by Nina Bruhns
“You dummy!” Giselle shouted. “There are no sex games. They’re going to kill both of us. Run and get help.”
Ren and Field marched toward Vector.
“Kill, as in die? Vector would be dead?” The skunk blanched.
“Oui. Dead. Morte,” Giselle screamed. “Get moving.” The tiny artist must be quicker than the two lumbering hulks. Yeah. Vector had agility on his side.
“Morte.” Even in the pale light of the moon Giselle could see the whites of Vector’s eyes as they rolled back in his head. Vector dropped with a thud to the earth in a dead faint. Now he was about to be dead.
“It looks like the Satanists will be sacrificing two tonight,” Marissa chortled.
Yeah. At least Giselle would have the satisfaction that she wouldn’t be dying alone. She’d be going into the next world with a skunk. An extremely stupid skunk. Or maybe she wouldn’t go to the next world. Maybe she’d end up as a ghost. Didn’t ghosts result from violent death? She hoped she wouldn’t be chained through all eternity to Vector. The two of them forever haunting this desolate cemetery together. Giselle and the skunk.
No. That wouldn’t be haunting, that would be hell. She’d been a good person. She would get to haunt anyone she chose, wouldn’t she? If she had a choice she would definitely haunt Ry. And not in a good way. Where the hell was he?
Field or Ren picked up Vector from the ground like a crumpled piece of paper. Then Lester blocked her view of the hapless Frenchman.
“Where’s the knife?” Lester asked, holding up his left hand.
Knife? This couldn’t be happening.
“It’s right here.” Marissa jumped up and down. She hopped forward with glee and slapped a dagger into his hand like a nurse handing off to a surgeon.
For a moment Lester stood, unmoving. The moon gleamed off the metal of the dagger’s long blade and bounced, reflecting a strange light in Lester’s eyes. He examined Giselle from one side to the other, as if wondering where to start carving first.
He moved the blade to Giselle’s neck. Her skin broke out in goose bumps as the cold metal and sharp edge made contact with her soft flesh.
Giselle pulled back, trying to sink into the stone. The tomb didn’t give an inch, but the knot at her wrists seemed to have a little more play as Giselle struggled against the ties. She opened her mouth. She had to say something to delay what seemed inevitable. Not a word would come forth. Not a word, not a sound. It apparently took imminent death to stop Giselle from talking.
Lester made a hesitant cut. Giselle felt a sticky substance melt down her skin. At first she felt nothing. Then the sting forced breath to break from her mouth in a gust.
“Wait!” she cried.
Lester pulled back.
Giselle searched her brain for something to say. “Don’t you want to know why people laughed at your logo at the party?” No need to remind the crazy vampire holding a knife to her throat that she had started the laughter.
“Why?”
The dagger’s blade, in his hand, now had a dark substance on it. Giselle had to look away from it. If she thought about her blood on the blade she would pass out.
“There’s a comic book where the illuminated outline of a bat in the night sky is used. Your logo is just like the comic book logo.”
“I cannot believe it.” Lester’s voice boomed in the, otherwise silent, night air. “Another author is plagiarizing my life? When will it end?” Lester stalked over to Marissa. “We’ve got to contact our lawyer. What is he doing for us?” He continued to fume, his arms waving. “All that money I’ve paid him. Lawyers. They do nothing while charging a fortune for it. And they call us bloodsuckers.”
Marissa wrapped her arms around him, holding his flailing arms down to his side. Lester rested his head on her shoulder. “My poor darling. I will take care of it. Mommy will fix it. Don’t I always take care of everything?” Marissa crooned to him.
A muffled “Yes, Mommy.”
Lester straightened.
Marissa pushed the hair from his brow and out of his eyes. “Now you have to concentrate, Lester. Kill these two and let’s get out of here. We have a big day tomorrow. The world needs to hear from VICTIM.”
“You’re right,” Lester murmured then drew himself up straight and went back to Giselle.
She’d been working hard at her ties. They had loosened. But not enough. Not enough.
