Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  He shook his head. “I’m coving your ass. Go.” She sped by crypts, glancing down each empty row before continuing on to the next. Men’s shouts were buffered by stone and marble, making it nearly impossible to know how far or near they might be.

  As they cleared the last row of tombs Tabatha saw Bertha’s Oldsmobile had been blocked in by a black Cadillac and a green truck that was beat up past the ability to recognize its make or model. “Oh, hell. Now what?” Her thoughts were a jumble, replaying what Selma had said, the backyard the girl had been playing in, the watch, and how the hell they were going to get out of this mess she’s gotten them into. She cringed at that last thought.

  Rhonda reached out her hand. “Give me the keys. At last, something I can do to help.”

  What crazy idea did Rhonda have? What could she do? They were trapped.

  Derek tossed the keys to her and pulled his gun out from his ankle holster. He turned his back to them and swung the gun side to side as if expecting the bad guys to jump from behind a tomb and start firing.

  Rhonda jumped onto the driver’s seat. The car roared to life, and moved forward, slowly at first until bumpers met. She floored the accelerator, using the Oldsmobile’s muscle strength to push the truck. Tires screamed in protest as the truck moved backward, the acrid smoke leaving behind the heavy scent of burnt rubber. The car came to an abrupt halt. Rhonda reached over to open the passenger side door. “Get in.”

  It took a second for Tabatha to realize the car had enough room to pull out. She waited until Bobbie had jumped into the front, before jumping into the back beside Derek.

  Before the doors were barely closed Rhonda sped away and charged into traffic. Cars braked and swerved, tires squealed. Tabatha gripped anything she could get her hands on to keep from being tossed about the car.

  She leaned out the window and glanced back toward the cemetery, just as three men ran out the gates and started after them. The two who wore jeans and T-shirts drew their guns and aimed.

  Tabatha judged the distance that separated them. The chances of the men getting a good shot, were slim and none. The one dressed in suit and tie stopped the gunmen from firing with a wave of his hand.

  Her eyes met Mr. Suit’s. His lips curved into a smile before he brought his fingers to them and blew her a kiss. Derek forced her back down into the car before she could use universally known sign language to show him what he could do with that kiss.

  Tabatha returned her thoughts to the gravesite and fought to understand what she’d experienced upon touching Selma.

  Derek released a breath that ended in a growl. His hands shook and his eyes—the last time she’d seen anyone look at her like that was when her father had caught her trying to jump off the roof onto a pile of leaves. Apparently, Tabatha had managed to scare Derek enough to show the feelings he’d fought to hide. As a psychiatrist, she almost said, how does that made you feel? As a woman she wanted to pull him into her arms and say, it’s all right, baby, it’ll be okay. “What happened back there, Tabatha?”

  She slowly turned away to look out the window. Did he care enough to stop her from jumping, too? “What happened?”

  Derek gripped her chin with his fingertip and turned her to face him again. “With Selma. Your eyes rolled back into your head. All I could see were their whites. What happened?”

  She wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans. She was beginning to understand the underside of her gifts and it scared the hell out of her.

  Could she have died from experiencing Selma’s death? Is that what Selma had experienced. The fear. The confusion? “Grandfather warned me. I didn’t think. I just wanted to comfort her.”

  Bobbie turned to look at them. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Derek wrapped his arms around Tabatha, holding her close. His warmth warred with an unbearable cold trying to seep into the marrow of her bones. “He warned you about what, Tabatha? Damn it! Talk to me.”

  She shook her head. “Never touch them. It’s too much for the living to take on the memories of the dead.” Tabatha tried to get closer—she needed to know the comfort Derek offered was real. “The killer.”

  “What about him?” Rhonda glanced into the backseat before returning her eyes to the road.

  Derek kissed the top of Tabatha’s head. “We’ll find him. One of the children had to see something.”

  Tabatha shook her head, and rubbed her face against his chest. His jacket smelled of man and aftershave. She rubbed her cheek against

  the roughness of his jacket and reveled in the heat that radiated from his skin and through the material. “It’s not a he. The killer is a woman.”

