Wake the Dead (The Journals of Octavia Hollows #1)

by Stacey Rourke

  “You get to come,” I muttered against Bacon’s ear, and fell into step behind them.

  They led me on a mini-tour of their gorgeous home, leaving me slack-jawed and astounded by the idea of people actually living in this degree of splendor. Every room was more posh than the last, each looking like a spread from a home décor magazine. At the far end of the house was the one and only room that looked as if it was truly lived in. A lanky teenage boy was sprawled on a brown leather sectional under a large beveled window, his loud snores reverberating through the room. In the center of a thick nap rug, a cherub-faced toddler appeared to be coloring.

  “Wow, I expected Gideon to be younger.” I jerked my chin in the baby’s direction. “He looks great. Very healthy.”

  “That’s not Gideon,” Brad groaned with a sad shake of his head. “That is our fifteen-year old son, Griffin. Gideon… is the one on the couch.”

  As if cued by his name, the figure on the couch rolled onto his back and shoved his thumb into his mouth to quiet his own snores. I may have written that off as a horrible habit for a teen, had the toddler not picked that moment to bound to his feet.

  “My geometry homework is done, Ma. I’m going to go play Call of Duty until dinner.” Sauntering from the room, the tot paused to toss a flirty wink my way.

  A heavy cloak of silence fell as both Brad and Betsy peered my way expectantly.

  “This,” I managed to croak, “may be above and beyond my caliber of weird.”

  Chapter Three

  “Mrs. Dews wants me to wake the nurse and ask her about what’s happening to her sons.” My voice was muffled as I tugged my black hoodie over my head. Adjusting the waistband low on my hips, I peered down at Bacon. In polite swine fashion, he sat patiently at my feet in the hospital parking garage. “Which means we have to make a trip into the morgue.”

  Bacon’s left ear twitched in response.

  Dragging my fingers through my fuchsia hair, I twisted it into a messy bun and fastened it into place with the tie on my wrist. “Yeah, I’m not crazy about it, either. Nor do I understand exactly why I’m doing this. But, here we are.” Assuming a wide-legged stance, I jabbed my hands onto my hips. “You know I can’t leave you out here alone, so I say we put you in the infant carrier under the hoodie, and play the part of emotional, pregnant lady. What do you say?”

  Noticing one of the straps of his carrier—which I had already fastened on—dangling against my leg, Bacon trotted over with a happy little snort. He enjoyed the snuggle time in his carrier, and had even ridden under my sweatshirt before. Parts of our travels had been downright frigid, making it necessary for me to offer him the added warmth so he didn’t become a porksicle.

  Plenty of experience made fastening him in easy, more so with the privacy of the parking garage sparing us funny looks from passing strangers. Wriggling the sweatshirt down far enough to cover his tiny little hooves, I filled my lungs to capacity and peered at the elevator that would whisk me to the reception desk. “Still not real sure what the hell we’re doing, but… here we go.”

  The elevator dinged open, spilling me out into a lobby decorated with a soothing, spa-like motif. As if neutral tones and a babbling stone fountain could distract patients from the pain of their kidney stones.

  Forcing a sniveling mask of misery, I approached the pinched-faced, twenty-something receptionist. “Excuse me, could you help me find—”

  Eyebrows disappearing beneath her platinum bangs, she flipped her waist length ponytail over her shoulder and tapped at the Bluetooth device in her ear with a freshly manicured fingertip.

  “I’m on the phone,” she mouthed, punctuating her statement by rolling her eyes and swiveling her chair in the opposite direction. “As I was saying, that bitch Sharlene took my Thursday shift and left me with third on Friday! That’s the night Nick was going to propose! Of course, I know he was, Bri. Don’t be a moron. I’m the one who made the reservation at Tres Phillippe, and requested the table close to the fountain because it’s perfect for Instagram pictures. This is typical Sharlene bullshit. Like, I’m sorry she would have to miss her kid’s school play, but I’m over here living my best life. She needs to get the hell out of my way with her suburban nightmare.”