Lester peered down at Giselle and raised the knife. For countless seconds the crazy light shone in his eyes. Then his glance seemed to take in the cut on Giselle’s neck. Pity warred with crazy. Pity won.
“I can’t do it. The sight of her blood is making me sick.” The dagger fell to the ground at his side.
He didn’t feel pity, but nausea did just as well as pity, in a pinch. A relieved breath rushed from Giselle’s mouth.
“I can do it,” Marissa said eagerly. Stepping forward, she bent and retrieved the fallen dagger. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy will take care of it.”
Lester nodded and stepped back as Marissa took his place looming over Giselle. Marissa lifted the dagger in both hands, and stretched them far over her head. Apparently, she wanted maximum torque for her thrust. She stood poised to plunge the blade into Giselle’s chest.
There would be no hesitation from this crazy bitch. Goodbye, cruel word. Giselle’s eyes snapped shut. She couldn’t watch this.
In the darkness behind her own eyelids, Giselle waited for the agony she knew would come. It didn’t. Any second now. No, nothing. Giselle opened one lid then the other. Marissa still stood there, dagger poised, but she stared off into the distance.
“Did you see that?” Marissa asked. Always pale, the alleged vampiress went a whiter shade of white. “I saw someone standing over there just beyond that gravestone,” she said, pointing to a distant grave with a small square stone. “It looked like a person, but I could see through him and then the person just disappeared.”
Marissa rounded on Lester. “I bet it was a ghost. You promised this cemetery wouldn’t have any ghosts. You know how I hate ghosts. They’re so sly and sneaky.”
“Now, honey,” Lester comforted. “I’m sure it wasn’t a ghost. It was probably just your imagination.”
This comment didn’t have the comforting effect he’d planned.
“Are you saying that I’m crazy?” Marissa pulled herself to her full height and put a hand to her hip, her tone incensed.
“Of course not,” Lester backpedaled. “I would never think such a thing, let alone say it. It’s just that the circumstances are highly unusual. You must agree. And anyone could see things that aren’t there.”
“Thank you very much…for nothing. Just you remember that if it weren’t for your roving eye, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Now, sweetheart, I don’t have a roving eye. There you go imagining things again.” Lester held his hands up in a weird kind of supplication while taking a step back from Marissa.
“Aaaahhhh!” Marissa screeched in outrage. “My imagination? Was it my imagination that you wanted to have sex with this—”
Giselle hoped that they would go on arguing. If she had luck on her side, they would argue for the rest of the night.
Marissa reined herself in, closed her eyes and took a deep inhale of the night air. She exhaled slowly.
She opened her eyes. “We’ll continue this argument, after I clean up your mess,” she said to Lester.
Of course they wouldn’t argue all night. Why would Giselle think she would be lucky?
Marissa returned to stand over Giselle. Again Marissa raised the dagger over her head, gripping it in her two hands. Suddenly, a strange, slack look came across Marissa face as she and the dagger came down, down, down.
Giselle screamed. “Nooooo!”
Yes. It was really happening. She was going to die.
Giselle’s eyes clenched shut. She felt an impact on her chest. Omigod, the knife. It was in her chest. No. It wasn’t in her chest, but on her chest. In fact, it
lay loose on her chest. Giselle opened her eyes and saw Marissa draped over her like a rag doll. She seemed to be out cold. A white noise buzzed in Giselle’s ears.
“What?” Not that she wasn’t grateful, but what had happened? Giselle decided not to look a gift vampire in the mouth…although she could see into Marissa’s mouth from this angle. Her unconscious lips gaped wide open.
Giselle started struggling against the ropes around her wrists again. She nearly had the ties slack enough to tug one hand through. Just then, the white noise she’d heard in her head clarified and Giselle realized that what she'd heard wasn’t the static of her panic, but Lester screaming Marissa’s name over and over in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.
Giselle couldn’t see anything over Marissa’s body on top of hers until Lester lifted Marissa up and cradled her to his chest. He continued to croon hysterically.
