Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1)

by Kerry Blaisdell

  I recalled my sudden physical responses to both Eric and Jason. Great. Not only would I crave red meat all the time, it looked like I’d crave sex, too.

  As though reading my thoughts, Michael flashed another wicked grin. “Child, do not attribute every feeling you have to being reborn. You are still you, after all.”

  Oddly, that was the one thing he could have said that reassured me. “Thanks.”

  Except it meant I might have the hots for a dead cop, or a live…whoever Jason was. Bartender cum Babysitting Boy Scout? Given my situation, Eric seemed the better option, but what did I know? He could vanish at any time—maybe he already had—and in any case, it was unlikely we were destined to spend eternity in the same location. As a medal-earning cop he was sure to head up, while heaven only knew—ha!—where I’d go.

  “Child, is there something else?”

  I hesitated. Despite Eric telling me it was okay not to bring Michael into it, I couldn’t quite reconcile his suffering with my conscience. I settled on, “It’s about my wound. If I hadn’t come back, what would’ve happened to it? Would it have healed, or stayed that way forever?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, though whether in thought or suspicion, I couldn’t tell. “In Death, earthly needs disappear, including the need to physically heal. For most souls, when they arrive at my door, all physical states return to their ideal form.”

  “Meaning…what? We all become children again? Or twenty-year-olds? Or…?”

  “Whatever is ideal for each individual. A man in his nineties may feel that is the best time of his life. Another may return to a state closer to middle age or younger. It depends.”

  “What if there’s a…delay? Before passing through.”

  Hopefully he thought I really was asking for myself, but in the end, it didn’t matter, for he said, “I do not know. The souls who stay on Earth—I do not see them. I barely have time to sort the souls I am supposed to help. Speaking of which, I must be going.”

  He rose, leather and weapons creaking and clanking with the effort. “Have a care, Hyacinth. As I’ve said, the Rousseaux are very, very dangerous.” He turned toward the open window as though planning to leave that way—the thing was at most ten inches wide—then turned back. “I almost forgot—I remembered something that may be of help to you. The Rousseaux will perform the ritual to send the rock to Satan on September the fifth.”

  “The fifth? That’s two days from now!”

  “And a half, yes. The ritual will occur at sunset. That is plenty of time for someone of your talents to find the rock and bring it back. Perhaps it will help to have a deadline.”

  A deadline? It wasn’t like I’d been wasting my time. “You could’ve told me sooner.”

  “It has been many centuries since the last shard was found. I truly just remembered.”

  “But why the fifth? What’s so special about that date?”

  The warrior grin returned. “Child. You really should go to Mass more often. Satan is not without a sense of humor.”

  He wasn’t going to tell me. Probably figured knowing the cutoff was all that mattered.

  “What if I can’t find it by then?”

  “Then you will return with me and discover which door is yours. Perhaps you will meet Satan then. Or perhaps not.”

  With that, he was gone. Not through the window—at least, not that I saw. He just sort of vanished, but it did seem as though the window glowed brightly for a moment. Of course, that could have been the sun finally cresting the mountains.

  I didn’t know how far the market was, but I didn’t think it would take Jason long to get the food. And if nothing else, Geordi would be waking up. I took the fastest shower ever—it felt so good to be clean—and got dressed in another tank top and shorts combo. I pulled my damp hair into a ponytail, then went into Jason’s room to wait, leaving both bathroom doors ajar, in case Geordi woke and wondered where I was.

  Despite being a grave-robber-turned-fence, I clearly don’t have a sneaky mentality when it comes to my friends. I’d been sitting on Jason’s bed for a full five minutes before it occurred to me to search his room.

  Duh.

  I still didn’t know when he’d be back, but now I had five minutes less than if I’d been on the ball, so I hopped off the bed and set to work. He’d taken the time to unpack, which was more than I’d done. The top drawer of the small dresser contained a wad of cash, his socks, and underwear—boxer-briefs, if you’re curious. Shorts and t-shirts were below that, with a couple pairs of jeans in the bottom. His sneakers sat neatly on the floor next to the dresser, so he must be wearing his sandals, and a few toiletries littered the top, next to a good-sized vase filled with flowers, provided by the hotel. My room had one, too.

