He snorted a little laugh. "Isn't that supposed to be the guy's line?"
"Look, I'm really sorry about the love spell. It was way more powerful than I expected."
"Forget it," he said.
How could I, now that I thought about it again? The moon was high in the sky. Bats darted overhead, chasing the season's remaining mosquitoes. "Any chance you'd help me take down a voodoo priestess who's killing frat boys?"
Dominguez smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like a local problem."
"Ah," I said, disappointed, but what could I do about it? Sebastian and I would have to think of something.
"Seeing as I'm currently between assignments," Dominguez said. "Maybe I could, you know, act as a liaison or something."
"You would?"
"Nobody else is going to believe this whole zombie thing, you realize."
"Don't I know it," I said with a wry smile.
Sebastian honked. I asked Dominguez if it was okay for me to head out, and he waved me away.
"I'll call you," I said.
"Sure," Dominguez said, sounding like a girl who doesn't expect to hear from a lover ever again.
* * * *
Lost in our own thoughts, neither of us spoke much on the way back to Sebastian's farm. Once there, Sebastian guided me to the big, comfy couch in his living room, put a cup of tea in my hand, and tossed a couple of logs in the fireplace.
I always loved Sebastian's living room. It was full of books and curios he'd collected in his long and interesting life. Every time I scanned the shelves I'd notice something new, something that would reveal a new facet of Sebastian.
Meanwhile, everything Parrish had owned fit in a steamer trunk and a couple of saddlebags.
I sipped my tea, tasting honey and chamomile. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"
Sebastian sat down beside me, and put his stocking feet up on the coffee table. He shrugged, his eyes on the fire. "If the ME keeps her promise and doesn't perform an autopsy, he should be fine. We can take possession as soon as the death certificate is issued and we file the Report for Final Disposition with the Office of the Registrar. All that might take a couple of days. But, we've made it clear we want to care for him and bury him ourselves, so they won't embalm. Wisconsin doesn't require it, at any rate."
"Do I want to know why you're up on all this?"
"Teréza," he said, casually mentioning the dead/not dead mother of his son. Teréza was, or is, a failed attempt by Sebastian to pass on his vampirism. She is locked in stasis between the dead and the living, a corpse with a soul. Because Sebastian became a vampire through alchemy instead of the traditional Blood Sire, he can't create others of his kind. However, he could produce children—real, live children. Anyway, Sebastian and Matyas, his son, disagreed about what to do about Teréza. Sebastian felt it was wisest to bury her to let her rest, Matyas kept disinterring her. Their family dysfunction was especially odd.
"When you have a corpse lying around your house, it helps to know the local regulations."
"Ah," I said, so not wanting to talk about how creepy I found that.
We lapsed into silence. I allowed myself to be mesmerized by the dance of flame across log. The wood creaked and popped as moisture evaporated. The room began to smell faintly of birch.
Sebastian set down his empty teacup. "Are you planning a wake or a funeral? Do you want to write an obituary?"
I hadn't thought about all of that. "I suppose we should. They'll be expecting it, won't they?"
"It's what people do."
Except, I hadn't.
When my coven died I'd fled Minneapolis, leaving other people to perform the duties surrounding death. Some of my friends, like Jasmine, hadn't been "out of the broom closet." I wondered if she'd been buried as a Lutheran, with some pastor who didn't know her life at all merely filling in the blanks.
I never saw an obituary for any of them—not that I would have necessarily recognized their mundane names since our identities were so highly guarded. Still. Did anyone eulogize them? Or recount favorite stories around a quiet glass of beer?
Someone must have, but I didn't.
Sebastian got up and retrieved a leather-bound scrap-book. Returning to his seat beside me, he held it in his lap. "I've had to write a few obits," he said. He ran a finger along the edge of the binding and then set the book on the coffee table unopened.
"Anything in there you don't want me to see?" I asked, feeling Parrish's ring resting against my chest.
"Probably," he said. "I've been alive a long time."
That reminded me, but how to ask? "So, any, uh, guys in there?"
