Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  “I visited Mama’s grave.” Mátyás turned toward the fireplace, casually inspecting his finely manicured fingernails. “She’s still dead.”

  “I imagine she would be,” Sebastian said. His tone sounded disinterested, but his eyes stayed riveted to Mátyás‘s back. “You should really stop disinterring her. It’s costing me a fortune in reburial fees.”

  Was he serious? I glanced over at Mátyás, who shrugged. To me, he said, “She’s still beautiful. Completely uncorrupted by time. Yet she doesn’t walk.”

  “She’s dead, Mátyás,” Sebastian said softly. There was a hint of something—remorse? regret?—in his tone. “Leave her be.”

  “Is she, though? Dead, I mean.” Mátyás directed his question to me. “I’ve used mediums, psychics, Ouija boards, even necromancy, and no one can find her on the other side.”

  Sebastian’s mouth was set in a grim line. He hefted the grocery bags into his arms and started for the kitchen. At the door, he paused. Turning to Mátyás, he said, “Have you considered the possibility that she simply doesn’t want to talk to you?”

  Ouch. Score one for Dad, but that was pretty harsh. I looked at Mátyás after the door to the kitchen swung shut. Despite myself, I said, “I’m sure he didn’t mean that.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Mátyás stood up and flicked imaginary dust from his pants. Our eyes met, and for a moment he seemed to drop his guard. The look he gave me was pure sadness. His fingers reached for the spot under my tee where Sebastian’s “love bite” still ached, but he stopped before actual physical contact. “Don’t let that happen too often, or you’ll end up like my mother.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “I won’t.”

  “Good.” He nodded, and he seemed genuinely relieved by my answer. Then his cold smile returned. “Oh, and I hope you kids played it safe. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean accidents can’t happen. Look at me.”

  “What? Are you saying Sebastian fathered you after the Change?”

  Mátyás merely smirked.

  So that’s what a dhampyr was. Holy shit. I mean, I’d thought dead was dead—as in, all parts, even, well, sperm. That was my impression anyway. Parrish had never suggested we needed to worry, although, of course, I’m on the Pill. Which reminded me I hadn’t taken it today, and I hadn’t insisted on condoms because… “How can that even be possible?”

  “Magic, little Witch. Magic.”

  Our brief bonding moment had come to an abrupt end with the return of that know-it-all smile. I wondered if the Vatican agents would consider adding dhampyrs to their list. Maybe they had some kind of hotline I could call.

  “How did you get to be such a jerk at such a young age?” I asked him as he headed toward the door.

  “Hard work and practice, my dear.”

  “No, I mean it. You’re seriously irritating. What did anyone ever do to you?”

  Apparently, that was the question to ask, because Mátyás’s constant, annoying little grin finally faded. Though his hand had been reaching for the door, he pulled it back. “My mother begged him—on her hands and knees—for the dark gift, and he refused her. Instead, she wasted away from consumption. He could have saved her life, but he didn’t.”

  I frowned, thinking of my own mother. How would I feel if I knew my father had a cure but wouldn’t share it?

  “He wasn’t even there when she finally died,” Mátyás said, turning back to the door. “She was alone. I was on my way home when I heard the news. A stranger, a neighbor, was the one to tell me.”

  Okay. That might make anyone bitter, I decided. I couldn’t meet his eyes any longer for the hurt I saw there.

  “Oh, I’m not as young as I look,” he said, his voice cracking the way adolescent boys’ often do. “Papa’s little gift to me: a century of being sixteen.”

  I thought of all the ages I’d want to be forever, and anything that ended teen would not be one of them. Especially since Mátyás was alive, as opposed to being glamorously undead. That meant a hundred years of acne, a hundred years of screwed-up, constantly revved-up hormones, a hundred years of high school.

  Well, probably not that last part literally, at least, but emotionally?

  Okay, I was getting the bitter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “That’s very kind of you,” he said simply, quietly. Then he left.

  * * * *

  When I let myself in the kitchen, I found Sebastian leaning over the sink, his head bowed. The sacks of groceries sat on the counter beside him.

