by Catie Rhodes
“What’d you say to me?” I stubbed out my cigarette and put the butt in my trash sack.
“I axed if you’re really a whore. My mama says you are.” The kid carried an acoustic guitar in one hand.
Of course Felicia Holze would tell her child another adult was a whore. I didn’t know what to say to his question. There was no right answer. So I said the first thing I thought of. “No. I ain’t a whore. Whores charge.”
Nash coughed. I couldn’t tell if he was hiding laughter or if it was from shock.
Kansas’s mouth dropped open, and I thought he might run off. “W-wha-wha?”
“Whores charge for sex. I don’t. So I ain’t a whore.”
He dropped his head, and I remembered how young he was. Not even a teenager yet. I pointed at his guitar.
“You play?”
“Huh?” He raised his head, his eyes wide and scared.
“The guitar. You play? Your dad was real good at it.”
“I just started learning. My mama said it’s stupid, but my grandparents—Dad’s parents—are paying for lessons.” He came a little closer but kept his distance in case I did something else weird. “I saw a video of my dad playing. It was just a few seconds, but I want to play like that. I come out here at night and practice because Mama gets mad.”
I’ll bet she does, the bitch. “Keep at it. You’ll get there. It’s in your genes.” I smiled.
Kansas dropped his head to fiddle with the guitar. Finally, he raised his gaze to mine. “I’m sorry I called you a whore.”
“Your mother hates my guts. Comes with the territory,” I said. “Speaking of parents, where do yours think you are right now?” I didn’t see them approving a midnight visit to a closed graveyard. I glanced at Nash to find him tapping on his cellphone again. Some help he’d be if Michael Gage turned up.
“They don’t know I’m gone. I snuck out.”
“That’s about what I figured.” I nudged Nash to get him off his cellphone. “How about Nash and I walk you home? You don’t want your folks to know you’re gone. They’ll worry about you.” I doubted Kansas’s mother cared about anybody other than herself, but it was the right thing to say.
Kansas shifted foot to foot again, studying the manicured grass at his feet.
“Did you know your dad played a few tour dates with a real rock-n-roll band when he was just seventeen years old?”
The kid raised his head, and I knew I had him.
“Come on, and I’ll tell you about it.” I motioned him to follow.
We walked toward the Mace crypt. Kansas lived on the other side of the neighborhood I passed through to get here. Nash trailed behind us, still jacking around on his phone. Maybe he was begging his good buddy Jay to come rescue him from me. I rolled my eyes and told Kansas about his father’s three tour dates with the rock band Snakebite, painting his dad as more of an artist than a dope head and a burnout.
“The last date of the tour was in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I used all the money from my savings to ride the bus out there and see your dad.” I laughed at the memory.
“Was he any good?” Kansas stopped, his gaze fixed so intently on my face, I felt like I held the answer to saving the world.
I thought about Chase’s bright eyes, his enthusiasm and innocence. The smile spread across my face. “He was.”
“Did you get in trouble for going?”
“Heavens, did I. My grandmother grounded me for the rest of the year.”
Kansas smiled. He looked so much like his dad. My chest ached with broken dreams and lost innocence and memories of the places where those things go to die.
“Peri? Hey, Peri Jean? I’m right here.” The words came from nowhere and everywhere. I twisted around, the electric current of panic flooding by body, and held up my flashlight. Nothing but darkness, broken only by the humped shapes of gravestones and crypts. I tugged at Nash's arm. “Did you hear that?”
“What was it?” Nash turned a slow circle. “You think someone’s out here with us?”
“You didn’t hear that?”
“Hey, Peri Jean. You miss me?” This was followed with a Me-he-he-he.
Chills raced down my spine. I reached for Kansas. The boy took a step away from me, eyes wide. I spoke to Nash. “It’s Gage. We’ve got to get Kansas out of here. Now.”