"Guys?" Sebastian asked.
"Yeah, you know, survived by their loving partner, Sebastian."
His reaction couldn't have been faked. "Garnet! I'm Catholic."
I gave him a quirk of an eyebrow as if to say like-that -would-really-stop-some-people.
He scratched the tip of his nose. "Look, I'm sure it's sort of expected that a vampire be bisexual, but I'm straight. Guys just have never, ever done it for me. It's tragic, really. Doomed for all eternity to only be able to get off with one sex."
"Did you try?"
"What does that mean, did I try? Sure, there were some very lovely men in my acquaintance over the years who made certain intentions known, but, look, it never worked out." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and his lip pulled into a tiny pout. "I don't want to talk about it."
I laughed. I had a pretty good idea what it meant when he said things hadn't worked out. I patted his thigh. "Oh, honey."
"Shut up," he said teasingly. "I take it Parrish has broken the hearts of every gender?"
"According to him," I said and we both laughed a little at that. Then we were silent, both of our gazes settled on his scrapbook.
I leaned into Sebastian, and he wrapped an arm around me. He nuzzled his nose against my ear, took in a long, sighing breath, and then jumped back as if I'd hit him. "Your shoulder is better," he started. "Oh, Garnet, you drank his blood, didn't you?"
Aw, and we'd been getting along so nicely too.
"I hate him," Sebastian snarled. "I hate that Parrish's blood can heal you, when my own is poison."
"I said no when he first suggested it. But the pain was intense, Sebastian. I mean, I'd be going along fine for a while and then all I'd have to do is move wrong and…" I stopped making up excuses. "In the end, it was an easy solution. I didn't really think about how you'd feel about it. I should have. I'm sorry."
The muscles of Sebastian's jaw flexed. "Can I tell you how glad I am that man is playing dead for the next few months?"
And yet Sebastian offered to bury him right next door. At first I'd thought that was an act of somewhat uncharacteristic kindness, now I wasn't so sure. "You're not planning on staking Parrish once he's buried next door, are you?"
"I hadn't been, but, of course, that was before I knew you two had swapped bloody kisses. No, transfixing him would be too kind." Sebastian frowned into his cup of tea as if wishing it were filled with something more potent. "Unfortunately, if I dragged his body into the sunlight and watched him shrivel like a raisin while dancing, quite literally, on his grave, you'd hate me. Despite how much instant gratification killing him would give me, the price is too high. He's not worth losing you."
"You mean it?"
Sebastian sighed wearily. "My life would be so much simpler if I didn't."
I gave him a kiss. It was meant to be just a thank-you sort of peck on the lips, but kissing him once made me want to do it again. After a long, extended reunion of our lips and tongues, I pulled away and said, "I love you, Sebastian Von Traum."
"I love you, Garnet Lacey," he said. "Come on, let's go to bed."
It wasn't that I wasn't in the mood, because I was looking forward to what else we could reunite, but with everything that had happened with Parrish I felt sort of like I needed tonight to be about him.
Sebastian noticed my hesitation and understood. "Take your
time," he said. "If I'm asleep when you come up, don't take it personally."
I smiled. "I won't. Oh, and thanks."
He shrugged. "You owe me a relationship coupon."
"What's that?"
"You'll know when I call it in." He gave me a toothy grin. Then he stifled a yawn. "See you in the morning."
"Yeah," I said, my eyes straying to the book of obituaries on the table in front of me. "I'm sorry about this, I know he's not dead, but I'm still sad."
Sebastian paused and leaned over the polished maple railing. "He's gone, isn't he?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak over the lump in my throat.
"Then you need to grieve him."
* * * *
I made myself a peanut butter and Jelly sandwich in Sebastian's kitchen. I switched the radio on for company. NPR broadcast the BBC live. I drank a glass of milk and let the British accents fill my head with memories of Parrish.