  Also like mine, his room had a small wooden desk, empty, with accompanying chair. Bedside table with lamp. Worn throw rug, decorative shelf, and… That was it. No journal detailing his nefarious exploits, no second—third?—passport with yet another name on it. Nothing. He’d taken his wallet, of course, so I couldn’t check and see if the name on his credit cards was Jason Jones, or if he had an American driver’s license.

  Now that I thought about it, I didn’t really know what his native citizenship was. I assumed he was from the States, and he’d let me believe it, but I could be wrong. He acted like an American, but then, he’d acted like a lot of things that now seemed iffy.

  I sat on the bed and glanced around the room again. There had to be something—some clue to his identity, or why he was in my life. I’m not a big fan of coinky-dinks. Like Eric, I think stuff happens for a reason, and the simple fact that Jason had shown up right when I needed him—when Lily left Nick, and then Vadim died—seemed cosmically improbable.

  One thing was certain. His room at least was neat and bare.

  Too bare…

  I might travel light, but I still drop my dirty laundry on the floor or toss stuff on a chair to be dealt with later. Jason had been careful to put things away. Or rather, careful not to leave anything out in plain view.

  Quickly I jumped up and ran my hands under the pillows and as far under the mattress as I could reach. Jason’s arms were much longer than mine, so it took some wiggling, but at last I found it, tucked between the box spring and the thin mattress.

  Considerably bigger than a pea, it was a gun. And though I’m no expert, it looked like a nice gun. A hefty automatic, and I’d bet my last Phrygian vase it was loaded.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jason asked from behind me, and I jumped and whirled to find him in the doorway holding a bag of food, looking big and mad.

  I’ve found, when caught doing something wrong, that a little self-righteous indignation goes a long way. “Me? What about you—what about this?” I waved the gun, careful not to point it at him. I’m not that dumb.

  Jason wasn’t having any. He kicked the door shut and set the food on the desk—I smelled fresh bread—yum—before he advanced on me. “Hyacinth—put the gun down.”

  “No.” I scooted away, but the room wasn’t very big, and I wound up with my back to the wall pretty fast.

  He stopped in front of me, blue eyes flashing. He’d shaved this morning, and I could see every line of his smooth, hard jaw, including the vein pulsing just below where it clenched.

  “Have you ever handled a gun before?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Hyacinth.”

  “Don’t give me that!” I snapped, my nerves and exhaustion getting the better of me. “You obviously aren’t the Jason I thought I knew for the last six months! You look like him—you sound like him—but you aren’t him. You hotwire cars, get fake passports, and know something about the Dioguardis. Who the hell are you? Is Jason Jones your real name? Damn it!” With my free hand, I poked him in the chest, punctuating the words. “Tell. Me. Who. You. Are.”

  Jason didn’t say anything for several seconds, just glared down at me. He had a lot of nerve. I wasn’t the one who’d been lying about my identity al
l this time.

  Okay, I hadn’t told Jason everything. But I’d given him my real name, and a close approximation of my business practices. Which made me the better person. Right?

  Finally, he blew out a breath and reached for the gun. I let him take it. I mean, I really don’t know how to fire one—does an automatic need to be cocked first? Or is that only revolvers? Or is there such a thing as an automatic revolver?—and he was bigger and stronger than me. At least I’d save a little dignity if I pretended to hand it over on my own.

  He checked the magazine—is that what it’s called?—then set it carefully on the dresser. Then he walked back to where I still leaned against the wall, my brief spurt of adrenaline gone. It’s a wonder Geordi hadn’t woken, with all my yelling. But then, he was one and a half rooms away, and the concealing sounds of traffic outside increased as the day got under way.

  “Hyacinth,” Jason said quietly, arms loose at his sides, like he was trying to look nonthreatening. “I’m not going to lie to you. God knows, I’ve hated lying to you all this time. But I can’t answer your questions yet.”

