by Angie Sandro
“Ferdinand,” he says, and inexplicably holds out a large hand.
I give it a firm shake. “Ferdinand, you are a good man.”
His bitter laugh cuts. “Good is not a word used to describe me, ma petite.”
“You’re wrong.” I squeeze his hand. “Whatever you may have done, inside you’re still a good man or you wouldn’t still be alive. That creature—it feeds on evil.” I stare at Squirrel, wondering how he’d tainted his soul. “I need your help. Where did the black smoke go?”
“You mean to go after that thing?” Ferdinand rises to his full height, which is significant. “That creature is from darkness. It will kill you!”
“No, it won’t. I’m not evil. I’ll be fine, but I have to stop it. These killings have to end. Please help me, Ferdinand. Help me keep it from burning any more people.”
Ferdinand jerks on my arm, and I stumble forward. My hand lands on his chest to catch my balance, and my palm tingles, like it’s waking up after being asleep. The sensation arches through me, and the hair all over my body rises. I grit my teeth, shoving to get out of his arms.
He lets me go.
I wipe my palms on my sweatpants, breathing hard. “If you’re trying to frighten me, it worked. But it doesn’t change what I’ve got to do.”
“You told me that thing killed Squirrel because he was evil. Well, you’re right. He was a bad person. He’s killed…not for duty, but because he liked to see blood. He served a purpose. And he was a loyal employee. As much as I felt he deserved to be taken out, his lack of conscience wasn’t my responsibility.”
“So he killed, and you knew and did nothing about it?”
“Still think I’m a good man?”
I shrug. “Morally ambiguous, perhaps? But it’s not my responsibility to judge you either.”
His head tilts, and I catch a flash of white teeth. “If I hadn’t been with Squirrel tonight, he would’ve hurt you.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush of words, “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Plan?” I ask, but…whatever. I don’t really care. My foot taps. Time’s a wasting.
He shakes his head and stares toward the cemetery. “That’s no longer important. What is important is that I acknowledge the world’s a better place without Squirrel in it.”
“I hear you.” I don’t understand, but that’s unimportant, too. “Just point me in the right direction, Ferdinand.”
“The hell…”
For a moment, I’m afraid he’ll turn caveman and toss me over his shoulder and carry me away. But he does the opposite. With a gentlemanly half-bow, he waves me forward—into the city of the dead. “Let’s go. It went this way.”
“You don’t have to be all macho. I can take care of myself.” Lies, all lies.
Before us stretch square, stone crypts set in white rows. Bodies are buried above ground ’cause the water table’s so low. Graveyards usually don’t bother me. The boys and I used to play in the family cemetery back at home. Generations of our ancestors rested beneath our feet, and none ever woke to greet us. Ghosts, the spectral kind from stories, don’t exist. The dead don’t linger to haunt their loved ones; they pass through the vortex into the darkness. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes. Still, it’s night. Fog rolls across the earth, muffling the sound of our footsteps. And I’m searching for Death. I’d be crazy if I didn’t feel like vomiting.
Once Ferdinand gets going, he eats up some road. I stretch my legs to catch up. His eyes scan the rows of tombs, then he leads me forward with a wave of his hand. He moves with caution, like he’s leading a platoon into an enemy city full of snipers. And it does seem like a city, with the house-like crypts laid out along quiet streets. Before long, I lose track of where I’ve been. We could be wandering around in circles for all I can tell.
“Seriously, Ferdinand. You should go back. Death passed you up once, but it might not be able to a second time. I think it’s beginning to lose its ability to differentiate between good and bad people.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s having a harder time telling who is good and who is bad.”
He glances back with a roll of his dark eyes. “Yes, I got that part the first time. I’m not as ignorant as I probably look right now. What I want to know is how you figured out it’s losing its Santa powers? You have some form of telepathy?”
“You are smarter than you look.”
“You’d be surprised at what I know. So, about the telepathy…Are you able to read this thing’s thoughts?”
“I think I am. I hadn’t really thought about the form of communication we’ve got going, but I guess telepathy, or maybe it’s an empathic connection…” I shrug. “Whatever. Your explanation is as good as any.”
