by Dannika Dark
I glanced at a bowl of slimy orange shells. “That’s a lot of macaroni. Maybe we should hire a cook. It’s not like we can’t afford it.”
Viktor passed by me while buttoning up his shirt. “The thought has crossed my mind. It would be nice to come home and discuss business. Instead, I or one of you must stand in the kitchen for an hour and cook.” He collapsed in his chair, some of his hair out of place. “And not everyone here knows how to boil water.”
Niko reached out. “Raven, let me see your arm.”
“It’s fine. It’ll heal on its own.”
“I can stitch it up in the medical room,” Shepherd offered.
Viktor peered across the table while he poured his wine. “Let Niko heal your wound. I don’t want you bleeding next to me while we eat. We are not savages.”
Before I could argue, Niko placed his hand over the wound. A crack of light snapped from his fingertips, and the warm tingling of healed skin made me want to scratch at my arm.
Shepherd tossed a white linen napkin in front of me.
“Don’t use those!” Blue chided. “It’ll never wash out.”
He chuckled. “You’re only bitching because it’s your day for laundry.”
“Have it your way,” she said coolly. “When it’s your week, I’ll be dragging my blanket through horse manure.”
Shepherd snapped his fingers. “Give me the fucking napkin.”
Christian walked by us, stripped out of his black shirt, and draped it over my arm. “I’ll give the ladies something to admire while you sop up the mess.”
I cleaned off my arm and then handed Niko the shirt to wipe off his hand.
When I finally took a seat, I pretended to be looking at the bowl of macaroni to my left, but I was actually stealing a glance at Christian’s chest.
Damn, I hated that I looked. This was the same man who tried to feel me up when I first came to this house, and I couldn’t figure out why I kept having these moments of weakness. Especially with a Vampire.
Viktor swirled his glass of red wine. “My wolf isn’t restless, so I’m sensing the introduction went well.”
I sputtered with laughter. “We’re best buddies. Please don’t do that again.”
Gem reached for a bottle of grape juice and then filled her glass. “What does everyone think about the murder?”
Shepherd lifted the spoon from the bowl, and a glob of macaroni hit his plate with a smack. His deep voice sounded more like a growl. “Someone dumped her body and wanted the authorities to find it.”
I pushed my plate away. “I think the killer might have been the one to call it in. That’s the human district. What are the odds that one of us would have happened upon the body when it was within sight of a human bar?”
“She has a point,” Christian agreed, filling his glass from a bottle of red. “There wasn’t a drop of blood at the scene, so I’m with the party that believes the body was dumped.” He sipped his drink, his bottom lip rubbing against the rim of the glass. “Although… I find it peculiar it was in such an open area.”
“She didn’t fight him either,” I added. “Do you think maybe she thought he was going to turn her into a Vampire?” It made me shudder, but that could have easily happened to me. I’d been so trusting of the Vampire who had led me away from the bar when I’d been turned; anything could have happened.
Viktor broke apart a roll. “It is possible that she was misled. This is the case I was speaking with the higher authority about, but they wanted to wait until there was another murder before they were certain the crimes might be connected. They are not certain how many women there could be. None had identification on them. Without knowing who they are, we can’t even begin to guess motive. So they have assigned us the case to find out who these women are.”
“Were they all killed the same way?” Blue asked.
Viktor waved his hand. “Bite marks to the neck, but we cannot work what’s in the past. They believe there are at least fifty, but without something that ties the cases together, there’s no way to know for certain. Their Regulators noticed an increase in dead women, so they called for a detective to take over when these murders are reported. They are only assuming, and it’s dangerous to make assumptions. There are no bodies for us to look at, no evidence to sift through, no photographs, no identity. We must keep ourselves focused. Each of you must notice every detail. Once the cleaners move in behind us, there’re no second chances.” Viktor finished chewing his roll. “Detective Glass wants the murders to go public. He believes everyone has the right to know there are Vampire killers on the loose. Since we still don’t know who or what Breed the victims were, all of us could be in danger.”
Christian set down his glass. “And you’re going to agree with that certifiable gobshite? You start spreading rumors like that, and you’ll have a war on your hands. We don’t know the circumstances, so it would be irresponsible to make this public knowledge. Maybe it’s a youngling who doesn’t have a grasp on when to say when. Sometimes the young ones don’t pay attention to the beating heart. There’s no law against drinking—as long as it’s consensual. And if there’s no sign of a struggle, then you can’t prove we’re dealing with a killer or killers.”
Niko’s voice made everyone turn. “What did you pick up, Shepherd?”
All eyes went to him, and he set down his fork. He rubbed the stubble on his face, his gaze fixed on the table. “Fear. Anger. Betrayal. Whoever the killer was, she knew him. Or at least she trusted him for some reason. I couldn’t pick up more than that. It fades with each passing hour. Plus the body was moved.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why would that matter? If you’re a Sensor, you should be able to just pick up all that leftover emotion on the body, right?”