  Derek’s silence was like a vacuum sucking life from the air. “A woman? How do you know?”

  Tabatha released a weary breath. “When I touched Selma, I was inside her body. I.. she didn’t see the woman’s face, but she saw the killer’s arm. And there was a watch.”

  “Could you tell type or style?” Derek’s hand rubbed a comforting circle on her back.

  “Gold metal band. Real gold, I think. Square black face, Roman

  numerals. Her arm is thin with black hair. I saw a sleeve, faded denim or chambray, rolled to her elbow.” Tabatha hid her face against his chest again and cringed at the one sound that had nearly brought her to her knees. “She laughed, Derek. She laughed at the child’s fear.”

  An uncomfortable silence ruled the rest of the ride home. The atmosphere was palpable, leaving the bitter taste of disappointment behind. She’d failed Derek and the children. They knew no more than they did before the rising.

  Derek rolled his shoulders as if fighting tension knotting his muscles. “You’re home, baby.”

  Tabatha smiled at the endearment, and then straightened, drawing herself away as she looked around for any perceived danger.

  Rhonda shut off the engine and leaned her head back against the seat. “They didn’t follow us.”

  Bobbie snorted. “Why should they? They know where we live.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Tabatha raked her hair away from her face with splayed fingers. “Do we tell Bertha what happened? I shouldn’t have let her stay. She’s in just as much danger as we are, now.” God, she’d not thought this out. The bad guys did know where she lived and since she had invited Bobbie and Rhonda to move in, she’d put them smack dab in the middle of this shit. Every good deed will not go unpunished. “Bobbie, you should have gone on your way, too.”

  Bobbie’s lips curled in a near scowl, she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Those assholes are after anyone who has talents they don’t understand. They would have gotten around to me eventually. For the last time, Tabatha, I’m your friend. We’re in this together.” She gestured toward Rhonda with a lift of her chin. “Hell, look at Rhonda. She’s scared shitless, but she was there for you, for us.” With a nod, Bobbie seemed to make an important decision. “Derek, keep your mouth shut and your mind open. I’m going to let everyone in on something important.”

  “I’m a good listener.” He shrugged his shoulder. “If I’ll believe it or not, I can’t say.”

  Rhonda slammed her fists against the steering wheel. Tabatha nearly jumped over the seat. “What do we have to do, Derek? Shove it up your nose for you to smell the truth? This is our real life. This is what we are. We’ve had to hide our whole damned lives.” She pivoted on the seat to face Tabatha for less than a full second before her eyelids lowered and her face reddened. “I made sure everyone knew about Tabatha. Want to know why?”

  Tabatha held her breath, waiting. She thought she knew the answer. Rhonda was hiding behind Tabatha’s secrets. But Tabatha needed this if for no other reason, than to be sure Rhonda’s actions hadn’t been out of pure malice.

  “It kept their attention away from me. I didn’t want anyone to know I had this problem. I didn’t want to be seen as a freak.” Rhonda raised her gaze to meet Tabatha’s again. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back.”

  Tabatha’s chest tig
htened then released. It was over. She was pleased she’d been able to give forgiveness that simply. “It’s okay. If I’d thought of it, I’d probably have done the same thing.” Tabatha drew a deep breath then released it slowly. “Now, Bobbie, what’s so important?”

  Bobbie turned away, and stared out the window. “Remember I said my brother needed his ceremony?”

  The memory of that night in the morgue rushed back into Tabatha’s mind—the cadaver rising out of the cooler to stand beside her and Bobbie seeing the whole thing. “Yes, I remember.”

  Bobbie nodded. “His name was Elsu Luckman. He was the leader of the shapeshifters. I’m the last of my bloodline, so the burden has fallen to me.”

  Just like me. Alone. Tabatha swallowed, fighting the lump of emotion forming inside her throat.

  Derek held up his hand. “May I ask a question?”

  Bobbie rolled her eyes. “Yes, you may.”

  “How much of what’s going on now did you know about before you arrived?”

