Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I thought about that for a moment. I’d worked third shift at a twenty-four-hour grocery once, back in college, but I’d had my interview during regular nine-to-five hours. I also got the call to come interview during the day. I could imagine Parrish going through all the trouble to apply for a job, say as a security guard, only to never get the job because the call would come while he slept.

  Even if he got the job through some miraculous timing, most places with multiple shifts rotated staff through the various hours so no one would be burdened with always having to work late night. Similarly, it always seemed there were mandatory staff gatherings that would happen during the day. How frustrating to always be off the time zone of the main culture. “You’re probably an illegal alien, too. I’ll bet you don’t have a social security card or a passport.”

  “You’d be right.” His tone softened when I didn’t give him grief about his current profession. “I shipped overseas in a cargo hold. The manifest claimed me as a corpse, which was in fact true. I snuck in alongside war dead.” He gave a little shrug at the memory. “It was the only way to travel back then.”

  “Wow. I hadn’t really given it much thought. I’ll bet there are a lot of things you can’t do.”

  “I’ve heard the Internet makes some things a lot easier now. I wouldn’t know. I’ve rarely had a place to call my own, much less the disposable income to purchase a major appliance like a computer.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I could relate to that. The only computer I used was the one we had at work. I hated how inaccessible not having one at home made me. To be so cut off from so much culture and opportunity must frustrate the hell out of someone like Parrish, who was already an outsider. “No wonder all the vampires want Sebastian’s formula.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his voice was clipped with unfiltered anger. “Yes.”

  “Are you being careful?” I asked.

  Parrish shut his eyes. His jaw clenched. “I don’t have to be.”

  “Yes, you do. I worry about you.”

  “Do you? Still?”

  “Of course.” I didn’t hesitate. I had never entirely gotten over Parrish, and tonight was a testimony to that. But Sebastian complicated things. Even if I was angry with Sebastian after the whole Feather incident, he was still out there. I’d still have to see him again, one way or another. “But—”

  Parrish’s finger touched my lips. “I’m desperately in love with you, Garnet. Surely you must realize that by now.”

  I hadn’t.

  Parrish apparently didn’t notice my stunned expression, or maybe he chose to ignore it. “I could have gone anywhere to escape my debt. A larger, more metropolitan center would have better served my need to disappear. I came here because you were here. Quite simply, I wanted to be with you.”

  Oh, what crappy timing.

  It also ruined a theory I’d had percolating in the back of my head. Since I didn’t want to deal with Parrish’s unrequited love at the moment, I blurted, “So, if you didn’t tell the Vatican to look for Sebastian here, who did?”

  To his credit, Parrish rolled with the abrupt subject change pretty well under the circumstances. “What the bloody Christ are you talking about? Can’t we talk about us?”

  Wow. Daniel Parrish wanted to talk relationship. I’d really hurt him. He pulled away and crossed his arms in front of his bare chest.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said. “You have to admit that our previous relationship was, well, fraught.”

  I couldn’t think of a better word that took into account all the ghoul girlfriends and nights spent alone wondering whose blood—or other things—he was sucking. Being jealous, then feeling stupid for even imagining I could tame a wild thing like Parrish, followed by realizing I probably wouldn’t particularly like him domesticated, anyway.

  “Garnet,” Parrish said my name as if it were a command for me to pay attention. “We just had sex. Wasn’t that ‘fraught’?”

  He had me there. How could I explain all the mixed-up emotions that had inspired my libido? “Um, yes?”

  He pulled his shirt over his head in a fluid motion. Then he rubbed his bare arms as though wishing he had more clothes to put on. He shook out his hair, which shimmered in the low light like red gold. He stared at me for a moment, not saying a word. His lips compressed into a thin, angry line. “Forget it.”

  Forget he said he loved me? I pulled the afghan tighter around my bare legs. “How can I? Parrish, it’s not that I don’t—” Oops, dangerous ground. There was no denying that my feelings for Parrish were strong. Did I love him? I was certain I had once. I probably still did.