  “So,” he said, his face still hidden. “He told you.”

  “I’m sure there’s more to the story,” I said charitably.

  Sebastian turned to face me. We stared at each other over the kitchen table, which was still covered with the scattered detritus of my breakfast feast. “I couldn’t give Teréza the dark gift.”

  “Don’t you just have to bite her and have her bite back?” That’s what Parrish had told me, but maybe there was more to it.

  “We did that.”

  “Then it’s not your fault she died.”

  “Yes, but it might be my fault that she’s not completely dead.”

  “Oh.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Mátyás suspects as much. The animation in the body is gone, but some kind of life remains. To what extent her spirit is there, Mátyás and I disagree. So, you see, the gift worked, but only sort of. The result is… unthinkable.”

  Oh, but I thought about it anyway. Your spirit trapped inside a corpse forever. And then buried alive? My skin started to crawl. “You’re not biting me ever again,” I told him. “Oh, and you’re buying the condoms. I think one Mátyás in the world is enough.”

  I’d meant it as a kind of joke, but the second the words left my mouth I wanted to issue a recall notice. As Sebastian stared at me darkly, his fists resting on the kitchen table, I struggled to come up with an apology that would sound sincere. Problem was, I really, truly disliked Mátyás. Okay, so he’d scored some sympathy with me, but he was still a pretty obnoxious kid.

  “Uh,” I started. “I mean… that is…”

  Sebastian let out a long sigh, then rubbed at his eyes. “You’re probably right,” he said. “That boy will be the death of me.”

  “He certainly seems to think that’s his function. I mean, as a dhampyr.”

  Sebastian pulled out a carton of eggs from one of the grocery bags and took it over to the refrigerator. As he put it away, he glanced at me over the top of the door. “He told you a lot.”

  The hard look in Sebastian’s eyes made me believe that Mátyás hadn’t lied when he told me what he was. Otherwise, Sebastian would have corrected my comment in some way. I really wanted to press Sebastian for more information about dhampyrs, but he was in such a foul mood and, honestly, I didn’t want to seem stupid. Besides, I’d already managed to put my foot in it about Mátyás once, and I really didn’t relish the idea of spending the rest of the afternoon apologizing.

  “I guess,” I said. “You didn’t run into any Witch hunters at work, did you?”

  “I didn’t end up going to work,” Sebastian said. He shot me a wry grin as he unpacked celery and carrots. “I decided I didn’t want to be away from you that long.”

  “Oh.” Well. That was by far the most romantic thing anyone had said to me in a long, long time. “So, the transmission-y thing could wait after all?”

  He set the vegetables on the counter and dug out a package wrapped in butcher paper. I thought I’d mentioned that I didn’t eat meat. Then it occurred to me that it was possible I wasn’t invited for dinner, or that he might have other plans. I felt suddenly sheepish and a little slutty.

  He gave me a shy glance. “I get pretty… er, keyed up after. I took off without really thinking things through. I have to apologize for making you seem less important to me than my job. That’s no way to treat a lover.”

  Lover. It was such a sexy word, and so much more appealing than girlfriend/boyfriend, which always see
med high schoolish to me. Still, Sebastian was pouring on the charm pretty hard, considering we had just met the night before. “You don’t owe me anything,” I said with a shrug that sent a stab of pain down my arm. I kept forgetting about that damned bite.

  Perhaps noticing my flinch, he said, “Maybe not, but let me pamper you anyway. Spend the day with me.”

  My encounter with Mátyás put a damper on some of my enthusiasm toward Sebastian. I mean, he implied that Teréza was trapped in her corpse, but he kept reburying her. I didn’t know all the details, but the whole idea troubled me. Besides, earlier this morning Sebastian had been a single, sexy vampire. Part of the fun of dating vampires was that they didn’t come with families. No in-laws, as it were, to meet and greet. Sebastian had a kid and a kind of dead ex-wife or whatever Mátyás’s mother was to Sebastian. Things had suddenly become more complicated than I’d bargained for, and I hadn’t sorted out how I felt about all of them.