“I don’t particularly believe in telepathy.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Based on your description,” Ferdinand says. “Doesn’t mean you’re right.”
I scowl. The guy seems to enjoy arguing for the sake of arguing as much as I do. “Well, just ’cause you don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it’s not real. All I can tell you is what I’ve experienced. And what I was trying to say, before you got all cynical on my ass, was that I haven’t completely figured out what’s going on.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
“Ugh, I’m trying to. Be quiet and listen?”
Ferdinand meets my eyes; his are glazed and unfocused. He must be talking to keep from freaking out. He presses his lips together and nods.
I take a deep breath and focus on controlling the emotions that come up whenever I think about Tolson. Ferdinand’s upset, enough. I don’t want to make it worse. “A man attacked me about a week ago. I fought back, but he stabbed me a few times. It was about then that this smoke thing came and killed him. The shadow saved my life. Ever since the attack, I’ve been dreaming that the smoke is actually a man and he’s dying. I have to help him.”
Why did I share with Ferdinand something I haven’t even told Gabriella? I glance at the man, who’s basically a stranger, and sigh. Maybe because he’s seen it too? “Do you think I’m completely insane now?”
Ferdinand gives a bitter laugh. “Hell, I’m going with you, so who’s the insane one?”
A rush of desperation floods my senses, and I stumble. The spirit. He’s close. His joy that I’ve arrived is as palpable as his hope for redemption. Yet, underlying all the other emotions he funnels through our connection is the knowledge of his instability, and his fear that he’ll lose control over his hunger.
I stop beside a mausoleum. It’s beautiful even in the darkness, with large columns bracing the slab roof. The door’s open, inviting me in, and I grab Ferdinand by the arm. “Wait here. It’s not safe.”
“You sure about this? This isn’t about you trying to prove how tough you are, is it?”
I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. “I wish, Ferdinand. I’m terrified.”
“But you’re going in anyway. I think that makes you one tough lady.”
A rush of warmth fills me at the compliment. I face the mausoleum and straighten my shoulders. I can do this. Moving forward is harder than climbing out of the two-story window. When I fell, I knew I’d hit the ground. But walking through the open door to find a spirit who invades my dreams with images of death, and not knowing what to expect, eats at my courage.
Part of me hopes Ferdinand will follow. My knees knock together, and added with my chattering teeth, I sound like a one-woman percussion band. A stealthy entrance isn’t even remotely possible.
I can do this. Everything will be fine, I chant over and over. I doubt whether I’ve the strength to continue. I talk a good game, but tend to retreat at the prospect of certain death. I’m a bit of a coward.
The only reason I haven’t run back home is that I’m more terrified of remaining connected to the entity as it deteriorates. If I don’t do something, nightmares and sleepwalking might be the least of my worries. Plus, he needs m
e.
The light from the lamp post at the entrance to this row of crypts doesn’t penetrate past the mausoleum’s entrance. The surname carved on a plaque on the side of the building has faded with time. Who waits inside? Do they sleep, or did Death disturb their slumber? Oh, morbid thoughts. Go away. I don’t believe in ghosts.
Darkness waits, hungry for me to enter. My clouded breath mingles with thick fog. I see only a few feet in front of my body. My muffled footsteps on stone lend a surreal quality to the atmosphere, like I’ve walked into another realm. I pause, searching in the dark for some sign I’m not alone.
“Hello,” I call out, voice unsteady as my breathing quickens. “Are you there?”
My voice echoes though the room, bouncing off unseen walls. A dry, musty scent, mixed with the slight ammonia of rat droppings, makes my nose twitch. How long had this door been sealed? Did the spirit open it, or someone else? It does make for a great trap, ’cause here I am about to chomp down the bait.
When nothing jumps out and grabs me, I take a deep breath and plunge forward, leaving the light behind. With my left hand stretched in front of my body, I trail the other along the wet stone wall. I whimper like a little baby, more frightened than during my attack. At least that had been a surprise. I didn’t have time to think of all the horrible things that could happen to me. I hadn’t already seen the destruction of a man’s body as it burned.