Something whizzed toward me, cutting the air with a high-pitched whine. I stepped in front of Kansas. Pain needled through my thigh. I hissed and glanced down to find a blowgun dart sticking out of my jeans. About an inch of it was buried in my flesh. I leaned to tug at it and felt another dart hiss over my head. I’d deal with it later.
“Run!” I screamed and grabbed Kansas’s arm, ignoring his cry of protest. Another blowgun dart parted the air next to my head. I turned the other way and ran toward the Mace crypt. “Come on, Nash. We’ll get behind the crypt. Just jump over the fence.”
Nash screamed out and dug at the dart buried in his shoulder.
“Leave it.” I shoved him. “Just get behind the crypt.”
“What if it’s got poison on it?” Nash yelled in my face.
I jerked out the dart, turned my back on Nash's shriek of agony, and helped Kansas over the low fence around the crypt. I followed, Nash right on my heels. We ran around back of the crypt. I stopped and stared. The crypt had a tarp draped across its backside as though the cemetery’s caretaker had been doing some work back here. It billowed out from the crypt just far enough to ruin my plan of pressing ourselves against the white stone.
The crypt’s white stone glowing in the moonlight sparked a memory, just a split second of dreamlike action. I was too rattled to latch onto it. My mind wouldn’t do anything but worry about how close Michael Gage was to us.
“Rip down the tarp.” I shoved Kansas. “I’ll stand at your back.”
Me-he-he-he floated out of the darkness. “Hey, Peri Jean? Wanna fuck?”
I pressed myself as close to Kansas as I could, listening to his grunts as he pulled on the piece of canvas.
“Something’s holding it in place.” His voice trembled.
Nash turned his back to the darkness. Together the two pulled for all they were worth. The sound of ripping fabric echoed in the night. Behind me, both Kansas and Nash screamed.
“You caused this, Peri Jean Mace.” Michael Gage shouted from somewhere in the darkness.
“Oh God. Oh God.” Kansas’s whimpered from behind me.
Time slowed to a crawl. I turned, jagged gasps tearing at my throat, already knowing part of what I’d see. The poor girl from my vision would be there with her throat cut. And on the white stone wall of the crypt would be the words “Hello, Peri Jean.” I knew what to expect. Still, when I saw the wide staring eyes and recognized the familiar face, I screamed, still faintly aware of the sound of Michael Gage laughing somewhere at my unprotected back.
Cricket McKay wouldn’t be needing the twenty dollars I owed her. She’d never read my tarot cards again. We wouldn’t talk about the possibilities of an afterlife any more. She was too dead for all that stuff.
She lay propped against the backside of the Mace crypt, head thrown back, throat yawning open. I moaned and swallowed at the ache in my throat. Another person dead because of me. Mouth frozen in a rictus of agony and eyes wide, Cricket seemed to agree. I grabbed the tarp where it had fallen and pulled it over her. My reasons had as much to do with not being able to look at her any more as they did respect.
“How you like the way she looks, Peri Jean?” Michael Gage’s twang floated out of the darkness. “You’re gonna wish you died that fast when I’m through with you.”
“Come on out here.” The words came out before my good sense kicked in. I’d rather be mad and fight than think about all the harm I caused people. “Let’s get it over with.”
His laughter answered me, further away this time. The coward was leaving. The chain link fence rattled as he climbed over it.
“I’m in your blood. You’ll never get away from me.” His sc
ream came from the woods where I’d entered the cemetery.
How had he known to find me there? Something to overthink later. I opened my mouth to scream an insult but decided against it. Let Gage go for now.
Kansas Fischer whimpered next to me. I jerked myself out of the squirming ball of poison in my head and took a good look at the kid. Tears streaked his face, and his lips trembled. Another person hurt because of me. If he hadn’t been walking with me when all hell broke loose, he’d have never seen his first dead body.
“Come on.” I had to get Kansas out of here. He had no part in this mess.
“Wait. I need to call 911.” Nash had his cellphone out, his fingers poised above the keypad.