  “Why?” So maybe I had a little adrenaline left. “Damn it, Jason! People are after me, trying to take Geordi, and suddenly, you know how to do all the exact stuff we need, to escape, to hide, to survive. Anything we need, you get it done. How is that even possible?”

  “Why are we in Turkey?” he countered. He reached out and ran his thumb lightly over my neck, making my pulse jump before he dropped his hand. “Why did I touch your cold, dead body in that alley, thinking I’d lost you, and then see you alive and well thirty minutes later?”

  Shit. I hate it when people use my own crap against me. What could I say? That whole death-and-rebirth thing was on my Explain to Jason Someday list, right below the chase-demons-and-steal-talking-rock thing.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” he continued. “That’s what you said to me. Remember? And then you asked me to trust you. Now I’m asking you to trust me. I promise, I’ll make it up to you for all the lies. And some day, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  He was awfully close, and awfully earnest, and I so-so wanted to believe that the only friend—the only living friend—I had was trustworthy.

  “At least tell me you’re one of the good guys.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but he didn’t give me the rah-rah answer I expected. Instead, he said, “It’s…complicated. I can tell you that I will do everything in my power to keep you and Geordi safe from the Dioguardis, and the Rousseaux, and anyone else who tries to hurt you. But when you learn the truth…you may not want me to.”

  His words made no sense, but they weren’t what I focused on now. His body was close. And the emotion in his eyes—the pain, the fear when he’d talked about me being dead, and now something more, something hot and urgent and unleashed—was enough to scorch me from the inside out, until I smoldered like a peat fire, burning toward the surface. It was hopeless. I was going to believe him, even though he’d revealed absolutely nothing.

  “You’ll tell me everything?” I managed breathlessly, lost in the dark depths of his gaze.

  He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over mine as he breathed, “Everything…”

  And then he kissed me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “But Satan now is wiser than of yore,

  and tempts by making rich, not making poor.”

  ~Alexander Pope (1688-1744)

  Jason’s mouth was soft but insistent, not forcing anything but letting me know in no uncertain terms he wanted this, maybe had for a long time. He tasted like mint and something else, something hot and him, and I don’t know if it was being reborn or what, but my senses were on overdrive. The smell of him, of fresh, clean male, filled my nostrils. My body thrummed, and all the reasons why getting involved with anyone—with him, especially—was a stupid idea went right out of my brain, carried away on a wave of sex hormones flooding south.

  I did manage to pull back and ask the first question that popped into my head. “You’re not a…cop, are you?”

  “No,” he said, and kissed me harder.

  At least I hadn’t brought two of them along.

  I pressed into him, urging him on. Even that wasn’t enough. I pushed my fingers through the dark mane of his hair, twisting, pulling, walking us back until my legs hit the bed and we fell on it, his body trapping mine. He dragged my arms over my head with one hand, then trailed hot kisses over my jaw and down the side of my throat. He pushed my top up and palmed my breast, and I arched into him. He was awfully close to the good part, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a seven-year-old boy emptying his bladder into the toilet.

  Merde! I pushed at Jason’s chest. His haze of lust must have been worse than mine. It took another shove before he stopped teasing my earlobe with his tongue and looked at me, his expression almost comically confused.

  “Geordi,” I stage-whispered.

  That did the trick. He leapt off me, looked hastily around the room, and then went to sit at the desk—lap tucked safely out of sight—while I fixed my tank top and my ponytail. By the time Geordi finished washing up, Jason and I looked normal again.

  I glanced over to find him staring at me, eyes dark and hungry. Well, mostly normal.

  The bathroom door was ajar, and Geordi pushed it open uncertainly, then ran to me when I opened my arms. He didn’t say anything, just held on tight, and I squeezed back, all my raging hormones instantly replaced by motherly ones. Geordi might not have been born of my womb, but I couldn’t love him more if he was.

  I cast an apologetic look over his head at Jason, then pulled back and said to Geordi, “Morning, sweetie. You hungry?”