The touch on my outstretched hand is so light that it takes me a moment to notice. By then the cold, gel-like substance coats my fingers. When I try to pull back, the sticky goop sucks in my hand, which tingles as it cuts off my circulation. It reminds me of quicksand—of how my father’s body looked when they pulled his mummified remains free. His wide-open mouth filled with sand when he gasped his last breath. I never should’ve stayed when they retrieved him from his sandy tomb. The image is seared into my memory.
Now I’m being sucked to my death, too.
My scream bursts out and echoes against the stone walls, taunting me. I jerk my arm, but like quicksand, the more I struggle, the more I’m drawn in. My chest presses against the membranous barrier. Instinctively, I hold my breath as I fall forward.
My thoughts grow fuzzy from lack of oxygen. The need for air grows more desperate. If I don’t breathe, I’ll die. If I breathe, I’ll die faster.
I gasp…then choke, but I don’t die.
I can breathe. How? Why?
Who cares? I fall to my knees, drinking in air. My eyes are open, but I can’t see anything. As in a dream, my emotions are magnified. I’m trapped and devoid of all hope of escape. Loneliness overwhelms me. I wrap my arms around my legs, needing the connection of touch, since my other senses are deprived. I don’t know how long I sit here rocking before I hear a sob.
The broken sound cuts through my apathy. No longer alone in this hell, I crawl forward, listening for another sound. Silence falls around me like a heavy cloak, and I begin to doubt that I heard anything except my own cries. My hands continue to search in the darkness, movements becoming more and more frantic. When I touch the warmth of a body, I cry out in relief so powerful that I tremble in reaction.
I press closer. I can’t believe what my senses scream out to me, but I inhale his deep, earthy scent. I run my hands up his arms, feeling his taut muscles beneath my fingers. His skin has the soft, fine smoothness of a newborn. My hands travel upward over broad shoulders to tangle in silky hair. I trace the hard angles of his cheekbones down to the indentation on his chin, and then, up to his lips. I remember this face as it hovered above mine and how his tongue felt on my body.
“I found you,” I whisper, leaning forward. My mouth finds his to initiate a kiss so light it’s more of a mingling of breaths.
His hands tremble as his fingers explore my skin with butterfly wing-like caresses, and I shiver. He moves hesitantly. Our chests press together. His heartbeat quickens, and my own beats in an adjoining rhythm, perfectly synchronized with his.
His head dips until it’s pressed into the hollow between my shoulder and neck. He inhales, breathing in my scent. His tongue swirls over my collarbone. I press against him and cup the back of his head, my fingers twining through his hair. My other hand wraps around his waist, clenching tightly as his teeth rasp against my skin.
A distant, barely coherent part of my mind wonders now what? Only his lips answer my question, traversing my neck in soft nibbles with intermingled flicks from his tongue, dissolving all rational thought from my brain.
At some point, he unzips my jacket. Between one breathless moment and the next, he unsnaps my bra. His hand circles my breast, exploring every inch with kisses. The heat from his quickening breaths make my nipples tighten in anticipation of his mouth. And Lord have mercy, but he doesn’t disappoint. My excitement builds with the intensity of his kisses. He’s intoxicating. Addictive. I want more.
My hands fist in his hair, and I drag his mouth up to mine. He presses forward with a moan that vibrates deep within my body. Flashes of his emotions fill my mind. Our connection is so profound that it feels like we’re one person. I’ve never felt so needed. His desire—an overwhelming hunger—is being satisfied by the energy flowing from my body. He inhales, mingling our spirits until his flesh hums beneath my touch.
I collapse onto my back, pulling him on top of me. His chest blankets my hot flesh. Our mouths join, the kiss deeper this time. Our tongues dance until I writhe with the need to wrap myself around him. I want to get closer. Need him to join with me.
Never have I experienced such a base need. I want to drown in the sensations and be thoroughly intimate with him in every way. I slide my hands over his shoulders, then down the muscular plane of his back. I draw in a deep breath in anticipation then stretch my reaching fingers for more, but…there is…no more.