  “It’ll give me a chance to explain myself,” Sebastian added, as though reading my mind. I continued to hesitate until he said, “Anyway, I bought everything I need to fix us a proper English tea.”

  Who could resist that?

  * * * *

  While I called work, Sebastian set up lawn chairs and a table in the shade of a sugar maple in his backyard. I watched him from the porch, which wrapped around the southeast corner of the house. The day had turned warm, and the air was infused with the fresh scent of loamy earth after a rainstorm.

  Once William was on the phone I decided to be blunt about my reasons for not showing up at work today. Not having to lie about playing hooky seemed like it ought to be one of the perks of being the manager. “I had great sex, and I haven’t quite recovered yet. I’ll be in tomorrow,” I said without a hint of shame.

  On the other end of the phone, I heard William choke. “Oh, okay. It’s been slow anyway. Have… uh, well, have a good time.”

  “I did,” I said. “And I will.”

  “Oh,” William said. “A sales rep for Llewellyn is supposed to come today. Should I take care of it?”

  “No!” I shouted, remembering his inability to be cruel to people. “Give me the number, and I’ll reschedule.”

  As William searched through the computer files for the number, I scanned Sebastian’s property. The gravel road I’d come up last night extended past the house to an old-fashioned red barn, complete with grain silo. I surmised that Sebastian owned only the buildings and a couple of acres, because thin green lines of new corn stretched for miles in all directions, no doubt maintained by some local farmer.

  Low lilac bushes lined a wooden fence surrounding a mowed section of grass that took up a small portion of the property near the house. Bright yellow dandelions dotted the lawn. On the other side of the fence, I could see the beginnings of Sebastian’s herb garden. A twisted path of flagstone made a curious route through newly turned dirt. I had the distinct impression it was meant to be a magical symbol, but it wasn’t anything I recognized. I’d ask Sebastian about it later.

  William got me the number, and I was able to remember it by repeating it over and over. I quickly left a message to reschedule and prayed that the rep hadn’t already left the office. Ah, well, if William overbought on anything, I could always see about making an exchange later. I hung up the phone and went to join Sebastian under the shade of the maple.

  Bless him, he was just setting out a fresh pot of coffee. He’d gone all English gentleman on me. He’d set a linen-covered folding table out between the two chairs. The bone china had a delicately painted peach and yellow Art Deco geometric design on the border, and there were lace-trimmed place mats under each service. “I didn’t know straight guys even owned things like this,” I said, admiring the teacup before I took a sip of the coffee.

  “It was once fashionable to lay out a good tea,” Sebastian said. “Speaking of which, I’ve got some sandwiches to make. Wait here. Enjoy the view.”

  I sat down and let out a long, contented sigh. A pair of white butterflies danced around the unopened lilac buds. Unfortunately, just beyond them I could see the headstones of the graveyard.

  Probably not the view Sebastian intended for me to enjoy.

  Especially since it made me think about being buried alive again. At least this Teréza of his wasn’t rotting in her grave. No, I thought, feeling breakfast swirl around in my guts again, I wasn’t sure anything made it better.

  Tearing my gaze away from the granite markers, I tried to focus on the delicate pink-and-white flowers of the bleeding hearts Sebastian had planted along the side of his house. Okay, I thought, the guy tends gardens. He’s a killer who sets a gorgeous table. Maybe he had his reasons for his apparent cruelty to Teréza.

  Sebastian came out with a silver platter full of honest-to-Goddess cucumber sandwiches cut into cute little triangles.

  “This is amazing. They look too pretty to eat.”

  Sebastian nodded his head slightly and then turned the lawn chair around so that, when he sat, he faced me. “Just try the damned sandwiches,” he said playfully.

  I dutifully took a bite, tasting a crisp cucumber, a hint of dill and lemon, and something soft and smooth, like, “Cream cheese?”

  He nodded. “Good, aren’t they?”

  Surprisingly, they were. And here I’d only heard disparaging remarks about British food. My eyes strayed back to the headstones, and I couldn’t contain my questions any longer. “She’s not buried next door, is she?”

  “I doubt she’s buried at all right now.”