  Lips parting with a pop, I tried again. “I really hate to interrupt such a fascinating conversation, and Nick is a super lucky guy, by the way, but I just need to find—”

  “Oh. My. Gawd!” Devil-bitch receptionist sprang from her chair. Leaning forward with her fists on the glass top desk, she glared daggers of hate my way. “This is a hospital. People, like, die here. It’s tragic that you can’t seem to realize there’s more going on here than whatever basic drama you walked in with.”

  Agitated as Devil-bitch obviously was, I couldn’t help but notice her painstakingly perfect make-up application. This girl had clearly studied countless YouTube tutorials. What a shame none of them covered how to not be a raging twat-waffle.

  Sure, I could have fought nastiness with nastiness. But where would be the fun in that, when I could crush her instead?

  Chin trembling, I lovingly rubbed my pseudo-pregnant belly. “I’m sorry,” I sniffed, blinking back fake tears. “It’s just… my husband went missing six days ago. I—I got the call today that the body of a… John Doe had been found.” Breaking down in faux sobs, I threw in dramatic shoulder shakes for the benefit of the bystanders wandering through the lobby.

  “Oh.” Devil-bitch’s face drained of color, the sass knocked out of her by my emotional roundhouse kick. Sinking back into her seat, her fingers clicked over her keyboard. “Let me see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you,” I whimpered, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I pray it isn’t him. I just don’t know how I’ll raise little… uh… Wilber on my own.”

  Nose crinkling with justifiable disgust at my choice of name, DB kept her attention locked on the screen. “We do have a John Doe that was brought in two days ago.” While that was totally a lucky guess on my part, I doubted the guy in the morgue drawer would agree. “The medical examiner is down there now. He’ll be able to help you. Just take the Walnut elevator down to the first floor and take a left.”

  “Thank you so much.” Head tilted, I peered her way like she was the last good Samaritan on earth.

  As I made my way back to the elevator, I heard her mutter into her Bluetooth, “Bri, let me call you back. I have to call Tres Phillippe and cancel my reservation.”

  “That delightful display,” I whispered to Bacon, patting his belly beneath my hoodie, “is what’s known as a Cosmic Bitch-slap.”

  Here’s the thing — as a necromancer, I don’t particularly enjoy standing too close to anything dead. I could list off mystical reasons why, like the pull of the dead is too demanding, or my skin prickles like my limbs are asleep the closer I get to them. The truth, however, is far less impressive.

  I’m clumsy; a human affliction from which many people suffer. That being said, it’s one thing to trip over your shoe lace and spill your coffee. It’s a tragedy far worse to stumble… and accidentally wake the dead. Do that once or twice, and maintaining a respectable distance from any deceased bodies becomes paramount.

  Human crisper? Body cooler? I might have been inclined to look up the proper name of the morgue drawers if I ever intended to be in one again. Which I most definitely did not. My skin crawled, whispers from the other side calling out to me. Not to mention the overpowering smell of antiseptic and other assorted chemicals was churning my gut.

  Misreading my hesitation, the freakishly tall medical examiner—with a baby face and easy smile—offered me a friendly smile. “It’s normal to get the creeps down here. This shouldn’t take long. But, I should probably warn you, he was found floating in the pool of a YMCA. Recognizing him might be difficult due to bloat.” Folding back the blanket, he nodded down at the exposed corpse. “Is this your husband?”

  Feeling the pulse of my powers crackling over my skin, I hid my hands under the sleeves
of my over-sized hoodie. “No, that’s not him.”

  “Are you sure?” As his black-framed glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, the M.E. used the back of his gloved hand to push them back into place. “Way back there you really can’t get a good look. You might want to step a little closer, and—”

  Glancing down at the name-tag pinned to his bright blue scrubs, my eyes burned from the stench of the recently deceased. “Dr. Dowden, is it? I’m going to give you a little tip. If I step any closer, we’ll be revisited by my lunch. I can tell you, even at this distance, that this man is one hundred percent not my husband.”

  Because I don’t have one, and that little ruse is tail spinning on me really friggin’ fast.

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid I have to insist. In order to get a positive identification result, positive or negative, you need to—”

  “Owww!” Out of ideas, I went for the hail Mary approach. Bent in half, I clutched my mock-baby bump. “The baby! I—I think I’m having a contraction!”

