“We’re not all the same.”
I laughed. “Yeah, sure. I’ve met a bunch of you, and yes, you are all the same. It’s part of the job description.”
He flushed, the color spreading up from his neck into his cheeks. “That’s a matter of choice.”
“Which totally sells your profession even more, zombie guy.”
“I have a name,” he grumbled.
“Do I need it?”
“Seeing as we’re neighbors, it would be neighborly if you knew it.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Zane McCallister.”
I nodded. “And how long do you plan to stay, Zane McCallister?”
“Depends,” he said.
“What can I get you?” Duffy chose this moment to come over, making eyes at me.
Smiling, I gave a little shake with my head. She’d bounce him if I wanted, but I could handle this.
“An iced tea, please.” Zane smiled pleasantly at Duffy.
Duffy nodded and moved away.
“Depends on what?” I asked.
“On exactly what my client needs. After that?” He shrugged, making no promises.
“Who is your client? I know most of the dead guys around here.”
He gave me a glance that I couldn’t interpret. “Yes, I think you probably know this one well.”
“Oh?”
“John Holliday.”
Damn that man straight to hell.
Chapter Two
I chewed my fries slowly, thinking. I took another bite and when Duffy brought Zane a glass of iced tea, he took it, and busied himself with adding sugar. Okay, he had manners. I’ll give him that.
He also smelled good. I could smell him over the fries. He had a clean, outdoors smell—like pine trees. Most necromancers smelled like what we politely called ‘grave dirt’. Also known as rotting people. But you know, since we’re all polite and mannered here, we’ll go with grave dirt.
Zane didn’t smell like that. And he wasn’t making every fiber of my being want to kill him, damn the witnesses. Was I getting soft?
“I’m sure the fact that John has hired me is a shock to you,” Zane said.
“Um, yeah. It is. What is it that he thinks he needs with you?” I struggled to keep my temper under control. I could feel the magic still swirling around my fingers, but I’d stilled it as best I could for the moment. It flared with my temper, and right now, I wanted to blast it all over one John Henry Holliday. But I also wanted to hear just what it was John was up to. So I cooled the magic. For now.
Damn man.
“Well,” Zane set his glass down and turned to face me. “He is concerned that he cannot leave. He feels he has been here long enough, and it’s not a…” He hesitated. “Pleasant situation,” he finished.
“What?” I put the last bite of fries-dipped-in-leftover-Crab Hollandaise bliss into my mouth, and held up a finger. I didn’t want Zane McCallister saying another word. I was so mad that John would bring this into our family, and not say anything— wait.
Wait. One. Damn. Minute.
John and Meema had gotten into a rager of a fight today. It made Meema cross as could be, and she’d jumped all over me when I said we needed to just take out the necromancer down the block and be done with it.
Not to mention John and his whatever had totally ruined my meal. The burger couldn’t fix everything.
When I’d finished chewing, I said, “Why did you move here?”
An expression I couldn’t decipher crossed Zane’s face and disappeared. Hmm. That was interesting, and something that would definitely need to be explored. Not right now, however. First things first.
“Because I wanted a new start. I am tired…” He stared down at his glass. “I am tired of the way my life has been going. This seemed like a good place to go to start over.”
That made no sense whatsoever. “Do you know—did you know, before you moved here, who we are?” I didn’t pretend with other people who were involved in the supernatural world. No sense in being coy. As I wiped my hands on my napkin, I cast a spell around the two of us so anyone within the vicinity would not be able to hear our conversation.
“Of course, I did. Everyone knows that to venture into Deadwood means you have to deal with the Nightingales.”
“Then why would you come here?” This still made no sense to me.
He pursed his lips, and I noticed that they were full, and very nice to look at. What the hell?
“I completely understand viewing those who come from outside your town borders as a threat, but you might consider that living somewhere with very active guardians who are unafraid to keep the peace, so to speak, might be an attractive thing?”
I leaned back on the stool. He was right in that I’d never considered it. I always saw supernatural folks who moved in as interested in exploiting the human population. Deadwood, for all its tourist roots, was a small town. It was easy to pick on—or pick off—humans and have no one in the human world the wiser. With Sturgis, we had thousands upon thousands who came here. Some never left. Of those who never left, some met with supernatural occurrences.
So he was right in that I saw most other supernatural folk as a potential threat. This could be a make nice situation where he was trying to butter me up. Not going to happen.
“Really? You’re telling me you want to live by a set of rules? Did you flunk necromancer school or something? None of you believe in that sort of thing. You’re all glorious individuals. People like me, my family? We’re just the mean old sheriffs, dragging you and your art down.” I didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
“When you live in a state of war, it’s hard to see those who are not. But yes, I find the idea of living somewhere with rules and people enforcing them appealing. I’m tired of … well, that doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here for any reason other than I thought it would be a good place for me to live as I wish.”
“And how is that?”
“Listen, I was planning to come to your home today to speak with you, with all of you. And with John. When I saw you pull off, Tinkie told me—”
“Wait, what? Tinkie told you?” If I wasn’t completely mad, Tinkie was one of Mrs. Kittrick’s cats. The other one was Winkie. I’d heard her cooing to them.
