Romancing the Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I sat up with a gasp. My skin felt cold and clammy. I glanced around the room for Benjamin, but, of course, could no longer see any trace of him. “Benjamin? Are you there?”

  The light flicked once in response.

  "Good,” I said. “Listen, please don’t let anyone in. I was followed.”

  Wind shrieked around the dormer.

  “Thanks,” I said. Shivering, I was grateful not only for Sebastian’s guard ghost, but also that he kept his house heavily warded. I cautiously crept over to the window, half expecting to see a wolf under the cemetery’s streetlight. All I saw was the white glow of the marble gravestones and the wind bending the tufts of tall grass that grew close to the bases where the lawnmower couldn’t reach.

  I got up and collected my clothes. On the dresser next to Sebastian’s little black book sat the picture frame that had been so obscured by Sebastian’s lingering touches. I picked it up, as I imagine he must have so many times. The worn black-and-white photo showed a group of smiling men in uniform posing jauntily against what looked to me like a World War II military plane. I strained to pick out Sebastian among them, but he didn’t seem to be one of the men pictured. Curious.

  Setting the picture back down, I glanced at the clock. It was ten thirty in the evening. Too late to call a stranger, at least so my mother had taught me. My hand hovered over the book anyway. At the last minute, I took it with me as I went to the bathroom to take a long, hot bath.

  After ten minutes of soaking in scalding water, my skin finally warmed up. Had my body grown cold because I nearly killed myself on my little astral walkabout? Leaning back into the bubbles, I tried to banish that thought.

  A knock made me shriek.

  “I’m ordering pizza. What do you want on yours?” Mátyás asked through the door.

  “Good luck with that,” I said, sliding deeper into the bubbles.

  There was a long pause on the other side of the door. “What do you mean?”

  “Sebastian’s wards,” I said. “The pizza driver will never find this place.”

  “Oh, right,” he muttered.

  I couldn’t tell if he was still there when I suggested, “There’s always a pizza in the freezer. I’ll take veggie.”

  I heard a grunt that sounded affirmative, then footsteps going away.

  With a deep sigh, I picked up the little black book from where I balanced it on the edge of the sink. My fingers made wet marks on the cover. Steeling myself, I flipped it open. Alison. Andrea. Cindy. Margaret. Susan. Traci (with an “i”, no less). Walter.

  Walter?

  He lived six blocks from my house. Walter? I couldn’t get over it. Walter wasn’t even a terribly sexy name. I mean, I guess I figured if there was going to be a man’s name in this book it would be something hot or exotic-sounding like Valentine or Jean-Baptiste, but . . . Walter? Who was this guy?

  Then, I noticed interspersed between the entries were people with addresses in other states, even other countries. Some names were crossed out. Others had updated information— changes in phone numbers, cell numbers, even e-mail.

  I shut the book. The image of Sebastian e-mailing kinky notes to Walter down the block made my brain explode. I decided that what I needed was beer, food, and sleep, in that order.

  By the time the pizzas came out of the oven, I was dressed in comfy sweats and on my third round. As someone who didn’t drink a lot, I knew I was utterly and completely wasted. However, as a plus, I found everything Mátyás had to say intensely hilarious, which I could tell annoyed him and only made me laugh harder. I devoured two-thirds of the veggie pizza, drank another beer, and fell over on the couch, sound asleep.

  Apparently, beer gives me nightmares.

  I dreamt my astral self had gotten caught in the spirit sinkhole of Lakewood Cemetery in Minneapolis. All around me stood giant marble slabs—some of them were ten-foot Celtic crosses, others had stone-faced angels perched on top, staring down at me with empty, blank-white eyes. Shades drifted just out of sight. Something chased me now, a big, black dog. I kept trying to find the front gate, but somehow ended up moving deeper and deeper into the necropolis. Grave images—upside down torches, cherubs, and crosses—flickered through my peripheralvision as I ran. Its snapping teeth as white as gravestones. “I come in peace,” said a crow sitting on a mausoleum.