  Jason stood—nothing noticeably out of proportion—and rummaged through the food bag, coming up with apples, bread, cheese and milk. He brought them to the bed, and Geordi and I spread them out while Jason—smart man—went to the dresser and hid the gun in his underwear drawer. Then he joined us and we dived in, the act of picnicking on a bed tickling Geordi’s fancy enough that by the end of the meal, he was giggling and rough-housing with Jason.

  The food wasn’t as satisfying as yesterday’s meat, but there had to be another way to get the iron I needed. And if I ate dairy, eggs, and fish, I’d be good on the protein part. Still, I felt like a vampire, suppressing my unnatural cravings while my energy slowly drained, knowing at some point I’d have to satisfy my thirst for animal blood. Not yet, though.

  I glanced at the travel clock and saw it was seven-thirty. Time to get moving. Only I had no idea where to start. I also wondered even more where Eric had gone, and if he would come back. At least he’d missed my almost having sex with Jason.

  Now that the moment had passed, I’d remembered the number one reason I shouldn’t sleep with Jason or anyone else: I was dead, here on a temporary visa. The physical attraction was bad enough, but I’d seen real emotion in Jason’s eyes. While I could maybe justify the sex, I couldn’t mislead him into thinking I was in it for the long haul.

  Prior to this, I’d never really been accountable to anyone but myself. Now I had Geordi, Jason, and Eric, none of whom would be in danger, if not for me. Never mind that Jason and Eric had invited themselves along. It was still on me if Demons from the Last Circle of Hell tortured them into oblivion. Eric, being dead, maybe had less claim on my conscience. But Jason was a few years younger than me—at least, I thought he was—and I felt older by the minute.

  I watched him, rolling on the bed in a tickle fight with Geordi. Whatever his secrets, they must be huge if he thought I’d ditch him for them. Even so, he deserved better than being burdened with an undead woman and her mostly dead entourage. Still, after I was gone, maybe he’d keep in touch with Geordi. The thought heartened me, inasmuch as I could be heartened, knowing I couldn’t “keep in touch” with Geordi myself.

  “Okay, guys,” I said, hoping my cheeriness didn’t sound forced. “Time to break it up.”

  Jason let Geordi claim the
last tickle and “win” the fight, then sat up and saluted. “Aye, aye, captain. What next?”

  “There’s a ruin east of here—Colossae. I’d like to check it out.”

  “Going to tell me why?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okey-doke.”

  “Did you gas up the car?” He looked offended, so I said, “Don’t suppose you have a flashlight lying around.”

  His eyes narrowed. He knew damn well I’d searched his stuff. “No. But there’s a shop not too far from here. I’m sure they’ll have one.”

  “All righty, then. Let’s go!” I said, and Geordi hopped off the bed. “But first, clothes.” Geordi looked down at his jammies and giggled. I steered him toward our room. “We can’t go exploring in our jammies, now can we?”

  Geordi ran through the bathroom, and Jason looked at me sideways. “I can think of a number of things I’d like to explore, both in and out of our jammies.”

  And just like that, about half my good intentions went out the window. “Stop it,” I said under my breath. He moved toward me, and I backed away into the bathroom. “Geordi,” I called, escaping out the other side, “wear your sneakers. We’re going to do some hiking!”

  Behind me, I heard Jason blow out a breath, but he let me go.

  In our room, Geordi was already dressed. “Tata Hyhy, can we get sugary slugs today?”

  He sounded so hopeful, and I fought down the lump in my throat. “Of course, honey.”

  I should’ve tried harder before now, but everything had been so crazy. If apricot delight would cheer him up, then I’d damn well find some.

  In ten minutes, we had our hiking shoes on, sunscreen slathered everywhere, the bag of food, a map, and the car and hotel keys. We locked our doors and headed down to the street. I checked for any sign of Eric, but there was none, and I experienced a niggling pang of loss.

  Even though he was dead, completely not my responsibility, and a cop to boot, I couldn’t help it—I missed him. Missed his wry asides and having someone I could discuss death with. Obviously, he had his own path to follow, and if he chose to leave me, that was none of my business. At least, that’s what I told myself as I tried to focus on the task at hand.