Romancing the Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  After seeing Eugene to the door with many hearty hand-shakes, I felt like my day had turned around for the better. That’s when I saw Mátyás leaning against the political slogan display—his head framed by a poster that read, “My other car is a broomstick.”

  “We have to talk,” he said, putting a vice grip on my elbow and steering the two of us toward the coffee shop next door. “Now.”

  I looked around for William, who had conveniently found busywork to do when Eugene was nosing around the store. I wanted to let him know I’d be stepping out for a few minutes, but I didn’t spot him anywhere. “No need to shove,” I said, wrestling my arm out from his grasp. “Honestly? I could totally use a triple espresso right now, especially if you’re buying.”

  Máytás looked startled for a moment, then said, “Yeah, right. Sorry.”

  Sorry? Did Mátyás just apologize for being rude? “Are you okay?”

  Mátyás shook his head. “I’m far from okay. That’s why we need to talk.”

  The scent of French roast made my head throb with desire as we stepped across the threshold into the adjoining coffeehouse, Holy Grounds. Until I walked into the place, I’d forgotten that I’d skipped my usual morning caffeine. I was really starting to regret it. I’d done most of the negotiating with Eugene on pure adrenaline—had he really agreed to consider it? Gulp!—and now the days of little or no sleep were catching up to me. I needed a lot of caffeine and I needed it now.

  Despite large windows and tall ceilings, the place seemed cavernous and dark after the extreme glare of summer.

  I sent Mátyás in search of a spot to sit while I ordered our drinks. My friend Izzy was behind the bar. Izzy, who had been experimenting with her hair for a few months, had given up and decided to go au naturel. Her hair puffed around her head in an Afro, making her look a bit like Beyoncé in that Austin Powers movie—except Izzy seemed more regal, more solid.

  I pointed to her hair. “Cute.”

  She pointed to my neck. “Ugly. Dang, girl, what happened to you?”

  Reflexively, my hand reached up to cover the burn marks. “A crystal wind chime tried to kill me,” I said trying to sound casual.

  “A flaming wind chime? Because you look scorched.”

  “I am,” I admitted. “Lilith kind of, well, melted the chain.”

  “Hm. She should be more careful with the body she inhabits.” Izzy handed me my “velvet hammer with a depth charge” and Mátyás’s iced chai.

  I nodded, thinking of Micah’s comments last night. I totally expected Izzy to grill me about what had happened with the wind chimes, but maybe she’d just gotten so used to the crazy in my life that she decided it was something better not known.

  “So, who’s the new hottie?” Izzy asked as she made change for my twenty.

  “Hottie?” I looked around to see who she might be talking about. Had Micah walked in?

  She pointed her chin in the direction of Mátyás. “The guy you came in with.”

  I looked at Mátyás in horror. Izzy thought he was sexy? “That’s Mátyás Von Traum. Sebastian’s son,” I said, trying not to sound as disgusted as I was that someone might find him attractive.

  Izzy actually purred. “So, you’re not into him?”

  “No way.”

  “Is he single?”

  I couldn’t help but gape. “I have no idea.”

  “Find out and your next latte is free.”

  “Okay.” I mean, I had to keep myself in lattes, didn’t I? Still, did I really want to encourage my friend to date my fiancé’s son? Why did I suddenly envision extremely awkward double-dating?

  Mátyás had chosen a spot in the back on the comfy couches. Prime real estate, and usually the first spots to be filled, which was a testimony to how slow things were at this hour during the summer. I only hoped things were equally as dead over at Mercury Crossing; I was going to owe William some time off.

  I must have unconsciously checked my watch because Mátyás said, “Am I keeping you from something?”

  “Well, my job, actually,” I said dryly.

  “This is about Papa.”

  The store could wait. “Did you hear from him? What’s happened?”

  “I think Papa’s in hell,” he said seriously.

  “No way,” I said, not waiting for an explanation of that strange little gem of a conversation gambit. “I heard from him last night. He left a message. At least, I’m pretty sure he did.” Dang, I thought, looking at my watch again. The day was slipping away from me, and I’d really hoped to go to the department store over lunchtime to buy a new answering machine.

  “Maybe he went to hell after he called you,” Mátyás said casually, as if we were discussing the latest Badgers game. “I’m pretty sure he’s there.”

  I took a long sip of my coffee. It was true to its name: smooth and vaguely painful. I could feel my brain start to kick into a higher gear, which was helpful since Mátyás seemed to insist on talking in riddles. “What are you talking about? Literally in hell? And, how do you know?”

  Mátyás’s gaze slid from mine and focused, instead, on the painting on the far wall. The featured artist of the month apparently attempted to explore the darker side of the subconscious. Eyes, beady and yellow stared hungrily at me out of inky, oily canvases. They were spookily realistic—glistening and intense, especially given the sketchy blackness that surrounded them. There was one that portrayed some kind of hairy, demonic, twisted-up man-beast crawling across the lonely stretch of highway, its eyes mournful, like a lost puppy. I was horrified, yet captivated. It was well-done but disturbing stuff.

  “Beast of Bray Road,” Mátyás said when he saw my eyes had followed his. “Who knew Wisconsin had its very own werewolf, eh?”

  I’d heard of the supposed werewolf that lived just north-west of here. It was in the news several years ago, but I’d never put much stock in it. Now that I’d met Micah, I wondered. I was curious what Mátyás knew about skinwalkers, but I’d ask him later. I knew a diversionary tactic when I saw one. “How can you be so sure Sebastian’s in . . . trouble?”— I couldn’t quite bring myself to say “hell,” especially since I got the impression Mátyás did mean it literally—“Did you have some kind of magical contact?”