  Before I could finish untangling my thoughts, he put up a hand to stop me. “I get it, Garnet.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I frowned at him. I’d missed something. “What are you talking about, Parrish?”

  Parrish shrugged. “I’m not the kind of guy who inspires happily ever after. You don’t even trust me to bite you. You never did.”

  Ah. I wondered how long it would take before this old argument surfaced. Well, given the nature of our coitus interrupts, I’m surprised it hadn’t sooner. “It’s not about trust. If I wanted to give blood, I’d donate to the Red Cross.”

  His eyes flicked over the bruise on my shoulder. “Yet Sebastian convinces you somehow.”

  “He took liberties with us,” I snapped. “Get over it.”

  The mixture of horror and surprise on Parrish’s face made me mentally replay what I’d just said. I supposed the “us” made me sound a little insane, but I couldn’t quite fathom why he still gave me the you’re-scaring-me glare.

  “What?” I asked.

  Parrish continued to gape. Freak the mundane was one thing; I never expected to get the what-the-hell-are-you rapid blinking from a vampire. Then I remembered. Parrish had never met Lilith.

  “Oh,” I started. “When I said ‘us,’ uh, I meant ‘me.’ ”

  His thin lips jerked up in a kind of smirking smile, which was much better than the look of abject fear. “I see. So then the speaking with two voices at once was just some kind of Freudian slip?”

  Two voices? Had She spoken through me? “Creepy.”

  “I’d say.”

  Here was the part where I should have started volunteering the whole story of how I’d walked in on the Vatican’s cleanup crew that night and drew Lilith down from Heaven, or up from Hell, depending on your perspective. Instead, I stared at him blankly, not knowing even where to begin.

  Parrish hadn’t balked when I’d told him I needed help with some heavy lifting that turned out to be several bodies. He’d even suggested I aerate the bodies with a pitchfork to help the decomposition gasses escape. He could have told me to get lost, especially considering that I’d broken up with him two days before, but he’d been a calm in the storm—a homicide expert to lean on.

  Clearly, he must have suspected I’d had some kind of magical help, but he’d let me keep my secrets. He never asked any questions, not even when he saw the vestments… or the damage I’d done.

  Later, I found out through a tiny mention in the metro section of Minneapolis’s Star Tribune that the coven’s house had been destroyed by fire. I always suspected that Parrish had something to do with it. I hadn’t been able bury my friends in secret. I’d wanted their families to have bodies to claim. I’d insisted we leave them exactly where they lay that night. Parrish made a strong argument about forensic evidence and how Wiccans did not need the sensational press blathering on about what would look like some kind of occult murder scene, but I’d started sobbing so hysterically that he backed down.

  Now Parrish sat down on the couch and waited patiently for me to say more, his pale blue eyes scanning my face. A tiny smudge of blood clung to his lower lip. I used my thumb to wipe it off. “That night,” I said. “Didn’t you ever wonder how I’d done it? Killed all those agents, I mean.”

  He rubbed the back of his ne
ck with his hand. “Someone tore their throats out.”

  “You thought I did that?”

  “You did do it, Garnet.”

  “My body did,” I corrected. “Lilith did the killing. I… channeled Lilith.”

  Parrish nodded, like he wasn’t completely surprised by this revelation. He tucked a stray curl of auburn hair behind his ear. I recognized it as his contemplative gesture, especially when he started rolling the tip of the strand between his thumb and finger. “I see,” he said. “And She’s taken up residence, has she? As a payment for services rendered?”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that, but I supposed it was true. I’d assumed Lilith had become grafted to me by accident, since I’d built no protective circle, hadn’t grounded, called wards, or any of the usual safeguards required for that kind of powerful spell work.

  “And now the priests are back,” Parrish said with a nod at the arrow on the wall. “Do they know about your Goddess-in-residence?”

  “I think so. At least, they do now. They had a sensitive with them.”