Now Giselle could see beyond Lester to where Ren and Field ran, flailing about and yelling. What were they doing? They seemed to be dodging something. It was…it was…rock. Rocks flew out of the darkness of the woods around the cemetery, striking Ren and Field in turns. The two goons hopped around, screaming in pain and confusion, not able to see where the rocks came from.
A dark shadow swooped out from between the shroud of trees and into the moonlit clearing of the cemetery. Was it the ghost Marissa had seen? The figure soared with an almost supernatural swiftness. It must be an apparition. Then Giselle saw that it didn’t appear to be a ghost at all. Ry, glorious Ry, was there. He attacked Ren and Field with moves Giselle had only seen in Chinese action movies.
Ry did a springing double-split kick, hitting first Ren and then Field. Giselle had laughed when she’d seen that move on film, thinking that it was all special effects. Now, she knew it was possible in real life.
Ren fell. Field staggered. Ry slammed the butt of his palm into Field’s nose. Giselle heard a cracking sound and blood gushed forth. Field grabbed at his face. Oooooh. That had to hurt. Good. Ry stomped a back kick into the crook of Field’s knee. Giselle heard another crack and Field went down.
But by then Ren had gotten up and delivered a punch to Ry’s side. Ry stumbled back.
“Ooof.”
Oh, no. Ren must have two hundred pounds of muscle on Ry. But Giselle found that she’d worried for nothing. Ry barely flinched as Ren made two more strikes at his midsection. Ry spun clockwise and clocked Ren with a back fist to his head.
As the battle continued, Giselle realized that she’d been so fascinated that she’d forgotten about freeing her hands from their bindings. However, she recalled the importance of her task when she heard a moan on her other side. Marissa, still in Lester’s arms, blinked as she regained consciousness. Giselle realized that she would be at the mercy of the two vampires, while Ry fought Ren and Field, if she didn’t free herself soon.
Getting back to work, she found enough play in the ropes to rub them against the edge of the tombstone. She ignored the pain in her wrists. The chafing had become raw and her wrists were covered in blood, if the slickness she could feel was any indication.
Marissa, fully awake, rose up. “We’ve got to kill her now!” she shouted. “Then him.”
Marissa turned to and fro, searching the ground. She scooped up an object. Great. Marissa had found the dagger. Lester didn’t react. He seemed focused now on Ren and Ry’s continuing struggle, as Field writhed on the ground nearby.
Marissa stalked in a determinedly straight line toward Giselle, dagger uplifted. Just a few more tugs and Giselle would be able to free her hands. But would she have enough time? Pull. Marissa had almost reached within striking distance. Tug. Marissa less than a foot away. Pull. The dagger sliced downward. Rip. Her hands sprang free. Giselle grabbed Marissa’s arms as the point of the dagger came to within less than an inch from her chest.
“Arrrrrhhh! Why don’t you just die?” Marissa screeched, between gritted teeth, as she pressed the force of all her body weight down onto the hilt of the dagger that pushed closer to Giselle’s heart.
Luckily, Marissa didn’t have much body weight. But still, Giselle had difficulty fending her off. Giselle’s arms tingled with a prickly fire as the blood started to flow in her limbs again.
When the tingling faded and her arms felt stronger, Giselle gulped in a big breath and gave a mighty shove with all the force she could muster. Marissa fell back one, two, three steps. Just when it seemed she would right herself, the back of Marissa’s legs hit a headstone and she tumbled backward over it. She hit headfirst with a crack and a thud. She didn’t move. Marissa lay unconscious.
Giselle sat up on the altar-like tombstone and began working at the knotted ropes around her ankles. She glanced over and saw Ry deliver a spinning kick to Ren’s midsection. Ren stumbled back with the impact. Ren reached into his pocket and rooted around. Ry didn’t wait to see what it was. He moved on Ren with another kick. It struck Ren’s arm as it came out of his pocket with a device that looked like a gun. The device went flying in Lester’s direction.
Lester seemed to come out of his trance. He blinked several times in rapid succession and then he lunged toward the gun.
Ry had apparently broken Ren’s arm and the big goon sat on the ground cradling it to his body. Ry stood over him, puffing with his exertions.
Lester picked up the gun.