He’s cut off at the hips.
The scream rips free of my throat.
Confusion wars with shock, which mingles with disgust, at myself. These emotions barely cover how freaked out I feel upon discovering that the guy I’m making out with is a partially disembodied spirit. Worse, I sense his confusion at my rejection. He doesn’t understand when I shove him, pushing his body off of mine enough to wiggle out of his embrace. He reaches for me, but I slap his hand away, cringing when his fingers brush my back.
The idea of him touching my body—God, I must’ve been crazy. I crawl blindly in the opposite direction, trying to build a mental wall to block the intensity of the hurt flowing through the link between us, but we’re too connected. I feel everything, and it sends me into a blind panic. I want to—need to—escape.
Too late, I remember it’s not only my sanity in jeopardy. Chaos rolls in like a dark, infectious cloud—a black hole, devouring his emotions. He gives up and allows the hunger to take over. The darkness eats him.
And it’s my fault!
Desperate, I throw myself back toward him, arms outstretched, and feel…nothing.
CHAPTER 9
Pinocchio’s Broken Heart
I’ve lost him. Guilt smothers me, making it hard to catch my breath. The confining membrane of the goopy, whatever the hell it is, vanished with him. Even though he’s gone, I can’t move. I huddle against a wall, hoping he’ll return.
How could I be so stupid? So what if he doesn’t have anything below his torso? He’d been using the rest of his body just fine until I freaked out on him. It’s not like I didn’t know that, like Pinocchio, he isn’t a real boy.
I’d searched for him with the intention of saving him from the darkness. Instead, I brought that darkness to him. My rejection caused him to give in to his despair. I only hope, in that last moment, he felt my change of heart. That he senses me begging him to come back with all of my being. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.
A few rats drown in my tears before I leave the mausoleum. Ferdinand’s gone. I don’t blame him. Abandoning me probably saved his life. The spirit seemed to be in a killing mood when it left. My fault.
With a sigh, I pull u
p the hood of my raincoat, huddling in its warmth. I wind through the tombs, exiting onto Old Lick Road, on the opposite side of the cemetery from where I entered. Thick, oppressive, old-growth forest borders the road. The scent of rain mingles with the rotten egg stench of Bayou du Sang, or Blood River, as the non-French-speaking folk call it. Old Lick’s one of the oldest parts of Paradise Pointe, and it’s rumored that the ground is tainted from its blood-soaked history. Nobody comes out here on purpose. Unless they’re a fool.
The large trees overhead block most of the rain, but I’m still wet, cold, and miserable. My swollen eyes strain to pierce the darkness as I navigate around the potholes in the gravel road. Lost in my own miserable world, the flashlight aimed right into my eyes comes as a shock. My arm lifts to block the glare. With my night vison shot, it takes a bit to focus on the silhouette climbing from the running vehicle, and I freeze when I recognize Anders.
Great. He’s wearing his annoyed expression. The one where his chiseled jaw squares, and his eyes slant up in the corners from his frown. Yep, I know this look. I’ve become intimately acquainted with it over the last week.
I cross my arms to hide my shivers. “Your timing’s perfect, as usual. Here to harass me?”
He flicks the light toward the ground. “Ms. Acker, I’ve been searching for you for hours. Where have you been?”
I ignore his question, like he ignored mine. “It’s like you’ve got radar that lets you find me during the most vulnerable moments in my life.”
Anders’s blank expression hides any response to my words. Not the reaction I’ve got in mind. I’m spoiling for an argument—a distraction from the self-loathing burning a hole in my chest. Otherwise, I might burst into tears.
Anders studies my face for a few seconds, then softens his stance from overly annoyed to mildly piqued. “Get in the car, Dena.” He opens the door.
I blink, surprised, and then give a mental shrug. I’ve fallen about as low as I can get. Riding in the back of a patrol car won’t change anything. Or so I think, until he turns off Old Lick and drives around to the front of the cemetery. The street’s filled with patrol cars, yellow tape, and a CSI van. I’m in big trouble.
