by SM Reine
Isobel opened the door for me when I approached.
“Dayna here yet?” I asked.
She shook her head. “She’s due any minute. Come on in.”
The inside of Isobel’s RV looked like a crime scene: plastic bags of blood sitting on the tables, pieces of animal carcass, fresh furs hanging from the ceiling. She was wearing a bathrobe, but when she moved, a flash of coyote hide peeked through the gap.
Isobel Stonecrow was in costume.
“You’re working tonight, aren’t you?” I asked.
“It’s Halloween—busy night for death witches. I have four local clients lined up for Yelena and me.”
“But I thought…”
“What? That I would immediately return to practicing law now that I don’t have to be in hiding?”
“The money’s better in lawyering.”
“You have no idea how much money I make.” She hugged the bathrobe tighter around herself. “It’s not about money anyway. I don’t care about money. I’ve never cared about being rich.” She sounded awfully defensive, considering that I hadn’t been accusing her of anything.
A knocking at the door. Isobel stiffened.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
She nodded, lips sealed shut as she sat on her couch.
I was about to open the door when Isobel said, “Thanks, by the way. For being here while we do this.”
She said that like I would have even considered the alternative.
I opened the door. Dayna stood at the bottom of the steps with her hood lifted, rain drizzling from the edge. Her eyes were shadowed. I could only see the curve of her lips and chin.
“Come on in,” I said, stepping back so that she could enter the RV.
The whole vehicle shifted under her weight as she climbed in. Her expression as she took in the sight of the beaded curtains, incense, and shag carpeting was somewhere between disgust and exasperation.
“Hello again, Belle,” Dayna said. She didn’t sound happy about the greeting.
Isobel didn’t look happy about it, either. “Hi, Dayna.”
The high priestess shed her cloak. I was surprised to see that she was wearing professional slacks and a loose blouse. It looked like we’d caught her coming home from the office.
She sat beside Isobel. “We’ll be quick about this. I’m busy.”
“Halloween,” Isobel said.
“Yes. All Hallows’ Eve. Lots to do at the temple.” Dayna checked her watch. “We have a few minutes, though.”
“Need anything for the magic?” I asked, hovering nearby.
Dayna took Isobel’s hands and flipped them so that they faced the ceiling. The high priestess trailed her fingernails over Isobel’s palms. “My skills are similar to Belle’s. No ritual is required.” Her lips twitched in a brief, unfriendly smile. “I’m surprised you’re letting me into your head again after the last time. Do you really want to know what’s hidden in that pretty skull of yours?”
“Just go ahead and do it,” Isobel said. “I’m sick of—”
She cut off. Her eyes went blank.
Dayna stared fixedly at Isobel’s forehead.
The temperature in the RV dropped about ten degrees. Chills rolled over my spine, prickled my flesh, froze the sweat under my arms. My sinuses tickled, but I managed not to sneeze for once.
When Dayna spoke again, it was in a low, emotionless tone.
“I remember.”
Isobel’s lips moved along with the syllables, but she didn’t have a voice. She was speaking through Dayna. Her skin glowed with a faint blue nimbus.
After all the times I’d seen Isobel talking to the dead, it was weird to see the same thing being used on her.
“You remember what?” I asked.
“I remember my law office,” Dayna said. “It’s a hot day and the air conditioning is broken. The repairman is taking hours to come even though my assistant’s been calling him for hours. Why doesn’t he prioritize our office? We have work to do. Important work. Everyone else can wait.”
That must have been Hope Jimenez. I wasn’t sure if she sounded haughty because she was coming through Dayna’s filter, or if that was just who she’d been.
I’d never have described Isobel as haughty.
“In any case, I’m not staying long in my office today. I’ve asked Calhoun to meet me somewhere more discreet, where Fritz won’t realize what I’m doing. He would stop me if he found out. He wouldn’t want me to kill his spy.”
So the attempted murder had been premeditated. I’d been thinking it had to be a crime of passion.
“He kills me first.” Dayna sounded half surprised, half offended. “He was expecting me to betray him. No, wait—he thinks that my blood would be strong enough for him to merge with the demon, so he was planning on killing me even if I didn’t betray him. But he’s wrong. I’m not that strong, and he’s angry that my blood doesn’t work.”
Isobel and Dayna both smile. The expressions are unpleasant.
“I kill Calhoun at the same time,” she said. “I’ve been practicing with the gun. My aim is fantastic.” The smile faded. “Now it’s dark. All the blood is wasted. We’re both dead.”
Chills raced over my shoulders. It’s dark. Isobel was remembering the moment that she died—or, at least, the moment she approached death.
That was a pretty slim difference there, but an important one.
The distinction was the reason that Isobel wanted Dayna to probe her mind again. The reason that she wanted me there to hear it, too. Isobel had learned more than enough about Calhoun and Ander over the last few days, but we had never gotten an answer to the most important question.
Was Isobel really dead? And if so, could we bring her back?
“I wake up in Ander’s office,” Dayna said. “I don’t remember getting there, but Calhoun wakes up with me. We’ve both got contracts with Ander. He’s played both sides. Now we’re coworkers and I’ll never be rid of him.”