“No. Not yet. Kansas has to go home first.” I tugged the boy’s arm and took the first step. The first movement sent a bolt of pain through my leg. I reached down, yanked out the blowgun dart and tossed it on the ground. I gave Kansas a little shove. “Come on.”
“Don’t I have to talk to the police about what I saw?” The kid’s tear streaked face shone in the moonlight.
“Do you want your parents to know you snuck out of the house, came to the cemetery, and found a dead body?”
He slowly shook his head.
“I sure as hell don’t want them to know you found a dead body while you were with me. You dig?”
He nodded, his eyes still bugged out from the shock of what he’d seen. I plucked at his sleeve. This time, he followed me away from the body.
“Just wait here,” I called back to Nash. “It won’t take ten minutes.”
“But what about Michael Gage?” Nash still had his phone out.
“He did what he came to do and left. He comes back, I got something for him.” I showed my fist to Nash. His mouth dropped open. I limped along as fast as I could, ready to get Kansas as far away from the cemetery as I could. We hustled to the part of the cemetery nearest his house. The wound in my thigh stiffened and ached worse with each step. I held the guitar while he climbed over the fence and passed it to him once his feet were on the ground.
“You go straight on home, okay? And watch yourself. Michael Gage saw you with me. Understand?”
“Yeah.” The kid took off running without giving me a second glance.
I walked back to the crypt, taking out my cellphone as I went. I called Wade Hill first to let him know I’d found Cricket McKay. This time, he answered.
“No, no, no. King’s going to be broken up. They had a thing.” He paused, and the sound of his cigarette lighter grinding came over the speaker. He inhaled. “I’m at the clubhouse. The Sidewinders officially merged with us tonight. I’m having a hard time getting away.”
“Don’t come here. I still have to talk to the cops.” Truth was, needing Wade’s protection made my oversized pride holler for mercy.
“I can go anywhere I want to, cops or no cops.” His voice sounded the same way it did when he threw drunk patrons out of Long Time Gone.
“Don’t. I don’t need you arguing with them.” I listened to him huff out angry threats. When he ran out of steam, I said, “I’ll text you when I’m leaving.” I hung up and called emergency services. Maybe Dean wouldn’t come with them. By the time I got back to Nash, he’d called 911 as well.
Nash went a short distance away and sat on a tombstone, his back to me, tapping out a message on his cellphone. Definitely getting someone, probably Jay, to get his ass out of here. Running footsteps pounded on the asphalt trail running through the cemetery, coming straight toward us. I backed against the crypt, knees weak with fear.
“Nash,” I hissed. “Somebody’s coming.”
He shoved his cellphone in his pocket and shot up off the tombstone. He took several running steps to huddle against the crypt with me.
“Peri Jean?” The familiar voice traveled through the cemetery.
“Over here, Dean,” I yelled back.
Dean charged into sight, hair rumpled, shirt buttoned wrong. He slid to a stop as soon as he saw Nash and me. “What were the two of you doing out here?”
“Michael Gage attacked us.” I gestured at the bloody spot on my jeans. “And there’s a dead body over there.”
Dean hurried around the crypt and took in what was left of Cricket McKay. “You know her?”
“Cricket McKay. She was involved with the Six Gun Revolutionaries.”
“Your new best friends.” He shook his head. “You need to start working up an explanation why you two were trespassing and why your name’s painted on the crypt wall.”
DEAN QUESTIONED Nash and me until only a couple of hours of night remained. Nash walked away, tapping on his cellphone again. I tried to go with him.
Dean held my arm to keep me from leaving. “Try to stop doing stupid things. Michael Gage isn’t kidding around.”
I jerked my arm away and beat feet to my car. Jay Harris showed up right about the same time to give Nash a ride home. The man who’d been so very interested in me three hours earlier got in Jay’s Ford pickup truck without so much as a goodbye or an invitation to kiss his ass. Guess he agreed we weren’t meant to be a couple.
Something a lot like hurt twinged in my chest. Had I expected him to profess his undying love after Michael Gage shot him with a blowgun dart for being with me? Nash was better off staying clear of me. Especially with his psychometry. If Michael Gage picked up on that, Nash would be in a world of hurt. I still wished he didn’t act like it was so easy to walk away from me.