  Eew? “What does that mean?”

  “Mátyás habitually runs off with Teréza’s body. If he’s come to taunt me, he has her.”

  There was so much I wanted to say, but all I could think of was, “Your family is really fucked up.”

  Sebastian took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, it is.”

  I didn’t quite know how to ask the question I wanted to, so I plowed ahead. “Would destroying her body free her spirit? I mean, you have had the body, right? So why not just… you know, let her go?” I asked, wondering if I was on dangerous ground. Sebastian’s eyes stared straight ahead, and his face betrayed no emotion, so I continued. “Like, well, cremate her?”

  A male cardinal alighted on the wooden fence and let out a loud peep. Sebastian turned to glance at it as it darted away, a red flash against a blue sky. Our eyes met, and he said, “I have considered it. I’ve even, almost… How can I explain how difficult it is to stand over the corpse of your lover with a spade in your hand, ready to decapitate her? I loved Teréza, and she’s not dead. Not entirely.”

  Sebastian paused, taking a long draught of his coffee. The leaves of the maple had not entirely filled out, so sunlight filtered through in patches. The air was cool in the shade, and the coffee cup felt good in my hands.

  I could understand Sebastian’s reaction, a little. My very first cat, Yeep, had died under somewhat mysterious circumstances—a seizure in the middle of the night—and I’d balked at the idea of an autopsy when my vet suggested it. Something about cutting up poor old Yeep’s body, just to answer medical curiosity, hadn’t sat well with my grief. Yeep had always hated going to the doctor’s while he was alive, and I couldn’t stand the idea of bits of him ending up in vials to be scrutinized and poked in some sterile medical lab. I just wanted him to have the rest I felt he deserved, even though I knew his spirit was long gone from the limp body I’d handed over to the vet to cremate. Looking back at it, I’d probably been overly sentimental, but that didn’t change my reaction.

  And, Yeep, faithful companion though he was, had not been my lover. Still, I’d been weirdly protective of a body I knew to be devoid of spirit; I was certain Yeep’s soul had crossed over to the great mouse fields of the Summerland. Even with my squeamishness about Teréza’s situation, I could allow Sebastian some of the eccentricities of his grief.

  I helped myself to another sandwich. A chipmunk dashed across the grass with a crocus bud between its teeth. I smil
ed to watch its striped tail curl close to its body as it made off with breakfast. Sebastian’s bite had drained me, quite literally, and I felt, despite everything, I could sink back into the cloth weave of the chair and sleep forever. “Do you think she suffers?”

  “She seems at peace,” Sebastian said. “If she had breath, I’d say she slept deeply.”

  That was something, at least. “So, you don’t think she knows she’s trapped?”

  “She may not.”

  “But she might?” I asked around another bite of sandwich. “How can you bury her, if… well, if you think she might be at all aware of that?”

  “What would you have me do?” Despite the question, Sebastian’s voice didn’t strain. He merely sounded tired. “She’s a corpse, Garnet. Hospices usually consider their work done once people are, in point of fact, dead. It’s not like I can prop her up in a chair at a dinner party. Besides, she died over a hundred years ago. I certainly would have attracted some attention by now if I hauled a corpse along with me everywhere I went. Talk about an albatross around your neck. The grave is the safest place for her. No one besides Mátyás disturbs her there.”

  “Wait,” I said, sitting up a little straighter, “How long? How long has she been dead?”

  Sebastian’s shoulders hunched in a slight shrug. “Really, it’s more like a hundred and fifty years.”

  A hundred and fifty years of being dead/not dead? “You still love her so much after all this time that you can’t… I mean, you’re willing to bury her in the ground, but you can’t hand her over to a mortician to cremate her?”

  “Things have gotten complicated,” Sebastian admitted. “Not just emotionally. Though, truthfully, Mátyás’s constant devotion to his mother doesn’t help me gain any kind of distance. Also, you can’t just show up at a funeral home with a body. They need a death certificate and any number of other things. Sure, I could break in and somehow perform the work myself, I suppose, but then we’re back to the problem of my inability to do her bodily harm in this suspended state.”