He touched the pack of cigarettes sitting next to his plate. “Imprints are stronger where a crime happens. They bleed out over everything they touch. Death complicates things. Emotions are more refined when they come from a person and not an object, but when someone dies, what’s left behind is too diluted because of their state of mind. Their last thoughts might have been about a favorite puppy or their grandma, so all those raw emotions at death are mixed up with other shit. If I can compare what’s on the body with the actual crime scene, I can get a clearer picture. The body is only one page of the book. Anyhow, I scanned the area, and it was clean.”
Gem put a small pile of macaroni on her plate and pouted before sliding the bowl in front of Viktor.
Everyone looked up when Wyatt suddenly flounced into the room. He yanked his chair out across from me and sat down, his face flushed. Frowning wasn’t a good look on him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He poured himself a generous glass of wine. “Maybe you should start charging rent around here, Viktor. We have a new tenant.”
Viktor pinched his mustache. “Is this someone you met at the crime scene?”
Wyatt knocked back half the glass. “We didn’t exactly meet. He hitched a ride in the back of your van.”
“Did you question him?”
Wyatt’s green eyes slid up. “Specters rarely pay attention to the living.”
“You did not answer my question,” Viktor replied, his accent thick.
“That might be a good idea,” I agreed. “Maybe he got the license plate of the car.”
A few people chuckled as they began eating.
Wyatt finished his wine, which left red stains at the corners of his mouth. “That would mean talking to him, and when you start talking to them, they like to stick around.” He poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and sighed. “They always want something from me, and usually it’s something I can’t give them.”
“What’s that?” Blue asked.
He studied the glass. “Peace.” After filling his plate with macaroni and a few slices of cucumber, which didn’t at all go with macaroni, he continued. “They choose to stay behind for a reason, and I don’t know what that reason is. As time goes by, they start to forge
t. Death is traumatic, and if they don’t go where they’re supposed to go, then they wander in this in-between world for so long that they lose all the pieces of their life—like some mixed-up jigsaw puzzle. Most of them stick to the last place they can remember, which is usually where they died. Like that lady at Kohl’s. She probably had a coronary when she saw how much she saved.”
Gem snorted and immediately blushed when no one else laughed.
Christian draped his right arm over the back of my chair. “Surely it can’t be that traumatic. It’s not as if he can torment you without a physical body.”
Wyatt’s eyes hooded as the wine kicked in. “Ghosts don’t sleep. Some of them like to talk. A lot. One guy really loved singing the bottles of beer on the wall song, starting from a million. This is why most Gravewalkers don’t go around killing people. Dealing with lost souls is bad enough. I decided a long time ago that I didn’t want to make a career out of dealing with dead people, so I learned another trade. But every time one of them follows me home, it interferes with my work. They mess with the electricity or keep me awake all night.” He pointed his finger, glass still in hand. “And that affects everyone in this group.”
Viktor got up and retrieved a bottle of wine from a short table behind him. “Do you remember what we agreed upon when you joined Keystone?”
By the look on Wyatt’s face, he did.
A cork popped, and Viktor returned to the table and refilled his glass. “You are an intelligent man, but your gift could help solve this case. We made an agreement when you joined Keystone that you would offer your help in any and every way possible. I want you to speak to this ghost and find out what he remembers. If the entity does not leave when we’re done with him, I’ll locate an ancient Gravewalker who might know a few tricks to clean a house.”
“You might need to call that priest from The Exorcist. Is he available?”
“You will be compensated.”
Wyatt took off his hat and set it on the table. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
Chapter 5
Wyatt headed down a long hall and began having second thoughts about forming a relationship with a dead guy. Ghosts sometimes got distracted or confused in a crowded room, so after dinner, Wyatt decided to do this meeting in private, where he could keep the conversation focused. The realm between the living and the dead was a mystical one that even he didn’t understand, but he knew the effects. The ones who didn’t move on became lost. They had no sense of time or presence and sometimes held on to specific memories or emotions, which was why some specters were eternal pricks.
Wyatt strode to a small room absent of windows. The mansion had more rooms than he could keep track of, and most of them were unused. This one had nothing but red furniture from a bygone era, coated in a thin layer of dust. He lit all the candles and placed several in front of a mirror to brighten things up. The dead were drawn to spaces that didn’t have electricity.
He sensed the man in the room skulking in the shadows, so he continued lighting up the candelabra until the dark corners revealed themselves. Wyatt didn’t expect the ghost to sit down and fire up an imaginary cigar, so he walked behind one of the chairs and rested his arms on the back.
“What’s your name?” he asked, trying to create a rapport.
Ghosts were occasionally as clear to see as the living, except something was off with them that Wyatt couldn’t explain. Sometimes they flickered and became more transparent, which was what this one was doing.
“I’m Wyatt Blessing. You followed me here from a parking lot outside a bar called Northern Lights. Remember?”
The specter came into focus, so Wyatt kept talking. “What’s your favorite drink?” Maybe he needed to rile him up a little. Wyatt assessed the man’s formidable physique—his shirt stretched so tight that his muscles were fighting against the afterlife. “You look like a strawberry daiquiri kind of man.”
The ghost stepped forward. “Fruity drinks are for pussies.”