He flushed. “Yes. I can speak with animals. Tinkie let me know that you’d left in your car, and so I didn’t come over.”
“What are you?” I asked. This didn’t fit with the general description of necromancers.
“I am who I say I am. At this moment, I’m a representative for your grandfather. If you’ve finished, why don’t we go back to your home and speak with the entire family?”
Releasing the spell around us, I gestured to Duffy. “I’ll take our check,” I said, indicating Zane.
“That’s not nece—”
“Be quiet. There’s so much going on here. I’m not arguing over a glass of tea with you.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he only nodded.
I paid the bill and we walked out. I could feel the ghosts gathering around, but they didn’t get close, and we were out the door before any one of them could make a play for Zane’s attention. Or maybe they’d know what John was up to and had neglected to warn me. I shot them the evil eye as I passed. Traitors. “Where are you parked?” I asked.
“I was walking. I didn’t plan on ambushing you at lunch but when I saw your car, I thought it was a fortunate opportunity.”
There was something about Zane, about the way he spoke. He was old-fashioned. That was it. He sounded like John did. As though he were from another time, when people spoke slower, more formally.
I sighed. “You can ride back with me. May as well get this over with.”
As we got into the car, he smiled briefly, and it made him seem much younger, and very unguarded. “This is a great car.”
I wanted to hate this guy, but how do you hate someone who appreciates your baby? “It is. I love it. It was a junker wh
en I found it, and I fixed it and had it painted.” Having to be someone else every fifty years or so meant I got a new-to-me fast car. One of the few perks.
We talked cars for the short ride back to Pearl Street. I pulled into the garage. When we got out, I said, “You’re on Nightingale ground now. Remember that before you try anything. And also remember, there are four of us.”
“I know this. You think I would harm you?”
I shrugged as I walked into the house. “I don’t know. I don’t know you and can’t make any sort of determination as to what you might do. But you’ve been polite, so I’ll return the favor.” I led him up the steps to the main level and the huge kitchen, which took up most of the main floor.
Meema was in the kitchen, as was Deirdre. My other sister, Daniella, was working down in the shop. The days we were closed were great for restocking and mixing. Today it was Daniella’s turn.
Both Deirdre and Meema turned as we came up. “Are you over your sni—Oh. I didn’t realize we had a visitor,” Meema said.
Deirdre’s eyes met mine, and I nodded. I knew what she was asking. Did we need to be on guard? I could feel the magic swirl and converge around her. I wondered if Zane felt it. As I glanced over at him, he paled just a little under his tan.
Yeah, he felt it. Good.
“We do. This is Zane McCallister. The new neighbor. The new necromancer neighbor, who talks to Tinkie, among other things.”
“Why would you talk to that cat?” Deirdre asked.
Zane shrugged. “I was passing by. Tinkie is chatty.”
A squawk from the front of the room, where the dining room table sat, caught his attention. We’d opened up the walls between the two rooms when we’d done the renovation.
“What is that?” Zane asked.
“That is Evil,” I replied. “He is our house chicken. Given your profession, I would appreciate if you fed any zombies and leave Tinkie, Winkie, and Evil alone.”
“Why do you have a house chicken?” Zane asked.
“Stop changing the subject,” I snapped, tired of the chitter chatter. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, I tried to kill him for supper years ago,” Meema answered as though I hadn’t spoken. “His head didn’t come off, and he ran off, head dangling. We spent a week or so trying to catch him, and he kept evading us. Finally, I gave up. I healed him, and brought him in the house.”
“I find it hard to believe you give me any grief about animals at all,” Zane said to me. “Attempted dinner to house pet?” He started to laugh.
To my horror, Meema joined him. Deirdre smiled, but she didn’t laugh.
“Yes. And we don’t feed him to dead people. You need to sit down and tell my mother and sister why it is you are here.”
“Would you like something to drink, Zane?” Meema asked.
I glared at her. She was being super friendly to the kind of person we’d been fighting for years. That meant either she was losing her marbles, or she already knew what Zane McCallister was doing here. I kept up the glare, but Meema was a pro at ignoring the building tensions in a room.
“I’m good, thank you.” Zane sat at the island, and I sat on the chair on the other end. With Deirdre across from me, even if Meema fell down on the job, we were well placed to deal with anything he might try.
“Tell them,” I said.
Zane sighed. “I approached Desdemona today on behalf of my new client. I will add that I did not seek this client out, but as I met him while walking one afternoon, I decided his request had merit, and agreed to see what I could do to help him. I did not move here for any other reason than the one I told you.” He shot me a look. “I like the idea of living somewhere that there are rules, and enforcers. I’ve lived in places much different before and… well, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I didn’t seek this case out.”
“You’re stalling.” I crossed my arms.
“I have been hired by your father.” Zane nodded at Meema, “And your daughters’ grandfather, to help him cross over and leave the mortal world.”
Deirdre’s mouth fell open. Meema finally lost her hostess-with-the-mostest expression. Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked up at the ceiling. “John Henry Holliday! Get down here!”