Sometime later, I found myself sitting on the couch leafing through Sebastian's book of obituaries. There were hundreds of them. Some were undoubtedly lovers, but there were also notices of friends—war buddies, neighbors, and the like. All people Sebastian had known and cared about in some fashion. It didn't go back very far, only until the early seventies. When I scanned the shelves, there appeared to be other volumes.
I shut the book and set it down. Looking at all of the lives of these people made me realize what I needed to do. Parrish needed a funeral—more than that, he needed a wake. One big, final party with lots and lots of whiskey. I would even invite all his ghoulfriends; they'd know he wasn't dead, but they'd appreciate the opportunity to toast him, anyway.
Then, I dug out a pen and a sheet of paper from Sebastian's junk drawer. I started writing Parrish's obit.
When I finished his, I wrote "a remembrance" notice for each of the friends I'd lost last Halloween. I started by thinking I'd just place a short notice listing everyone's craft name. Pretty soon I was recounting bits of physical detail—Martingale's twinkling green eyes, Junko's salt-and-pepper hair—which led to other things I wanted to remember, like Jasmine's home-baked zucchini bread and Cloverleaf's amazing hand-sewn belly-dancing dress. What I ended up with were stream-of-consciousness, almost poetic snippets, and a sense I should have done this long ago.
* * * *
I was frying breakfast eggs when Sebastian shuffled into the kitchen in a bathrobe. His eyes brightened when he saw the coffee brewing. Sun shone in through the windows, and he squinted miserably as he did the fast switch with the coffeemaker. With minimal spill, Sebastian slipped his cup under the steady brown stream. I flipped the eggs, smiling.
"You look remarkably cheerful for someone who didn't sleep," he grumbled. Sliding the pot back into its holder, Sebastian leaned his hip against the countertop. He gave me a suspicious glare while taking a long draught from his mug.
"You look remarkably…" I stopped. What I wanted to say was that he looked surprisingly human with his hair a tangle and stubble on his cheeks, but it seemed a bit rude. "Tired," I said instead. "For someone who went to bed early."
"If I don't get my sleep, I don't regenerate as easily," he said with a shrug. "Even my kind of vampire needs a few hours of torpor to maintain my youthful figure."
When he ran a hand along his hips like a movie starlet, I giggled. The eggs were done, so I pulled a couple of plates from the cabinets and pressed the switch on the toaster where I'd preloaded a couple of slices of multi-grain bread.
"I took the liberty of finding out the hours of the registrar's office," Sebastian said. Moving over to the kitchen table he set his cup down and moved aside a tincture of anise, clove, and nutmeg. Automatically, he shook it once before finding a place for it among the crowd of oils and ointments on top of the refrigerator. "And I left a message at the hospital that we need a copy of Parrish's death certificate ASAP."
I set a plate of over-easy up eggs in front of him. Fetching a couple of forks from the drawer, I refilled my own cup with coffee. "All this before a shower?"
"I know you're anxious to get closure about Parrish," he said. After getting the butter bowl from the fridge, he paused to crumble a handful of dried basil and something I didn't immediately recognize into it. He popped the dish in the microwave for a few seconds, grabbed the toast, and settled back into his chair.
The scent from the herbed butter made my mouth water. "I guess I can fax the obituary to the paper," I said. "I set the date for the wake for Wednesday."
He spread a large dollop of butter onto a piece of toast and handed it to me. "That's Halloween," Sebastian said, a little surprised.
I took a bite of toast. The mystery ingredient in the butter turned out to be oregano. "I know," I said. "I thought, maybe, if I had Parrish's wake on Halloween, I could put a lot of ghosts to rest, as it were."
Sebastian nodded. "The veil between the worlds is thinnest," he said, recounting the pagan belief that on Samhain the barriers between the living and the dead were easiest to cross. It was a night for communicating and communing with souls who had passed on into the Summerland. The idea of dressing up as ghosts and other frightening things came from a pagan superstition that the malicious spirits, which walked that night, wouldn't recognize you in costume. The scary faces of the jack-o'-lanterns kept your house safe, as well.
"Well," I said, when my coffee was drained and my breakfast eaten. "Let's go collect Parrish's body, shall we?"