  “Yeah, right,” I mumbled sleepily.

  A thorn pricked my finger and I glanced at the gravestone: Sterling. Silver, yeah, that’s what I needed, a sliver bullet.

  “No, really, it’s nine o’clock. You’re late.”

  I blinked to see Mátyás smiling gleefully into my face, as though he anticipated my reaction: “Oh, shit,” I said, jumping up and then grabbing my pounding head. “Oh, ow!”

  With Mátyás’s laughter chasing me, I stumbled up the stairs to find a change of clothes. I went over to “my” drawer and pulled out a bloodred bra and a black halter top. Then I dug through my corner of his closet until I found a decent pair of jeans and my black-and-red Converses.

  As I hunted up some socks and accessories, I glanced at the bed, which was still made. It looked empty and unused. I smoothed the places I’d wrinkled when I lay on it last night and, unconsciously, checked out the window for Sebastian’s car.

  Turning away, I pulled a comb through my hair. Then I retreated to the bathroom to brush my teeth and try to do something with my general appearances. Given how I felt inside, I thought I managed to look half decent by the time I emerged.

  Mátyás stood just outside the door with a cup of coffee in one hand and Sebastian’s darkest sunglasses in the other. “You might need these,” he smirked. I narrowed my eyes at him, even though I took his offerings gratefully. “Dhampyrs are impervious to the aftereffects of alcohol, I take it?”

  “Totally,” he said.

  Jamming the sunglasses on my face, I growled, “As if I needed another reason to despise you.”

  “You should be nicer to the boy who has the Jag.”

  My fuzzy brain couldn’t track the logic of his statement. “I should?” I asked somewhat feebly.

  “I’m giving you a ride.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, and you’re bringing along the black book.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you can call as I drive.”

  The pattern we’d been establishing came to a crashing halt. “The hell I am,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Just so you can gloat.”

  “I guess you’d better call a taxi, then,” Mátyás said in that tone that implied that he knew it was the last thing I wanted to have to do when I was already so late. It would take a taxi from town twenty minutes to get out here, and another twenty to get back. It would cost a fortune too, though I always kept taxi money in my purse.

  I squinted fiercely at him and then realized the effect was lost behind the dark glasses. “Fine,” I huffed and grabbed the book from where I’d left it in the bathroom on the back of the toilet.

  I’d been hoping for a repeat of our drive out in which Mátyás listened to his CDs and we didn’t speak. I should have known I wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.

  “You’re a sloppy drunk,” Mátyás observed as we pulled out of the driveway. Daisies and Queen Anne’s lace growing in the ditches bobbed their heads in our wake. Though Mátyás cranked the AC, I cracked open the window. The stale, recycled air made me feel claustrophobic and nauseous.

  “Hmmm,” I said, since, as fuzzy as my head felt, I could neither confirm nor deny his assessment. The sky was a dazzling shade of blue and, despite the shades, I squinted. We passed a group of horses grazing on a steep hillside. Hawks glided overhead, riding the thermals.

  “You didn’t like what you found in that book, did you?”

  I shot a warning glance at him.

  “You’re going to have to get used to them. You’re not his only chew toy, just his current favorite.”

  “I’m not his chew toy at all, I’m his fiancée.” I clumsily waved
my ring finger at him. “Remember?”

  He pointedly ignored me. The shadow of a white pine windbreak fell across the highway in a long stripe. I thought I might have shocked him into submission and that I would get to ride the rest of the way in relative peace and quiet until he said, “Yet my mother still wears his engagement ring.”

  My head whipped around to him so fast I almost barfed. “What?”

  Mátyás shot me an oily smile. “I think you heard me, but I’m more than happy to repeat myself. Let me say it nice and slow: my mother wears Sebastian’s ring. The heirloom.”