Giselle had the last of the knot at her ankles untied and ripped the ropes away.
Lester pointed the gun at Ry.
Tossing the length of rope away, she hopped off the tombstone and ran at Lester on shaking legs. How could she reach him before he fired? The vampire pulled the trigger and it clicked.
“Arrrrr!” he roared, fumbling with the safety switch on the side of the gun handle.
Giselle ran at him, ramming into his body with a linebacker-style tackle. The gun flew and he went down hard. Scrambling along the ground, she located the gun under a bush at the base of a tomb. She picked it up and trained the barrel on the vampire.
As she stood over Lester, he gazed up at her with his luminous eyes and the pathetic expression that had elicited sympathy so often in the past.
“It’ll be interesting to see if that expression helps you get a few years deducted from your prison sentence,” Giselle said. She didn’t feel sympathetic just now.
“Prison?”
“Yeah, that’s what you can expect when you plot to bomb a federal courthouse.”
“Can’t you just let me go? I’ll disappear. I promise.”
Giselle shook her head before he got more than two words out.
“If I’m prosecuted, I won’t survive a trial. I’ll be ashes. What will I do?” Lester’s voice echoed in the night plaintively.
Giselle’s lips quirked. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Ooops. It looks like yet another episode in your life has been plagiarized by an author. Maybe you should sue Margaret Mitchell.”
Lester’s woeful eyes widened even farther and his bottom lip trembled. “You have no idea what I’ve suffered. If you did you would have more compassion.”
“You’re right. I should be more compassionate.”
Lester looked hopeful.
“I’ll tell you what. If you do combust I’ll scatter your ashes in Transylvania.”
Lester pouted.
“It’s the best I’ve got to offer you, mister.”
Giselle had more to say to Lester. After all, he did deserve a lot more berating, but her tirade was interrupted as strong hands seized her from behind. Was it Ren? Was it Field? The hands turned her roughly. But the lips that covered hers weren’t rough. They had a scrumptious softness. Ry. It was Ry. And his hands, gently but urgently, swept from her shoulders, down her back to her thighs and back up again. He pressed Giselle close as his lips devoured her. Giselle happily allowed herself to be devoured. She leaned into him and lost herself in the myriad sensations and feelings. Fear had turned to relief, and pain to lust.
A rustle of movement could be heard off to the right and Ry pulled back.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Ry reached down to where Lester attempted to crawl away. Ry pulled Lester up by the scruff of the cravat around his neck and firmly placed him in a standing position. “This is for hurting my girl.” Ry drew back his fist. Then he slammed it into Lester’s jaw.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Nineteen
A few minutes later, Ry and Giselle leaned against his Jeep, waiting for the police. Ry had secured the bad guys—and gal—with various ropes, belts and even a pair of handcuffs from Vector’s glove box. She didn’t want to think about what he’d used those for.
Ry had released and revived Vector, who promptly declared, “I am artiste, not witness,” and then had taken off in his car.
Ry rested against his Jeep with Giselle happily clamped—breast to chest—to his front. Twining his fingers with hers, he brought her right hand up and then examined her palm.
“There’s a big scrape here.” A gentle kiss was applied to the center. “And you seem to have a bruise on your cheek.” He touched his lips, with the softness of a butterfly wing, to the injured spot.
Who knew that the old cliché was right? Kisses did make injuries feel better, at least Ry’s kisses did.
“I think my lips are bruised too,” Giselle said.
“Oh, really?” Ry arched an eyebrow, lowered his head to hers and pressed his lips briefly to her lips. A mere touch. She tried to follow his mouth, but he lifted his head away before staring down at her.
“Hey,” she said. “What kinda kiss is that?”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m still a little freaked about almost losing you to those wackos.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. My lips aren’t that bruised. Come here.” Clutching the back of his head, she urged him down to her once more. Their mouths met chastely until she opened her mouth and licked at the seam of his lips. His mouth opened and their tongues began a dance. Hands clutching and roaming, they explored each other. His wandered caressingly over her hips before clasping her butt and lifting her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clamped her legs around his hips.
