by C. J. Parker
He laughed and cocked his pistol. “Shall we die together, darlin’? Is that the game you want to play with me? Recreation time is over. Or is this a diversion to give your cop time to…”
With a howl of rage, a sleek black cat leaped from the fog and onto Phelps. Her claws tore into his face and throat, sending a geyser of blood from Phelps’ wounds.
Screams filled the air as Phelps tried to escape from the razor-sharp teeth tearing his skin away.
“Get that thing off of him, Tabatha.” Derek turned and reached for the gun but Tabatha squeezed the trigger. The shot hit the pavement close to the commotion. The recoil of the gun knocked her to the ground, and its roar nearly deafened her.
The cat jumped into the air and rushed away a few feet before turning to look at Tabatha.
Bertha rushed out of the house a cleaver in hand. A shot rang out and the slug hit the house beside her. Derek threw her to the ground and covered her with his body. Tabatha jerked her attention back to Phelps, but he had managed to crawl away. The sound of a car door slamming shut, the roar of an engine, then the crunch of tires moving quickly down the drive told her he was gone.
Derek stood looking down at her his legs spread slightly, his arms crossed against his chest. “Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance? He’ll be back, you know.”
Tabatha fought for air. She wanted to smack him. “I was aiming for the bastard’s head. What the hell is that thing? A cannon? Shit.”
He grasped her hand and pulled her to a sitting position. “It’s a .45.” A nude Bobbie stumbled out of the fog and smiled. “Guess we showed him.”
Tabatha was grateful Bobbie showed up when she did, naked or not. She’d hoped that wasn’t the house cat.
Bertha shook her head and tossed her a jacket from the hook by the door, and then returned to the house.
Derek huffed. “Bobbie, will you put some damned clothes on?” He wandered down the driveway and out of sight.
Tabatha laughed softly. “So that’s your so-called housecat disguise?” She ran her fingertips over a lump on Bobbie’s forehead. “You’re hurt.”
Bobbie fluttered her hand through the air as if to brush away Tabatha’s concern. “It’ll be gone within five minutes. We shifters heal quickly.” She sat cross-legged at Tabatha’s side. “Where you two going in this soup?”
Going crazy would be the truthful answer. Tabatha brushed her hair out of her face. “To the cemetery.”
“You should be safe from Phelps. I’m pretty sure I took out an eye. He’s going to be a regular pirate--one eye, peg leg.” She laughed but sobered quickly. “If he does come back though, his anger will be a quagmire of madness. I smelled his anger. It smells like burnt cypress. He’s crazy, Tab. Stone, brain rot, nuts.”
Derek returned and sat beside Tabatha. “You’re just now figuring that out?” He raked his damp hair out of his eyes. “Don’t see any sign of Phelps or his car.”
Tabatha let the muscles in her body relax.
Bobbie tugged the jacket closer around her nude body leaving behind a smear of blood. “Want me to go with you?”
Tabatha shook her head. “This is something Derek and I need to do on our own.” She smiled. “Closure.”
Bobbie nodded. “I understand. Be careful, my friend. Rhonda and I need you. You’re our cornerstone, our strength.” She stood and tossed Derek’s jacket back at him and waggled her bloody fingers at him. “Bye-bye, Derek.” With an exaggerated model’s walk, she sauntered away. Tabatha loved the woman but she needed to have a one on one with her about how she acted around Derek.
Derek rolled his eyes. “I hope all her kind aren’t exhibitionists.” He shook his head. “She’s right, you know. Without you, we’d all be screwed. We’re all counting on you.”
The weight on Tabatha’s shoulders pressed heavier. They expected too much of her. She was only one woman, no matter what gifts she had. “God, please give me the strength to hold us all up.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The cemetery reminded Derek of an old black and white horror movie. Everything was in shades of black, white and grays. No color could be found anywhere. The dense fog made breathing difficult, and his vision could only penetrate the wetness a few feet in front of him. The mist swirled around them as if dancing a morbid ballet of excitement at their arrival.
The clanking of tools as Tabatha hoisted her bag onto her shoulder seemed out of place in the eerie silence. “Thanks again for the backpack. It’s really nice, especially in weather like this.”
