control.

  Even in the best of instances, where the person isn’t an asshole, you’re still at risk of losing yourself. But when they’re a total psycho like Thurmond, you risk something far worse: hurting innocent people. Or those close to you.

  Javy Diaz is being held in the lake house’s basement—underwater, to be precise, because that’s just how a billionaire like Dom rolls. I know this because Thurmond has given Javy a couple beatings over the past hour. Not because they were ordered, just because he enjoyed it. Like someone going to the gym to hit the heavy bag—except with a live human being.

  Rillo really knows how to pick ’em.

  Whatever today’s final outcome, at least I can say with confidence that I’ve performed one good deed by removing Thurmond from the land of the living.

  “Easy does it,” Finn says. “It’s okay Tess. Breathe.”