  Despite myself, I glanced at the ring on my finger. The diamond glittered and the gold shone, but . . . and, I hated myself for even entertaining this thought, damn Mátyás, but, it looked so much like the classic engagement ring that it was almost devoid of any personality. Parrish, a vampire ex of mine, had given me a ring once so that we could fool the FBI into thinking I was his fiancée. It was Black Hills gold— old and worn, but clearly loved. I knew when Parrish gave it to me that it meant something to him, that it had history.

  I closed my fist when I noticed Mátyás watching me. “Yeah, well, Sebastian never did marry your mother, did he?” I was pleased to see Mátyás wince for once. “New ring, fresh start, you know?”

  Yeah, that seemed plausible. In fact, I’d already convinced myself it was true. Mátyás must have bought it too, because he finally lapsed into blessed silence and we didn’t speak again until he pulled up to the cross street closest to my store.

  I hopped out and shut the door. Leaning in the window I’d cracked open, I said, “Hey, thanks for the ride.” Even though he was still not looking at me, I lifted the little black book to show him. “I’ll let you know if I find Sebastian.”

  Mátyás glanced at me through the curtain of his dark hair. The vulnerability that flashed through his eyes for a moment made him seem the age he looked. “Do,” he said crisply. Then he powered up my window so fast he nearly nipped my fingers and then took off with a roar.

  State Street is a pedestrian mall, and in the summer it could pass as a quiet street in New York. People bustled: going places, doing things. Maples and quaking aspen lined the streets. Pigeons and buskers loitered in every alcove, crooning softly. Every ten paces ragged homeless men begged for spare change. Punks and skateboarders sunned themselves and surfed the Internet on painted iron benches. The smells of Thai, Indian, and Afghani food mingled in the morning heat. Once in front of Mercury Crossing, the scent of sandalwood incense overwhelmed everything else, even the diesel of passing city buses.

  I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. William looked up from the register when the chimes jingled. “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said as I rushed to stow my backpack under the counter. “I overslept.”

  “Overslept?” William sounded kind of disappointed.

  “Yeah,” I said, as I went though my getting oriented rituals. Using my swipe card on the computer, I punched myself in.

  “Just overslept? Seriously? No ghosts or super-zombies or anything like that? I mean, usually when you’re late something supernatural is going down.”

  I had to laugh. I stopped fussing and leaned a hip on the counter and smiled at William. “Yeah, okay, Sebastian is missing and I can’t find him on the astral plane, Mátyás is back, and I have to contact Sebastian’s ghoulfriends. Oh, a wolf or some kind of dog has been stalking me.”

  “A werewolf? I thought you said there weren’t werewolves.”

  Trust William to cut to the subtext of my wolf comment. “I didn’t think there were.”

  “But you saw one?”

  “I saw a wolf . . . or a big dog, in the city. During the day.”

  “Timber wolf? Gray wolf? You sure it wasn’t a coyote? Actually, I just read a whole article about coyotes that said they’re becoming a big problem in major metropolises. There was this amazing picture of a coyote that had gotten himself trapped in an elevator in San Francisco or somewhere like that.”

  I shook my head. I actually had no idea if I could tell the difference between any of those. “All I know is that it wasn’t a dog.”

  “But it was a person?”

  “In the astral plane I saw a man walking with the wolf, kind of on top of it. He didn’t happen to call here, did he?”

  “The werewolf?”

  “Sebastian,” I clarified. William shook his head. “I’ll just check the answering machine to be sure.”

  “Yeah, no problem. The store’s been quiet.”

  Summer usually was. The University of Wisconsin students were on break, and though we had some regular clientele, tourists tended to window-shop and not much more. I nodded and headed for the back room.

  I sat down in the wooden swivel office chair and unearthed the answering machine. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the flashing light. The first message was from a local artist who wanted to come in to see if we might be interested in carrying her Goddess-themed pottery on commission. I jotted down her number. The other was from Slow Bob, who came in mostly on a substitute basis, asking if there were any hours available for him to work.

  Nothing from Sebastian.

  I sighed. Even though I hadn’t really expected that he would call here, I still felt disappointed.