  “To fight Sebastian,” he surmised. “But they found you, instead.”

  “Yeah, and I still don’t get how they knew to look for Sebastian here. I mean, the first agent I ran into might have followed Izzy and me back here, but how would they know he was coming over tonight or that the grimoire might be here?”

  No one else besides Parrish knew about the missing grimoire, and he swore he didn’t narc. Sebastian would hardly give up his own secrets. Who did that leave? Mátyás.

  When Parrish didn’t respond, I asked, “Have you heard of a dhampyr?”

  “Dhampyr.” Parrish rolled the word around in his mouth, as though trying it out for the first time. “Dam-fear,” he said again, slowly, exaggerating the pronunciation. “A dhampyr is the sexual offspring between a human and a vampire. Often said to have magical abilities and an extended life span. Sometimes turns Queen’s evidence on his vampiric parent and becomes a hunter,” he said. “A complete myth. No such creature exists.”

  “I met one.”

  Parrish raised an eyebrow. “You’re full of surprises. First you find the formula that will free us all from the night, and now you’ve met the son of a vampire. Incredible. Next you’ll tell me you’ve met a werewolf.”

  “No werewolves.”

  “Good,” Parrish sounded genuinely relieved. “So, how is this dhampyr involved with your current situation?”

  “I think he’s an informant to the Vatican.”

  Parrish laughed. “The Vatican doesn’t hunt vampires.”

  “They do if they’re also Witches.”

  “Ah, excellent point,” Parrish said, then he yawned. “I think I need to go to sleep soon. The sun is coming up.”

  I glanced at the window reflexively, having forgotten that it was covered in blankets. Even so, I doubted I would see any trace of the sunrise to come. Parrish always seemed to know hours in advance of the actual event. “Do you feel the rotation of the earth or something? How do you know?”

  “I checked your clock. And, earlier, the almanac.”

  So much for the spooky Spidey-sense theory.

  “You shouldn’t stay here,” I said. “I have a sneaking suspicion Sebastian sent the Order on a wild-goose chase. When they come back, they’re going to be pissed off and looking for some vampire blood to spill.”

  Parrish’s shoulders drooped slightly. He glanced at the clock again. “It’s far too early in the morning to hustle up another place to crash. I’m afraid I’m just going to have to take my chances here.”

  I winced at how casually he said it. “No. I can’t take the risk, Parrish. If you’d be willing to give me a ride somewhere to retrieve my bag, I could give you some cash for a hotel room. I really think you’d be safer elsewhere. I hate the idea of how vulnerable you are during the day. The Order could slaughter you.”

  He looked like he was going to protest, but then he stopped himself. “So you do care.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then, dear lady, lead on.”

  * * * *

  Sebastian’s shiny black Mafia car sat under the streetlight. Parrish had parked his dusty, battered Harley right behind it. While Parrish fiddled with the saddlebags, I peered in through the windows of the car at the interior. It seemed ominous that it was still here. I hadn’t been terribly surprised to see it when Izzy dropped me off, but I figured Sebastian would have been back for it by now, what with dawn mere hours away. But then I remembered morning wasn’t necessarily a problem for Sebastian. He could doze on a park bench like a transient if he wanted to, I supposed.

  I was turning away when my eyes caught the glint of metal. Keys. Wedged in the crevice of the bench seat were Sebastian’s car keys. What the hell?

  “We must make haste,” Parrish said, coming up beside me to put an encouraging hand on my shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to let the keys bother me. “Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  It was that eerily quiet time, which could be classified as either late, late night or early, early morning. The bars had been closed for several hours, and newspaper deliverers were only just waking up to head to work. Parrish’s motorcycle roared down the empty streets, shattering the peaceful slumber of birds not quite ready to herald the coming dawn. The bitter cold moisture of morning dew clung to my face, and I could see hints of a frosty glitter on stretches of grass.