“You’re welcome.” No matter her façade of bravado, Derek knew she was afraid. Not of the ceremony, but of what his reaction would be to facing Elizabeth again. He looked away, shocked to discover a sharp edge of apprehension cutting into his own bravado.
Tabatha looked around at the streets empty of traffic and pedestrians. “How are we going to get in? This place has been locked up for hours.”
“I called and arranged for the gate to be left unlocked.” He led her the last few steps down the sidewalk to the gate. “Told them we had gotten an anonymous tip that the Voodoo Killer would be disposing of a body here tonight.”
Tabatha nodded. “Good thinking, but don’t you think they’ll call the department to check your story?”
Old John was so old the thought probably never entered his mind. “I doubt it. The caretaker has known me for twenty years. We’ve talked about the killings. And with three kids of his own, he wants this bitch caught as much as we do.” Derek grabbed the two jugs of blood, walked to the entrance, and after setting one of the jugs on the ground, lifted the gate latch.
The gate swung open with a groan of hinges too long without oil. The sound grated on the few nerves Derek had left in one piece. He picked up the jug from the ground and they walked through and closed the gate.
Crypts reached skyward like miniature, windowless skyscrapers. Row after row they stood like monuments to the futility of life. Why bother, we’ll all end up here anyway. So may tombs, so many stories.
“Creepy, huh?” Tabatha shuddered. “I keep expecting to see Lon Chaney pop out from behind something.”
He snapped his head around to face her. “He isn’t buried here is he?”
She giggled. “No.”
That would be the thing to take him over the edge, Tabatha resurrecting the king of horror. “Whew.”
“Lead the way, Derek. Let’s get this done and get out of here.” Tabatha rubbed her arms. “I knew there was a reason I always did this at sunset.”
He began walking through the maze of crypts. “What do you mean?”
“Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?” She looked behind her.
Following her lead, he glanced behind him. “Yeah, why?”
“At sunset, the feeling is there, but it’s like a light touch of interest.
Right now, it’s as if in each tomb we pass someone is grasping for me, pleading with me to bring him or her back.” She must have wandered too close to one of the crypts, because she quickly moved back to the center of the walkway. “I can feel their touches, cold but not quite lifeless. It’s not a bad feeling, just unsettling.”
“We’re here.” Derek set the jugs on the ground, settled himself on the concrete graveside bench and once again withdrew a mini whiskbroom from his pocket. He brushed away the dirt from the top of the sarcophagus-style tomb. Excitement sent a rush of blood through his veins. But he realized he was a bit afraid, too. How would Elizabeth look? Would she talk to him or only Tabatha? Would she forgive him?
“Hi, Lizzie. I know you’re going to be mad as hell, but I’ve got to do this. Please try to understand.” He straightened and faced Tabatha. “Where do you want me?”
She ran her gaze over the area. “Step away for a minute. You can return to the bench after I make the circle. Until I have Elizabeth in front of me, do not move toward her. I’ve heard stories of the reanimated attacking if they think someone is going to hurt the one who raised them.”
&nbs
p; He knew his Elizabeth would never hurt him, but this wasn’t really her, he realized. Derek frowned and raised his eyebrows sharply. He stood and walked backward in long exaggerated strides. “Is that where they get the term death grip?’”
Tabatha smiled. “I don’t know.” The sound of the backpack’s zipper ripped the silence. She placed a long blade at her side and removed the container of salt, glanced skyward then started to etch the circle in a clockwise direction, keeping her footsteps outside the circle. She into the circle and bowed as if in prayer. Raising her head, she took a deep breath, her body straight, facing the tomb.
Derek rocked from one foot to another. He licked his dry lips. He wanted to get this going. He wanted it over.
Stardust-speckled light shimmered on everything surrounding her. “Well, that’s new. I’ve never seen that happen before,” she whispered. “Come back into the circle, Derek. Sit. Do not say a word.”
He swallowed so hard the noise of it hung heavy in the mist. The second he stepped into the area, the magic wrapped around him like a sheet of aluminum foil, hot and yet cold at the same time. Knees shaking, stomach rolling, heart thumping so hard he worried the organ would fight its way out of his chest, Derek collapsed so firmly onto the bench his teeth slammed closed. “What’s the knife for?”