  Back snapping ramrod straight, Dr. Dowden moved his entire upper body in one awkward unit, swiveling in one direction and then the other, seemingly in search of someone more qualified to handle the matter. “Uh… should I get you a wheelchair? Take you up to the women and children’s floor?”

  “Aren’t you a doctor?” Hands on my knees, I puffed my cheeks and exhaled through pursed lips.

  “I specialize in patients who are already dead. Mostly because I had an irrational fear that if I actually treated them, they would wind up that way anyway.”

  Glancing up from under my brow I offered him a thumbs up in between pants, which were becoming increasingly more real the longer I held Bacon’s weight in that position. “Top notch self-esteem, sir.”

  “So, about that wheelchair...?”

  Squirming beneath my hoodie, Bacon landed a solid kick right to my vag. “Huuh,” I wheezed, which only added to the realism of the moment. “No, it’s too early. It must be false labor… brought on by stress. I need… a glass of water… please.”

  Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Dowden glanced toward his glassed-in office in the corner. “I… uh… have half a bottled water in my minifridge.”

  Nope, too close. Damn, how hard is it to get a guy to leave so I can rifle through his shit?

  “It needs to be in a glass, with ice. It’s the only way I can drink it without puking. Just one of those weird pregnancy things, I guess.”

  Pushing the body back into the freezer locker, Dowden chewed nervously on his lower lip. “To get that, I would have to go all the way up to the third floor, where the cafeteria is.”

  Still hunched over, I supported Bacon’s weight in both hands and weeble-wobbled toward the door. “No… ow… that’s okay. Hunh… I’ll go… ugh… get it myself.” Forcing a tight smile through a grimace, I worked hard to look my absolute, most pathetic. Which wasn’t much of a stretch in that position.

  “You do that, and I’ll end up delivering your kid in the hall.” Grabbing a squeaky rolling chair from the computer desk in the corner, Dowden wheeled it my way. “Believe me, that is not an option. Sit down. I’ll go get the water. See that phone on the wall? It will connect you with the hospital reception desk. If your contractions get closer together, pick that up and ask for literally anyone but me.”

  Some heroes don’t wear capes…

  Easing myself down on the chair, my shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” At a speed impressive for a guy his size, Dr. Dowden sprinted for the door, his canoe-sized Crocs squeaking with each stride.

  Leaning back in the swivel chair, I watched Dowden disappear down the hall through the morgue’s swinging door. I waited a beat to make sure he didn’t rush back for anything, then lifted my sweatshirt to give Bacon a reprieve from hot boxing himself with his own piggy funk.

  His thanks came in the form of his wet nose poking at my chin.

  “I was really hoping he would be more of a lumberer.” Pushing off the chair, I hopped to my feet. “Him being surprisingly quick means we are short on time.” Walking to the wall of locker drawers, my fingers dragged over the names on each in search of the name the Dews’ gave me of the nurse who had taken care of them. From each drawer I felt a magnetic pull, luring me to the body within with a tangible jolt that made the hair on the back of my neck rise. To distract myself, I sang my own version of the latest grunge rock song to get stuck in my head. That day’s selection happened to be Tonight, Tonight, by Smashing Pumpkins. “Dead is never dead at all. You can never ever leave, without me waking a piece of yoooooou.” Finding the name Betsy and Brad gave me, I tapped it with my fingernail. “Nicole Lakes, that’s our girl.”

  Filling my lungs to capacity, I closed my fist around the stainless steel drawer handle and yanked it open. A cold puff of air escaped from within. I won’t lie and say that’s what caused a shiver to race down my spine. The real chill came from seeing the silhouette of the body beneath the sheet, calling to me with its absolute stillness. Inaudible whispers echoed through the farthest reaches of my mind. That was my secret; my own personal, dark torment of which I dared not speak. I heard them every time I walked by a cemetery or stumbled over a grave.

  “We make this quick and easy.” Coaching myself, I tried to soothe my frazzled nerves. “Wake up nursey-poo, ask a few questions, then utter the spell that will return her to sweet oblivion.”

  Sounds easy, right?

  It never, ever was.