Calhoun had been a double agent. Huh. No real surprise there.
He was dead now. It didn’t matter.
“What condition were they in?” I asked Dayna.
The witch shook her head, rubbed a hand over her eyes. When she spoke again, it was in her own voice. “Isobel doesn’t remember what happened. She doesn’t know if she really died or not.”
“Look again,” I said tightly.
“I’m not sure the memory is actually there.”
“Try looking back further. Back to the time when Isobel signed the contract with Ander.”
Dayna huffed, but nodded. She stroked her fingers over Isobel’s palms again. Her gaze went distant.
“It’s a cold day. Spring equinox.” Dayna sounded dreamier, more peaceful. Digging into memories where Hope Jimenez wasn’t as miserable. “I’m taking on a case that has me worried, but there’s a man offering me insurance against the worst. His name is Ander.”
It was the same story for all of Ander’s contracts. I didn’t need to hear that part again. Just the details.
“But what about the contract?” I pressed.
“The terms are laughably simple. Nothing challenging for a lawyer to understand.” But Dayna didn’t elaborate.
“Well? What did the contract say?”
Another long pause. Too long. All I could hear was the drumming of rain against the roof of the RV. Both women were holding completely still, breathing in tandem, chests rising and falling together.
“Suspension in the moment of death. Five years of service in that suspension. As long as I meet all the terms of my employment, Ander will resurrect me at the end of five years. He’s the only one who can do it—that’s his power as a demon. All I have to do is give him five years of service. Not a problem, considering the alternative. It’s worth it.”
My heart sank. And when I thought my heart had hit rock bottom, it just kept sinking.
Five years of service, and only Ander could bring Isobel back to life at the end.
She’d
signed the contract over four years ago.
“What date was that?” I asked. My voice sounded muffled in my ears.
“Spring equinox.” Dayna sounded irritated at me. “I don’t know. Look it up.”
That was…what, March? April? Maybe six months away. Six months until the five-year anniversary of Isobel signing her soul away to Ander.
Ander was gone. I’d killed him myself.
He wouldn’t be able to bring her back to life.
“Now it’s dark,” Dayna said, sounding dreamy again. “All the blood is wasted.” A pause. “I can see Fritz hovering over me, watching me die. I want to tell him that it’s his fault. I never wanted to be part of his business in this way, but I never could refuse him when he asked for a favor, not ever since we…”
Isobel jerked suddenly, yanking her hands away from Dayna.
“No!”
That was Isobel’s voice coming from Isobel’s lips. The other witch wasn’t speaking for her anymore.
Dayna staggered to her feet. “My gods, Belle, how did you do that?”
“No,” Isobel said again, clutching her head in both hands.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“She pushed me out of her head and broke the spell.” Dayna was sweating. “The dead can’t push me out—and Belle is dead, definitely dead. She’s been frozen and reanimated in the instant of passing over.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” I said. “So what is she? A zombie?”
“She’s caught between life and death. It wouldn’t be right to call her undead, but…undying.” Dayna gave Isobel a pitying look. “For a few more months, at least.”
“And then she’ll be actually dead.”
Dayna edged toward the door. She was obviously done with this conversation, the teal RV, my existence. “I’ve never met someone between states like this. I can’t tell you what will happen.”
“Get out,” Isobel said.
“Fine with me.” Dayna gave Isobel a final, imperious look. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She stepped outside. When she slammed the door behind her, it made the whole RV shake.
Silence followed her exit.
Isobel dropped back to the couch, cradling her head in her hands.
Mourning for herself.
I sat next to her, but it didn’t feel right to touch her. It was strange, being alone with Isobel now. It had never felt awkward between us before. Not even when she thought I was a run-of-the-mill murderer.
Only a few months left before she was going to die.
This time permanently.
“There’s a fix,” I said. “I’m sure there’s a fix. I’ll help you. We can find something together. If there’s a—”
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Isobel interrupted. “At all. Not just the…” Her eyes roved over my chest, my face, and then dropped to the floor again. “Well, I think it’d be easier if we stayed apart for now. I need to work some things out.”
She was dumping me. We hadn’t even been dating, and she was already dumping me.
Well, that had to set a record for shortest relationship ever.
I wasn’t going to be the guy who tried to talk her out of it. I don’t get much action, but I like to think I have more dignity than that. Not much dignity, mind you. I’ve got the Green Lantern logo on more than one pair of boxers. But some dignity, anyway.
“If it’s about being dead, I don’t care,” I said. “All I care about is finding a fix. I want to help you with this, Izzy.”
“I know. Thank you. I just don’t want your help.”
“You want to tell me what Dayna brought out of your memories?” I asked. “The thing that freaked you out?”
Isobel toyed with her raccoon bone bracelet. “No, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“It’s why you’re pushing me away, though. Right?”
She didn’t respond.
I was tempted to reject her rejection. She’d just found out that her life had an expiration date and that it was coming up fast. Isobel wasn’t being rational. She was hurting.
But when I touched her shoulder, she jerked away from me.