  On impulse, I dialed Slow Bob. Bob had gotten his nickname because, even though he worked diligently, speed was not his forte. Despite being an excellent organizer, it was disastrous to put Slow Bob on the register during a rush, which, of course, was often when we needed help. I got Bob’s voice mail and left a message that if he wanted, he could pick up a shift tomorrow afternoon.

  I might need the time if I still hadn’t heard from Sebastian.

  Next, I called back the artist and told her to come in the following Tuesday with a few of her best pieces. She was thrilled, and I was happy to have made her day.

  I set Sebastian’s black book down on the blotter. Receiver in hand, my finger hovered over the first numbers. I checked the clock overhead. It was almost eleven. What were the chances any of them were even home? Most likely, they had day jobs. All I had to do was leave a message asking if they’d seen Sebastian in the last several hours.

  I stared at the name: Alison.

  My heartbeat ticked in my throat as the line rang. Her voice mail made her sound perky and half my age. Britney Spears sang a few notes before the beep. I stumbled through my request, left my numbers for both the store and home, babbled far too long, and hung up.

  This was much harder than I expected it would be. It was weird enough having a list of names rattling around in my head, but now I had Britney Spears too? That gave me horrific images that combined Sebastian and some barely legal woman in schoolgirl uniform fetish wear. Did he like that sort of thing? What if, while we were making out, he was thinking about Alison in bobby socks and pom-poms?

  It was too much.

  Standing up, I started to clean. I organized, dusted, and filed. As I filled wastebaskets, I emptied my mind. I didn’t want to think about Alison, so I kept myself busy. After the back room, I tackled the front. Despite the constant air-conditioning, sweat prickled under my arms.

  When I next looked up, I saw a familiar face. I was still trying to place the doughy features and bright, shiny brown eyes, when she said, timidly pointing to herself, “Marge? From the new coven?”

  “Oh, right,” I said, putting down the paper towel and organic, nontoxic cleaner I’d been using to dust the bookshelves. “I’m sorry. Can I help you?”

  “I was just . . . well, I was curious . . .”

  I waited patiently for Marge to gather up the courage to ask her question. Maybe she was used to being interrupted because when I didn’t snap impatiently or try to guess, she sighed.

  “Lilith,” she said. “Since I’m going to be working with Her, you know, I wondered if you, like, had any books.”

  “Of course,” I said with a smile, and I showed her to the section. It was sort of sweet, if a little nerdy, to want to “study
up” on my resident Goddess. I felt very flattered. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Oh, I will,” she said gratefully.

  I went back to my furious cleaning, thinking and worrying. Stopping short, I went back to find Marge, who sat cross-legged on the floor with a book in her lap. “Hey,” I said as quietly as I could, but she jumped anyway.

  “You surprised me,” she said breathlessly, slamming the book shut hard.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but can I ask you a question?”

  She pointed to herself again, as if she couldn’t believe she had anything of value to offer. “Anything!”

  “Have you seen Sebastian by any chance?”

  She looked confused and a little panicked. “You mean since the other night?”

  I nodded. There was no reason to think she had, but I was starting to feel desperate. “I know it’s a long shot, but . . .” I shrugged. “He missed an important gig last night. I’m a little worried about him.” Goddess, why did I tell Marge that? I hardly knew her, and I’d barely admitted to myself just how freaked I was about Sebastian’s disappearance.

  Marge stared at me awkwardly; her eyes darted around as though looking for an exit. I got the distinct impression that I’d overshared somehow.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly—I seemed to apologize a lot to Marge. “Never mind.”

  I went back to cleaning, feeling stupid. For the first time since Sebastian failed to show up, I felt as though I might be overreacting. I kept my head down until I heard the bells over the door jingle as Marge left.

  Polishing the grain out of the oak counter by the register, I muttered about how ridiculously I’d wound myself up. The door opened, and despite myself, I glanced up, hopeful it was Sebastian sauntering in full of apologies and stories of wild misadventures, but it was just another customer. The warm breeze caused the wind chimes over my head to tinkle.