  Supporting Bacon’s weight with one hand, I used the other to unclip my pig holster. “I need you at a safe distance from this, buddy. Whatever she was feeling when she died is likely going to be where she goes when I hit her mortal reset button. I will gladly accept cranky and belligerent. But just in case we fall short and land at homicidal and enraged, let’s keep your sweet little pork belly away from the chaos.”

  Bacon gave an agreeable squee, his little hooves pawing at the air in eager anticipation of freedom from confinement.

  Once he was merrily clicking around the room, deep in swine exploration, I turned back to the covered corpse. Shaking out my hands, I leaned my head in one direction and then the other to stretch my neck. “Words cannot express how much I do not want to do this. Here’s the deal, Nurse Nikki, I’m going to give you a short-lived, second lease on life, and in return, I ask that you… try not to rip off my face. ‘Kay?”

  Careful not to touch the corpse, I pinched the edge of the sheet and eased it back, immediately breathing a sigh of relief that the twenty-something nurse was in one piece. She had pretty features, and warm chestnut hair that fell below her shoulders. In life, she must have been lovely. I truly hoped she didn’t try to eat my brain.

  Puffing my cheeks, I exhaled through pursed lips. One clap, then another, allowed me to channel the needed energy through my core. It rippled through me in lime-colored wisps that licked from my fingertips. Those curls of magic grew to hungry tendrils as my trembling hands neared Nikki’s lifeless flesh.

  Skin touched skin with the current of a beating pulse. I felt the shudder. Heard that first sharp inhale from the dark side of the moon. Color slowly crept back into pallid skin, fluttering lashes brushing the apples of freckled cheeks.

  Her eyes popped open.

  A deep gulp of air noisily claimed by her lungs.

  For a beat, she remained perfectly still.

  That part… was new.

  Silver eyes—made that color by my reanimation magic—flicked to the right and the left, taking in her surroundings. “Son of a bitch. Not again.”

  Clutching her hospital gown to her chest, Nikki sat up and scanned the room with a sweeping glance. “I don’t see my pants or underwear. Hey, hi! You didn’t happen to see a pair of pink scrub bottoms and a beige thong tossed anywhere, did you?”

  I won’t lie, kids. Her reaction stumped me.

  Folding one hand over my middle, I rested my opposite elbow on it to cradle my chin i
n my palm. “Nope. No loose garments floating around. I’m Octavia, by the way. We went from zero to panty-talk so fast, we missed a few formalities.”

  “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry! I’m Nikki. I’m a nurse up on the women and children’s floor. I… uh… have a bad habit of cavorting with Tim, the medical examiner, whenever I’m sad. Which clearly, I was. Again. Now, I know what you’re going to say, that it’s not fair to use him like that. And, you’re absolutely right. But, he’s really sweet, and has the most gorgeous cock. Somewhere along the way, he kind of became my vice.”

  “That… isn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

  Hopping off the pull-out slab like she had done it a million times before… eww, Nikki swiveled in her continued search for her pants. “I’m sorry. I’m frantic rambling. Seriously, you haven’t seen pants or underwear anywhere? I’m not even picky on if they’re mine. Bottoms of any kind would land in the win column. Ugh! I can’t believe I did this again!”

  Eyebrows knit to my hairline, I blinked hard in absolute confusion. “Well, the good news is, you didn’t. No bone of sadness occurred. At least not this time.”

  Pulling up short, Nikki’s head tilted in question. “I didn’t? Why else would I be here?”

  Eyes narrowed, I tried to get some read on this enigmatic medical professional. “Other than sex, you can’t think of any other reason you might be in a morgue? What was your life?”

  Leaning her hip against the slab she recently vacated, Nikki folded her arms across her chest. “Is that a pig rooting through the garbage can? This whole situation is starting to freak me out.”

  “It’s the pig that set you off?” Wetting my lips, I shoved my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. “Look, the truth is… you died. Which has nothing whatsoever to do with the pig. He’s mine. Just to clarify. I couldn’t get a sitter. Am I babbling? I feel like I’m babbling. Mostly because I’m pretty sure this is the most horrible thing anyone has ever had to tell another person ever. Really, I just want this part over with. I beg you to speak now.”