  “I knew nothing about the children being murdered, but I knew about the Guardians.” Bobbie visibly shuddered. “It’s another reason I was asked to return. We’ve had six of our people murdered in two months. Everyone is scared.”

  “They’re expecting you to find the killer?” A cold rush of shock rushed down Tabatha’s spine. How could they expect so much from one person?

  Bobbie shrugged. “Yes, I guess they are. Maybe not me actually doing the hunting, but they expect me to do what has to be done to stop the killer. Too many of my people’s powers have weakened or they’ve lost their powers over time and from misuse, or just lack of use.” She glanced out the window, her eyes taking on the haze of thought. “Many have forced themselves not to shift except during the full moon. And even then, they refuse to hunt, and the old saying, use it or lose it is true in this case. My brother and I come from a very powerful line of Shamans. We held the strongest shifting ability. We could take the form of many animals.” Tears filled her eyes. “But, now, it’s only me.”

  Tabatha understood. Since her father and grandfather’s deaths, she’d been alone. Add to it she was afraid of going out on dates or having close friends, never knowing if they passed by a cemetery or funeral home, they’d have unwelcome company, well, it was a good recipe for disaster.

  Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest. “Does this have anything to do with you fastening yourself to Tabatha?”

  “Rhonda.” Tabatha’s jaw dropped. “Wasn’t that why you came to see me? To help you with this problem?”

  Rhonda’s face reddened. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

  “Get over yourself, Rhonda.” Bobbie rolled her eyes. “Yes, again. Once I found out about her talents and that she was coming here, I knew she’d be in danger of being discovered.”

  Rhonda gave an unladylike grunt. “Well, someone made sure they knew about her. The list is extensive. I don’t know if your name is on it or not, Bobbie.”

  “It is.” Tabatha lowered her voice slightly above a whisper. “I checked the list again this morning. I didn’t think to look before because as far as I knew, Bobbie wasn’t here in town.” She opened the door and stepped out of the car the same time as Bobbie.

  Derek grabbed the top of the side door and hoisted himself up. “Rhonda, Tabatha said you had some things your mother left behind. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look.”

  Rhonda jumped out next. “Yeah, I have them inside.”

  Tabatha followed Rhonda, Bobbie and Derek into the kitchen, freezing mid-stride at the sight of Bertha and her shotgun.

  “Well, it’s about time y’all got home. Shane’s had his dinner, and he’s already in bed for the night.” Bertha ran a loving gaze over Tabatha. “Girl, you look like you’ve been chewed up and spit out.”

  “We had a bit of trouble. But no one got hurt.” Derek smiled, as he rubbed Tabatha’s back. “She just needs rest.”

  Tabatha arched her back and nearly purred like a cat. “Gads, that feels good.”

  “Sit. I got your dinner in the oven.”

  “I’m not hungry, Bert.” Tabatha started toward the stairway.

  “I ain’t hearing it, baby girl.” Tabatha sighed but knew better than to argue with Bertha. “At least have some soup. Not good to go to bed without eating for half the day.”

  Derek took her arm in his hand and guided Tabatha toward a chair and sat next to her. “Eat some soup, then you can rest while I look at what Rhonda has.”

  Tabatha rubbed her tired eyes and yawned. “Rhonda’s mother apparently had a camcorder set up. There are also audiotapes.”

  Bertha moved rapidly about the kitchen, bringing each of them a bowl of crawfish corn chowder. “Hush up and eat, baby girl. I’m not leaving until that bowl is empty, and you know how Oscar is about me being late.”

  ~

  Derek waited until everyone was settled before he shuffled through the papers. He picked up the micro recorder and pressed rewind. The tape whirled backward with a near-silent hum. When it reached the end, he pressed play.

  “What are we going to do about Dorothy?” a deep masculine voice asked, followed by sounds of wood against wood—maybe chairs scraping against floorboards.

  A second voice was that of a woman. “She’s one of them, and we’ve got all we can from her. I don’t trust her. Don’t trust any of them.”

  “Shit, Dana, you don’t trust anyone. I sometimes wonder if you trust us.” The man laughed.

  “They call that one Dub later in the tape.” Rhonda leaned back resting her head on the couch.