* * * *
Sebastian and I spent most of the day in and out of various government offices. I must have filled out a million and a half forms. We had to do a little fast-talking to convince the registrar to accept me as Parrish's "spouse," given that I had no marriage certificate. But since Parrish had no one else and the registrar, like any other government office, was overworked and understaffed, they found a few more forms for me to make it all legal, or at least waive them of any responsibility if I turned out to be a grave robber or some kind of sick necrophiliac.
I dressed the part of the grieving fiancée, going ultra conservative (for me) in a tea-length black skirt and one of Sebastian's white, silk button-downs. I wore the shirt open just enough to show off Parrish's ring. Before hitting all the various government offices, we'd made a pit stop at a Walgreens to buy a pair of hose and back at my place to pick up my only pair of black flats. If anyone noticed the silver bat buckle, they didn't comment.
I wouldn't be able to pick Parrish up until tomorrow, but I was assured everything was in order so there shouldn't be a problem.
I worried about him stuck in the morgue, but I thought it would be mighty suspicious to drop by just to see him. Most people didn't go visiting the dead.
Wanting just to be busy for a while, I convinced Sebastian to drop me off at work. I was a bit dismayed when I walked in to discover no one staffing the register. I checked through the store and discovered William hiding in the astrology section. He sat on an unopened box of books and held his head in his hands.
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
His eyes were rimmed with red, and his face looked mottled. When he saw me, he squealed with joy. "Oh my god, Garnet. I thought you were dead."
My eyes narrowed. "You mean: you thought you'd killed me."
William didn't deny it, but he looked sort of muddled and yet offended, like the stereotypical kicked puppy. "Mo is very persuasive," William said. "When I'm around her. When I'm not… Garnet, I've been having these terrible nightmares where I sacrifice chickens and raise the dead. Then, last night, I dreamt I shoved you into a garage full of flesh-eating zombies."
"You know that wasn't a dream, William."
He shut his eyes and hung his head. Limp strands of brown and dyed-green hair hung in front of his face. "I was afraid you'd say that," he mumbled to the floor.
I put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. The tips of my fingers buzzed, like I'd touched an electrical current. I jerked back, cradling my hand.
When he glanced up at me his eyes had changed. Th
e look in them was unlike anything I'd ever seen William express—he seemed focused, certain… and deadly.
11
Aquarius
KEYWORDS:
Inventive and Unpredictable
He stood with slow menace, the letter opener he'd been using to unwrap the boxes gripped tightly in his hand. Even his stance was different, his posture more erect and purposeful. I knew instantly he'd been possessed.
Lilith jittered across my abdomen as William advanced. If I let Her take over, I figured more than the loa would be destroyed. I couldn't let Her kill William, not even in self-defense. I would have to find another way.
So I ran.
I turned on my heels and dashed out the door and down the street, screaming my fool head off that I needed help. Glancing behind me, I saw William burst from the store, weapon in hand. The dinner crowd on State Street erupted in noise and confusion. I slowed when William looked flustered at all the attention he'd drawn, dropped the knife, and took off in the opposite direction.
I stopped to catch my breath. Passersby offered help, which I brushed away politely. I didn't realize I'd started crying, however, until some kind soul offered me a Kleenex. I touched my belly where Lilith lay dormant, knowing now, for the first time, I'd had at least one other viable option that night. When I saw the Vatican agents in the coven-stead, I could have run. I could have called for help.
If I had only…
I stopped myself, because if I had run that night there was a strong possibility one of the agents might have caught me, killed me. Running would only have meant that those six agents would be alive today, knowing what I'd looked like. If the FBI could find me, a supersecret order of assassins surely would have.
And, despite the fact that it felt good, running hadn't solved the overall problem. William might not have killed me this time, but he was still possessed by a loa. I would still have to come up with a way to destroy it, and now any element of surprise I might have had at my disposal was gone.
I made my way back to the store. At least one good thing came from running away; now I had more time to think about what I was going to do to save William.
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