  My arms wrapped tightly around Parrish’s waist as the wind tore through my hair. We buzzed past closed restaurants, empty parking lots, and lonely, deserted-looking service stations. At this time of day, the highway stretched before us as we rode in the strobe of streetlamps.

  Parrish really poured on the speed when we turned off onto the county road, seeming to delight in my panicked clutches at his stomach as he wove around hairpin curves and up and down rolling hills. Moonlight bathed the passing cornfields in silver and gray.

  Thanks to Sebastian’s wards, Parrish drove right past the farmstead. I yelled over the roar of the engine for him to turn around, and he did, even though he nearly drove past it a second time. After he cut the power and toed the kick-stand into place, he asked, “This is the place?”

  I saw it now with magical eyes. The image of the abandoned house floated like a ghost over the brightly painted clapboard exterior. “Yes, he’s using wards to deceive you.”

  “Wards?” Parrish stayed on the bike as though he was tempted to leave in a hurry. “He’s a Warlock?”

  Remembering Sebastian’s preference, I corrected, “Alchemist. Remember, that’s why the Vatican is after him.”

  “Ah.” There was something of a sneer in Parrish’s tone, as if he thought Sebastian too hoity-toity for his own britches.

  I started to head toward the door and then remembered the last time I walked in somewhat uninvited. More than wards guarded the house. If I wanted to get to my damn backpack, I was going to have to get past Benjamin, the poltergeist.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered.

  “What?” Maybe it was the nearness of dawn, but Parrish sounded jumpy.

  “There’s an attack ghost attached to the house.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  And Benjamin might like me less now that I’ve slept with his master and violated his sanctum to boot. Or maybe Sebastian had instructed Benjamin to keep his distance. “Only one way to find out,” I said, and marched resolutely toward the door.

  As I walked, I unfurled my magical senses, reaching to unlock them with each step that brought me closer to the decrepit/well-maintained porch. Tangled weeds shimmered and became orderly rows of rosebushes and pansies, then, with a blink, appeared to be cocklebur and milkweed once again.

  My body tensed into full-alert mode as I mounted the creaky steps. I closed my eyes and let my magical senses guide me to the door, which, in my mind, pulsed with a dark violet hex of warning. I reached through it carefully and put my hand on the doorknob.

 
; Only to find it locked.

  Seventh House

  KEYWORDS:

  Wrath, Contracts, Bitchiness

  “What’s wrong?” Parrish’s voice startled me. He’d come up behind me to peer nervously at the door. Magic apparently made him twitchy, because I could almost feel him holding back the urge to look over his shoulder. “I saw a flash of purple sparks, and now you’re standing next to a brand-new door.”

  My magical senses showed that the hex had broken where my hand touched the knob. I shrugged. “I’m surprised. The wards are easy to break,” I said. “But we’re screwed; the door’s locked.”

  He laughed. “That’s something I can handle. Do you want him to know there was a forced entry or not?”

  “Not.”

  Parrish turned on his heel and headed back to the bike. At first I wondered if he was going to take a running leap at the door, but he rooted around in his saddlebags for a moment instead. I watched him pull out something that looked like a power drill, though I couldn’t see it very clearly in the darkness. He was fitting something on the tip as he came back up the stairs. He saluted me with the jagged bit, before placing it in the lock. “Daniel Parrish, thief cum locksmith, at your service.”

  The power drill-like thing clattered in the lock for a second. Parrish fiddled and clattered some more. Removing the tool, he put his hand on the knob, and the door swung open smoothly. “After you, m’lady.”

  I gave him a playful poke on the shoulder. “You just want to make me deal with the ghost.”

  He raked his fingers through his wind-tangled curls and blanched a bit. “Damn straight.”

  “I had no idea you had such a magical phobia.”

  “Magic is outside of my realm of understanding,” he said simply. “I can’t see it. I have no control over it. Yet it is part of my very fiber. It’s… well, freaky.”

  “You dated me.”

  He gave me a sarcastic smirk. “You were part of my immersion therapy.”