Tabatha didn’t stop her work. “Like I said, sometimes the dead can attack. Conventional means don’t stop them.”
She planed to hack Elizabeth to bits? He wouldn’t let Tabatha do that. No matter what Elizabeth did.
Tabatha took the bottles of blood and poured them around the grave. The blood exited the jar in a mixture of coagulated clots and separating liquid. Tabatha’s lips moved in a silent chant before her voice grew forceful and loud. “Rise, Elizabeth Ann Morrie. I command you to live.”
The air around Derek changed. The humidity that had clung to everything a moment before vanished. Dry heat rubbed against his skin. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
A clump of soil darted from the side of Elizabeth’s tomb landing at Derek’s feet. He cleared the bench in one swift tumble, landing on his feet the opposite side. He gritted his teeth at the sharp pain in his leg. The concrete slab covering the casket trembled and slid to the side with a grating sound of two stones rubbing together under pressure. The casket swung open, and Elizabeth’s body floated upward and hovered. The air smelled of dampness and mold. Elizabeth’s eyes slowly opened, and she looked at Tabatha as she drifted to stand in front of her.
Derek fell to his knees, gasped for air, and fought not to weep. Elizabeth stood not ten feet away. She was still as beautiful and youthful as the day she was taken from him. Her sky blue dress hung in tatters giving Elizabeth the look of a street beggar. He let his hungry gaze sweep over her. Long straw like strands replaced what had been highlighted sable brown hair. When he looked into her brown eyes, his heart ached. Though this may be Elizabeth’s body, her eyes held no warmth, no life. The bright light of her soul was gone. This wasn’t the woman he’d loved. Only her shell remained.
Pain washed over him in hot waves of regrets. Drawing a deep breath, he walked to Tabatha’s side.
“Elizabeth, I am Tabatha Gray.”
Elizabeth’s head tilted to one side then the other. “I know who you are. Why are you here?”
“I brought her here, Lizzy. I need to talk to you.” Derek waited but Elizabeth didn’t acknowledge him.
“There is someone who needs to ask you some questions. I want you to give him answers.” Tabatha reached out and grasped Derek’s hand, drawing him closer. “Elizabeth, I’m going to step away. I’ll not be far.” Tabatha looked into Derek’s eyes. “She isn’t real. It’s just the shell. Don’t expect emotion. Just ask your questions and be satisfied with the answers she offers.” Tabatha took a step away before Elizabeth’s hand grasped her wrist.
Tabatha shivered. “I’m only going over there, close to the edge. I won’t leave you here, Elizabeth. I promise.” She pulled Elizabeth’s grip from her arm and stepped away.
The thought that Elizabeth was afraid of him ripped at the core of his soul. Derek cleared his throat. “Hello, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth once again tilted her head and stared at him. “Hello.”
Again he could detect no emotions, no true recognition. “Do you know who I am?”
A look of confusion crossed her face. “Yes, I know who you are. Derek Timothy Bainbridge, but I don’t understand why you’re here.”
He flinched at the use of his middle name. Lizzie had used it only when she was angry with him. “That’s right. I hate to bring up bad memories, but I need to know who hurt you.” He cleared his throat. “Who killed…”
A gust of hot wind knocked Derek to the ground and a screech of anger nearly burst his eardrums. Slamming his hand over his ears he darted his gaze over the area, finding Tabatha crawling on her belly toward him. “What is going on?”
Tabatha gasped. “Her spirit has taken over. I’ve lost control of her. She’ll not obey me now.”
His attention was jolted back to Elizabeth when her corpse fell to its knees and drew a deep breath before slowly rising to its feet again. Her face was twisted with anger and disgust. Derek cringed. He’d faced Elizabeth’s anger more than once. It wasn’t pretty in life. What would be like in death?
“I told you not to raise me, Tabatha.”
Shame cut a path from his brain to his gut. “It’s not her fault. I made her do it.”
The wind died, and Elizabeth’s features softened. “There’s nothing to worry about, Tabatha Gray. I mean no harm, and I do not want to stay.” Elizabeth returned her attention to Derek. “You were always hardheaded. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? God will take care of my killer. God’s judgment will be much harsher than anything you could do.”