Wyatt said a silent curse in his head when he glanced down at the specter’s combat boots. This guy was intimidating, and even though he couldn’t physically hurt Wyatt, it still made him uneasy when he looked at all the rough edges in his face. “Well, are you going to just stand there without introducing yourself?”
“Call me John. Is this your place?”
Wyatt snorted. “Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around buying castles? I just live here. So… John. There’s something you might be able to help me out with, and it’s real important. Someone hurt a young woman.”
John’s expression tightened. “You need me to take him out?”
This guy doesn’t seem to realize he’s dead. It wasn’t good for a ghost to assume he was still alive. “John, I hate to break the news to you, but you’re dead. Do you remember how you died?”
The man shook his head slowly, his eyes scanning the floor as if trying to remember.
Wyatt circled around the chair and took a seat, a plume of dust swirling around him. “Don’t worry, everyone gets confused. It’s normal. You want to sit down? Take a load off, John.” He gestured at the chair in front of him.
John drifted toward the chair and quietly sat down. Normally the wood might have creaked beneath his weight, but it didn’t make a sound, and there wasn’t an impression in the plush red cushion where he sat.
Wyatt crossed one leg over the other, tapping his finger against the heel of his boot. “Do you remember seeing a girl? Real pretty blonde. She was lying on the ground, and we’re trying to figure out who hurt her.”
The man’s brows furrowed. “A blonde…”
“Yes. Did you see her?”
John rubbed his face. “I don’t know. It’s mixed up. No one looks at me anymore.”
“Because they can’t see you.” Wyatt had a feeling this guy had witnessed something, but it could take a while to pluck it from his tangled memories. “Try to remember the parking lot. She was wearing a long dress but no coat.”
“A long dress,” John repeated, sitting back in the chair. Wyatt could tell the rusty wheels in his mind were beginning to turn. “I remember a blonde.”
“She had really long hair, and someone left her body near the woods at the side of the parking lot. Did you see someone with that woman? Do you remember a car?”
John gripped the armrests of his chair, the muscles in his arms bulging. He stared at Wyatt so intensely that it made him shiver. “You need to help me get out of here.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
“You followed me here, John. I didn’t invite you. I don’t have to do anything.”
“Neither do I.”
Wyatt flew out of his seat. “Then wander the land of the dead for all eternity. Feel free to be the new haunt in the house. You’ll be no different from the others who drift around here like pieces of wood from a broken ship. I’m trying to help you out, but if you don’t want to return the favor—”
“Sit down,” the man snapped.
Wyatt folded his arms, a silent demand for information.
John tugged on his earlobe. “Look, it’s just bits and pieces, and I’m not sure what’s real. I have to focus.”
“That’s not good enough. We need answers, or this guy’s going to kill again. You’re the only witness we’ve got, and that ain’t saying much.”
“Sit your ass down,” John ground out.
Wyatt reluctantly did as he was asked. If this guy stuck around, he was going to be the biggest thorn in his side, and Wyatt had enough to deal with.
“I’d give anything for a beer,” the man muttered absently. “I sit around watching them drink it, listening to their pathetic stories about hooking up with dames. They never look at me. I keep hoping something will jog my memory, but I can’t remember who the hell I am. I’m not supposed to be here.”
Wyatt felt a twinge of guilt. Even though this guy could have been a mass murderer, all Wyatt saw before him was a lost soul. “Can you try to help us with this job?�
��
John perked up. “Job?”
Wyatt launched out of his chair and spun around. “Son of a ghost!”
A specter had wandered in and grazed Wyatt’s insides. There were few things creepier than a dead guy feeling your guts.
John rose to his feet, watching with avid interest.
“I hate it when they do that,” Wyatt muttered. Nobody respected Gravewalkers, not even the dead.
The nameless specter missing half his face lingered by the hearth. John suddenly gripped the man and flung him through the ceiling.
Wyatt gaped at his new friend, who went through the motions of dusting off his hands.
“He won’t be coming back,” John assured him. “I can do you a solid and get rid of them all if you’ll hire me.”
That was unexpected. But then again, the dead weren’t exactly predictable. Wyatt liked the idea of a clean house, but not if it meant keeping around an unpredictable spook with a temper who liked to boss him around. “The job is temporary, not a permanent position.”
John paced around, his boots silent against the wood floor. “I need a purpose. I got a feeling I’m good at stuff like this, but I need time to get my head together.” He stopped all of a sudden, his brown eyes drilling into Wyatt. “I’ll help you take out the motherfucker who put his hands on a woman.”
Wyatt’s brows rose, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t happen to see the woman, did you? Maybe on her way to the light or something?”
John grimaced. “I remember the girl and a black van.”
“That was our van.”
“Right. It’s starting to come together. Damn, I wish I had a cigarette. Look, I’ll do a sweep around here if you hire me.”
Wyatt toyed with the idea. Giving information was one thing, but hiring had a different connotation, one that might give this guy a reason to stick around. It wasn’t healthy for spooks to get attached to the living. In time, they went mad. “You can only stay for this case. That’s it. No exceptions. Once we figure out who the killer is, you have to go. Doesn’t matter how we find him or what the circumstances. But you have to cooperate. If I ask you to do something, then you do it.”