Jay leaned across the seat. “What were you two doing out here?” He dropped me a wink and nudged Nash, who kept his head down. “I’m beginning to think I picked the wrong friend.” He drove off laughing.
I got in my car and took out the twenty-dollar bill I’d been keeping aside to repay Cricket. Images from my cousin Rae’s murder polluted my thoughts. The bill blurred, and the first tear made a cool track down my cheek. I leaned my head on the steering wheel and shut my eyes tight. Why was this happening again?
A few bitter sobs racked my body, but I cut them off. They were a luxury I couldn’t afford. With Gage playing jackass about town, I had to hold my shit together. There was no choice but to get my ass in gear and do what I could to minimize the damage.
I started the car and texted Wade I was headed home. It burned to feel like I needed a big, strong man to protect me. But, this time, I really thought I did. I put the Nova in gear and sped away.
Driving down pitch-black country roads, seeing no other cars, it felt like maybe the world had ended and nobody told me. The house I shared with my grandmother until her death two months ago sat empty and dark. Instead of using the carport, I parked in front of the yard like a guest. At least nobody could block me in. There was a text message on my phone from Wade telling me to stay in the car with the doors locked until he got there. No problem.
The lights of a ghostly fire flickered in the woods behind the pasture like it always did in late October. The ghosts were back. My recent discovery that hunters of the Mace Treasure burned Luther Palmore, his family, and their servants alive back there made the whole thing worse. No matter where I went, I couldn’t get away from the Mace Treasure and the bad shit surrounding it.
Luther Palmore definitely played a role in the whereabouts of the Mace Treasure. So far, I’d had no luck putting it together.
The first time I tangled with Michael Gage, I found a trunk of books from the library of Luther Palmore. The books, hidden as though they were a clue to the whereabouts of the Mace Treasure, later went missing. Hannah and I both believed her uncle, the ex-sheriff of Burns County, stole the books. The clue hidden in the books was lost unless I figured out a way to steal the books back. Or worked up the juice to open a line of communication with the ghosts.
A single headlight appeared at the end of the driveway. I tensed until I saw Wade Hill’s huge form on the bike. Michael Gage might have been a master of disguise, but no way could he fake that kind of bulk. I got out of my car and made sure to lock it.
Wade shut off
his motorcycle and approached me. He stopped a few feet from me, his gaze roaming over me. It stopped at the bloody spot on my jeans. He pointed to it.
“Michael Gage shot me with a blowgun dart. The EMTs treated it.” I didn’t bother to tell him I almost fainted when they disinfected the wound.
Wade grunted and held open the chain link gate for me. We got to the porch and he withdrew two semi-automatic pistols from his jacket and handed me one. “Chamber a round like I showed you.”
“I don’t need this.”
“I didn’t teach you to shoot so you could stand there without a gun.” Wade loomed over me, glaring until I did as he said. “I’m going to check the house. If Michael Gage comes running out, shoot him.”
“But what if—”
“Don’t think. Just do what I tell you.” He went into the house without a backward glance. His heavy footsteps made the old house creak and whine. I heard him approaching the door well before he opened it and told me to come inside.
I winced at the bright light. ‘What’d you do? Turn on every single light in the damn house?”
Without answering, Wade led me into the kitchen and pushed me toward the table. He took off his jacket. I forgot about the pain in my leg and focused on his tight, white t-shirt. The Six Gun’s club emblem of two revolvers crossed over a skull hugged the contours of his chest. Wade rolled his eyes. “Pull down your pants.”
The horror of the evening took a backseat to the unwelcome thrill of excitement his words elicited. In theory, I agreed with Wade’s insistence we just stay friends. Seeing him around the house with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, smelling his scent when he came near to tease me or to talk ate away at my commitment to keeping it g-rated. I gave him a raunchy grin. “Forceful. That’s how I like it.”