Derek refused to accept that. He needed to know the man who did this paid for taking her away from him. “I have to know. Who killed you, Lizzie?”
“No!” The shouted denial came from the darkness like a blast of thunder. Frank moved from behind a nearby crypt, stumbling toward the circle. Tabatha pushed herself to her feet and reached down to help Derek to his feet. His leg had gone from a mild ache to the point of screaming pain. When Frank met the edge of the circle, a surge of power kept him from entering. The circle flared with light and intense heat. A buzz filled the air like low hanging power lines. “Let me in, Elizabeth. Please, let me in. I love you. Don’t leave me again.” His sobs racked his whole body. Derek was sick of Frank being the spare tire hanging around his neck. Elizabeth and he had had to hide to escape Frank and have time alone. Not this time. Derek stormed toward him.
“Don’t step out of the circle,” Tabatha and Elizabeth said as one.
Stopping short of leaving the protection of the circle, Derek stared at Frank while clenching his fists at his sides. An idea formed and struck like a fit in the gut. “Did you kill Lizzie, Frank? Was it you?”
Frank fell to his knees. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I loved her. It was my fault.”
God in heaven, he’d had the killer in his sight all along but was too damned stupid to see. “Did you do it to keep me from having her? Is that it?”
A trill of laughter surrounded them. “I love you, Elizabeth. Don’t leave me, Elizabeth. You can’t marry Derek, Elizabeth.” The taunting voice bounced from one tomb to the next making it impossible to discern from what direction it came. “Perfect Elizabeth. Couldn’t be satisfied with just Derek. No. You had to have Frank worship you, too. What about me?” The voice dissolved into a wail.
Tabatha looked at Elizabeth. “Oh, no. Not her.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes away from her view. “Yes.”
Derek turned in circles trying to find the source of the voice. Tomb after tomb stood in the darkness. But he saw no one.
Frank crumbled into himself, sobs still racking his body. “I tried. You pushed me away. I wasn’t Derek. I wasn’t good enough.”
Derek listened to the feminine timbre, s
o familiar but not quite grasping who it was. The damned protective circle kept him trapped and unable to search the grounds. “Who are you? What do you want here?”
“Derek, why? You were supposed to come back to me. Was her memory better than my arms? I loved you more than she ever did. Why did you abandon me?”
Derek’s heart skipped a beat. “Mary? Oh, God, no. Why, Mary?”
“You were going to marry her. Frank begged her not to do it. It broke his heart that she’d chosen you over him. He’s loved her since the first grade.” Mary moved out of the darkness and toward Derek. “I loved you, but you tossed that love aside like so much garbage. I thought if I said yes to Frank you’d see what you were losing and come for me, but you didn’t. I had to marry this,” she gestured toward Frank, “this whimpering idiot.”
Derek’s emotions were dredging up the past in a murky fast-forward rerun. He relived each caption, the joy of Lizzy saying yes, the plans to have two point four kids, a house with the picket fence. But because of Mary’s jealousy and possessiveness it would never be. He looked behind him at Elizabeth and then at Tabatha. He realized he could still have those things, but with Tabatha. She stood staring at Frank, her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet his and smiled. “Finally. You get it now.”
“Derek.” Frank choked on a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”
“Derek? Elizabeth? What about me? I’ve spent too many years married to a man who cries out in his sleep for another woman.” Mary reached into her handbag and withdrew a snub-nosed .38, aiming it at Elizabeth. “Why won’t you die, bitch? Do I have to kill all of you?” Mary pulled the trigger before Derek knew what she’d planned.
The bullet slammed through the shield and into Elizabeth’s torso. Derek slammed into Tabatha forcing her to the ground and covering her body with his. Elizabeth’s body jerked with the force of the slug, slumped then straightened. She opened her mouth and emitted a horrifying screech. A light blue mist escaped from her mouth, and the corpse stilled. The mist formed into a glowing transparent form that surrounded Derek and Tabatha. Elizabeth’s love was in that mist. Warm, comforting, and saying goodbye.