There was a silence as we all waited. He might not show up. He and Meema had been yelling, and he was notoriously moody. Finally, he drifted through the stove. “Your dulcet tones reverberated. Am I to assume my company is sought?”
“Yes, it is, you pain in the ass!” I stood up, slapping my hand on the island’s butcher block top. “How could you? If you wanted to leave, all you had to do was ask! You didn’t need to hire a necromancer! A necromancer? Really?”
John turned to gaze at me. It was amazing how much scorn a ghost could put into a look without a full body behind it. “As my imprisonment here is at the hands of the Nightingale women, I did not assume any of you would be any help.”
Meema held up her hand. “You said that earlier, John, and that makes no sense. You can leave any time you like. We have never held you here. Never.”
The weight of an anvil landed on my shoulders as the silence stretched out. John finally broke it. “That is decidedly untrue, daughter of mine. I cannot leave.”
“What do you mean?” Deirdre asked. “We’ve never forced you to stay here. I always thought you stayed here because you wanted to.”
“Why would I want that?” John shot back.
Deirdre’s cheeks went red, a sure sign she was getting mad. “Because we are your family? Is that such a stretch?”
“A family I did not choose, was given no say in, and never knew of while I was alive,” John drawled. He leaned, as much as a ghost could, against the stove. I could see him with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, hanging out on the porch of some bar. His accent, while definitely southern, had a western tinge to it. Having grown up here, I knew what people in the west sounded like.
“Jeez, you sound like you hate us,” Deirdre said. “That’s pretty shitty. What have we ever done to you?”
“You won’t let me go!” John shouted. “After Desdemona died, you insisted on keeping me here! I tried to leave, and I couldn’t. The grounds of this home had boundaries that I couldn’t cross. When you moved the house, I tried to leave again, and you blocked it.”
“No, we didn’t,” I said. “Any barriers we have are to keep certain things out. If you’re here, and want to leave, you can. We’re not stopping you.”
“I. Cannot. Leave. The boundaries of the grounds do not allow it,” he ground out. If he was in the flesh, his teeth would have been grinding audibly.
“And you couldn’t come and talk to us?” I asked. “Why would you go out and hire this guy?”
“Because these are your family grounds. Any magic here is Nightingale magic. I may not have understood magic when I was alive, but over a hundred years with you has allowed me to expand my education. Give me a little credit for being able to figure that out.”
“Well, you need some more,” I said. “Because we didn’t do this. If you want to go so badly, please do. And why were you and Meema fighting earlier today?” I wouldn’t normally air our family business in front of anyone, much less a necromancer, but what the hell? If John had hired Zane, who knew what he’d been spilling. No sense in trying to hide anything now.
That fact pissed me off more than anything else. He’d exposed us through his own selfish, wrong assumptions.
John looked flustered, and Meema crossed her arms as her face closed like a door. Deirdre and I exchanged glances. Something was up here, something more than we realized.
The phone rang. Meema all but leapt to answer it. Saved by the bell, indeed.
“Hello?” she said. She listened, and then gestured at us. “Of course, dear, but why would he—” She stopped, and I could hear the voice of my sister Daniella. She was shouting, although I couldn’t make out the words. Meema went very still. “We’ll be ready.” She hung up.
“Whatever else is going on
will need to be tabled,” Meema said calmly. “John, I have no issues with continuing this conversation and helping you to whatever end you propose. But we have another matter that insists on immediate attention.”
John threw up his hands. “Of course, you do! It’s one thing after another with you—”
“That is enough.” Meema stopped him in mid-sentence. “Daniella called to let me know that a demon burst into the shop, breaking the lock in the process, and was looking for the Desdemonas. That’s what he said.” She held up a hand to forestall questions. “She told him none were there, and he said that he’d come and find us. Whatever it is can’t be good. I think any other discussions will just have to wait.”
“You want to help?” I asked Zane. “Then you need to help us banish the demon.” I didn’t think we’d need the help. But he was here, and in my eyes, this would be a good test to see what he was really up to.
“Demons aren’t really in my job description,” he said. “I’m not sure whose job description it is, but it’s not pleasant.”
I let the magic coil back into my fingers. I was going to blast him on his butt merely for being a candy ass when a loud boom shook the house.
Chapter Three
“Any chance that isn’t the demon?” Deirdre asked as we moved to the front door together.
“No chance at all,” I replied. Throwing open the door, we cast a silencing spell over Pearl Street. Then I stepped out onto the small porch.
The demon stood in the middle of our one lane road. He was tall, but not ten feet tall, or anything. I’d put him between six and seven feet, the size of the average pro basketball player. He was brown, and it made me think he’d been cooked too long in an oven. He had two sets of horns on his head, and long, scraggly, greasy-looking black hair. The whole effect was topped off with cloven feet and a raggedy loincloth kind of thing that struck me as being on its last legs.
While we stared at him—because goddess, what else could you do?—a car raced up the road. I heard a door slam, and Daniella was pelting toward the house.
Hellborn Page 2