“All right.” I blew a breath out through my lips. “Yeah, all right.” I stood up. The RV didn’t feel all that comfortable anymore. If I was going to be honest, it never had. The beaded curtains were tacky.
“It’s not you,” Isobel started to say.
She cut off when I barked a laugh. “Let’s leave it there,” I said. “You’ve got my number if you need anything.”
I gathered the last scraps of my dignity and left.
Those scraps of dignity lasted long enough to get me in my car and back to my apartment.
By the time I found the plate of home-baked sugar cookies still waiting on my counter, the scraps were all gone again.
I didn’t even like cookies.
Isobel didn’t want my help. She didn’t even want my presence. She wanted to deal with her crisis alone.
Fine. I could accept that. None of my business. I’d only known her for a few months anyway—who was I to think that I could help her get past that whole looming death thing?
I threw the cookies out and tossed the plate in the sink.
“I need Firefly,” I said to nobody in particular. Nothing like a Whedon marathon to make a shitty day more tolerable.
I stuck one of the discs into my player and set about cleaning my apartment while the first episode played. Everything smelled like Isobel. Pillows, cushions, blankets.
Definitely time to do the laundry.
My bathroom door was still broken from where I’d kicked it open. That made it easy to throw things into my hamper without having to walk a few extra steps, but it was also a bitter reminder that I was going to have to tell my landlord about the damage. I might even be facing the threat of eviction again.
The thought sucked all urge to clean out of me.
Whatever. I lived in a dump anyway. No point trying to make it more livable.
Somehow, my laptop found its way into my hands before I sat in my lazy chair. I didn’t really feel like working. Wasn’t in a mood for games, either. I just wanted to watch Firefly and forget about the world. But I’d grabbed my laptop anyway, like my hands were outside of my control again.
The page for Jimenez and Associates was still in my browser. The page memorializing Hope herself.
I stared at the professional shot of Hope Jimenez for so long that my vision started to blur.
Fuck, but Isobel had always been gorgeous.
Then I noticed a detail I hadn’t seen before. A large, sparkling detail on her left hand, nestled in the crook of her opposite arm.
She was wearing a square-cut diamond, God knew how many carats, weighty enough that it could have knocked a guy’s skull off if she punched him with it.
I had to look at it again to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. That was definitely a diamond ring on her left-hand ring finger. An engagement ring.
Zooming in closer, I could just barely make out the matching wedding band nestled underneath the huge fucking rock.
Hope Jimenez had been married.
“Jesus,” I said.
I’d slept with a married woman whose husband probably thought she was dead.
No, wait.
It was worse than that.
Fritz wasn’t an impulsive man, so it had always blown my mind that he’d fallen head over heels for Isobel so quickly. She told me that he had proposed after they’d dated for just a few weeks.
And Fritz had mentioned more than once that he had a wife who had died.
“Jesus,” I said again.
I slammed my laptop screen shut. Got off the couch. Wiped a hand over my upper lip, suddenly sweaty even though the room wasn’t hot.
Isobel was Fritz’s dead wife.
I woke up to the sound of a knocking at my door. I jerked upright, wiped the drool off my chin.
My first thought was that the knocking must ha
ve been Calhoun. That I was going to look through the peephole and see his red eye staring back at me. Gertie would be in my kitchen, Herbert’s blood would be splattered all over my windows, and Isobel would be permanently dead.
But when I got up, I found my apartment looking normal. I’d passed out in my underwear while spiraling down an ugly mental loop about Isobel’s impending re-death. The Firefly DVD was back at the menu and looping the same audio repeatedly.
Calhoun was gone. I didn’t need to worry that he might ever come back.
The only thing on the other side of my peephole was a short woman. I could only see the top of her head and the shoulders of a bloody button-down shirt.
I opened the door.
Suzy Takeuchi was holding a six-pack of microbrew in one hand, a fake scythe in the other, and a jar of candy corn from the admin aides’ desk at work trapped under her arm. The scythe was the kind of classy prop you could buy on clearance at Wal-Mart for fifty cents. It still had the sale sticker on the plastic pipe handle, so I was guessing she’d picked it up that afternoon.
“Trick or treat.” Suzy wiggled so that the candy corn jingled in the jar.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and took a surreptitious glance at my clock. Ten o’clock. The time seemed significant, but I struggled to remember why.
Right, the company Halloween party. We’d made a pact to avoid it together.
“Nice foam thing,” I said. “What are you supposed to be for Halloween?”
“I’m Death. Or possibly a really shitty farmer who accidentally sliced her throat open while harvesting wheat.” She pointed to the bandages at her throat, as if to make sure I hadn’t forgotten that Gertie had chewed on her. “What are you supposed to be?”
“A semi-conscious American male who passed out watching old TV shows on DVD.”
“Convincing costume. The Green Lantern boxers sell it.” She pushed past me into my apartment, kicking the door shut behind her. “Let’s watch something I haven’t seen a hundred thousand times.”
“You’ve watched Firefly a hundred thousand times?”
“Well, once,” Suzy said. “It might as well be a hundred thousand times. I don’t have the stamina for rewatching TV shows until I memorize them like you do.”