  “I trust whom I must, but only so far. I’ve warned you from the beginning about her. She’s got something on us. She won’t tell me what, but I’ve got that much out of her. Stupid bitch thinks I’m going to help her bring us down.”

  Derek leaned forward listening closely for anything that may give a hint to the whereabouts of these people—the sound of an airplane taking off or landing, heavy traffic, anything.

  “Our man downtown is going to cover for us. Suicide,” Dub said.

  The sound of clothing rustled and then footsteps crackled through the tape.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Phelps, but your wife is on the phone. Insists on speaking to you.”

  “Thank you, James. Tell her he’ll be right there.”

  Derek glanced around the living room looking for a notepad. “Paper.”

  Tabatha opened the drawer in the end table and took out a pen and paper.

  Derek jotted down the names mentioned so far.

  Footsteps faded before Dana spoke again. “Yes, it’s all taken care of. Poor Dorothy was so distraught. Everyone knew it. The Women’s Club was very worried about her.”

  “Better go talk to your wife, Phelps,” Dub said.

  Sounds of movement, a grunt, then Phelps answered. “Getting meddlesome, always wanting to know where I’ve been, with whom.” Dana spoke again. “Is it still set up for Friday night?”

  Dub said, “Late. After the girl and kid have gone to bed.”

  “Why don’t you let me get rid of the kid, too? He’s bound to have some magic in him.” Phelps callousness grated on Derek’s nerves.

  “We don’t kill until we’re sure. We’re not animals,” Dub shouted.

  Dana laughed. “Yeah, but some of them are.” The next sound was that of movement and rusting clothing. “Where you going, Dub?”

  “Home. Do you mind?”

  “Good idea. Time for all of you to get out. Where’s Dorothy now?” Derek recognized Phelps voice this time.

  “She went home an hour ago. Said she has things to do.” Dana’s voice sounded farther away. “Later, alligator.”

  The tape fell into silence, matching the sound of the sitting room. “Well?” Rhonda removed the tape from the machine and replaced it in the box sitting on the table.

  Derek sat back, sinking into the overstuffed sofa, his mind speeding like a NASCAR Racer. “We have a man they called Dub, a woman by the name of Dan
a. Phelps was there. I’ll bet James is a houseman. And they have a dirty cop or someone with power covering their murders.”

  “The names in these files are coded. They call themselves Agent Red, Agent Falls.” Rhonda pulled a movie reel out of the box, handing it to Derek. “The film isn’t any help. The camera is set at the rear of a meeting room, and everyone has hoods covering their faces. They talk about jobs completed and yet to be carried out, but no names.”

  “Like the Klan?” Derek rolled a section of the film out, holding it up toward the light and looking at a few of the dark frames. It revealed nothing.

  Tabatha stretched and yawned. “No. Black hoods with angel faces, and gold halos painted around their heads. Guess they think they’re some kind of saints.”

  Derek snorted.

  Bobbie raised her arms over her head and groaned. “I’m going to bed, kids. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

  “I’m really tired, too.” Rhonda glanced around the room. “Doors and windows locked?”

  “Yeah. I took care of that.” Tabatha nodded. “Turned on the alarm system, as well.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.” Derek eyed the sofa and wondered how lumpy it would be. “I feel better staying close for now.”

  Tabatha rose and stretched again. “There’s another bedroom. Luckily, Mom hasn’t started selling furniture up here yet. Come, I’ll show you where it is, then I’ll find some clean linen.” She waved at Rhonda and Bobbie. “Night, girls. Don’t let the boogie man get you.”

  Derek followed her down the hallway. “How come your mother has such a big place? Seems strange to have so many bedrooms for one person.”

  “It was my grandfather’s house. His thinking was family stayed together. He added onto it when Mom and Dad married. Thought they’d fill it with kids, I guess.” She smiled. “Grandfather used to tell me that when I grew up and had my own kids, he’d build more bedrooms for them.” She pointed to her left. “This is my room. Yours is next.”

  She opened the door and let him in. “I’ll be right back. The linen closet is down the hall.”