  “I have a . . .” He pursed his lips as his finger traced the grain on the tabletop. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something more, but then his eyes met mine and he stopped. “No. You’re not family.”

  “What?” I was livid. By Mátyás’s own reckoning Sebastian was in danger, and now he wasn’t going to tell me the whole story. “I’ve been worried sick. How can you come here and say something like that and not back it up?”

  “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  “The heck I am. Tell me how you know.”

  We locked gazes. The muscle in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. “No.”

  Izzy chose that moment to come over and ask flirtatiously if we needed anything else. She batted her eyelashes at Mátyás, but he mostly continued to glare at me.

  “Well, there is one thing you need, hon,” Izzy said bluntly. “And that’s my phone number. Here.” She slapped a business card down in front of a startled Mátyás. “Call me.”

  Even though her timing was less than impeccable, I had to appreciate her style. Mátyás’s baffled expression was priceless. As was his sudden attention to Izzy’s curvaceous form as she sauntered back behind the bar. “She just gave me her phone number,” he told me as he stuck it in the pocket of his jeans.

  “I know. She thinks you’re cute. Goddess knows why.”

  “You know her?” He seemed both skeptical and impressed.

  I nodded. “I wish you’d talk to me about Sebastian.”

  He stood up to leave. “It was a mistake to come here.”

  “Please,” I said, taking his hand as he started to move past me to the door. “We both care about him. Tell me why you think he’s in trouble.”

  “I can’t.” />
  His hand slipped from mine and he walked to the door. I stood up and shouted angrily at him, “It has something to do with the Vatican, doesn’t it? You’re still working with them, aren’t you? Come back here, damn it!”

  The bells over the door jangled ominously as he walked away.

  When I got back to the store I was greeted by a sudden influx of customers. I was grateful for the work. Taking care of business kept my mind from drifting back to Sebastian. Occasionally, I even allowed myself a quick day-dream about the things I would change about the store once it was mine. I was actually happily musing the ways I could bring more customers into Mercury Crossing when a young, freckle-faced woman cleared her throat. Bright red hair fell in loose ringlets to delicate, birdlike shoulders. My first impression was: brittle.

  “Sorry,” I said, with an apologetic smile. “I was miles away.”

  She returned my smile nervously. “I’m Alison,” she said without any preamble. She reached up and ran a finger across the bottom of one of the wind chimes. The soft cascade of bells made my throat ache.

  “Alison?” It took me a second to place the name—one of Sebastian’s ghouls, the one I’d called yesterday with the Britney Spears voice mail. Goddess, how did she find me? I had a flash of telling her the name of the store during my flustered babble. “Oh! Alison.”

  I looked at Alison again, this time searching for clues as to why Sebastian chose her. I supposed she was pretty in a breakable, fragile way. She had that kind of porcelain, pale skin that a lot of Irish women naturally had, the kind, I might add, I used a great quantity of makeup to replicate. The sky blue of her eyes reminded me of glass too. She wore a patterned, vintage sundress and white, heeled sandals. She looked cool and effortlessly stylish.

  “I’m Garnet,” I said and I offered a hand because I felt I should.

  She inspected my hand momentarily, and then, with a sigh that seemed very put out, reached over. It was a clammy, halfhearted shake, but she must have shuffled her feet on a rug or something, because a static electric shock arced between us when we touched. Strangely, it reminded me of when I’d shook hands with Micah.

  Sebastian had said that ghouls, in general, were discouraged from practicing magic. Practice and talent were sometimes two different things. What if someone were naturally inclined toward the occult?

  I gave Alison the squint. Her aura was hazy and blurred. I’d never seen anything like it; it was almost as if there was a brighter one that a dark film had settled over. I couldn’t quite get a bead on it. Was this what Sebastian had meant when he said they had ways of keeping ghouls from doing magic? Was her natural talent being hobbled in some way?

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” I said. What if she was meant to be the Einstein of Witches? Although I supposed if she stopped being a ghoul, she could start being a Witch.

  “What doesn’t?”

  Did she even know? Should I tell her? “Uh, nothing. Never mind.”

  "O-kay,” Alison said with that look I’d seen a million times whenever I got all woo-woo. “Anyway, you tried to sound casual on your message, but I could tell you were worried.” She looked over her shoulder as if to check to see if anyone was listening in.

  No one was. William was in the storeroom sorting out a recent order. The last rush of customers faded after the lunch hour.

  Satisfied, Alison turned back to me. “None of the others has ever contacted me before in person. I figured it had to be some kind of an emergency.”

  Others? She thinks I’m another ghoul, like her. I started to bristle with the desire to correct her assumption, but stopped. I’d let her think I was one of them for now. “When did you last see Sebastian?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  Oh Goddess. She was the one he’d gone to after being with me.

  I was still reeling from this revelation when she continued. “He told me he was getting married. Can you believe that shit? Married? What does he think? His need is just going to go away because he’s giving a ring to some norm?” She made an exasperated sound. “Did he tell you that too?”

  Well, he had. “Yeah, he did.”

  “It’s fucked up is what it is. I mean, what’s he going to do? Start knocking over the Plasma Alliance?”

  What she was implying finally hit me through the onslaught of her constant babble. “Wait a minute. Did he break up with you?”

  She frowned. “He thinks he did.” Then she actually snapped her fingers. With her too-thin fingers, pasty complexion, and two-hundred-dollar casual wear, the gesture looked like a parody of urban hip. But, her eyes narrowed fiercely as she continued, “Just wait until he discovers that he can’t get enough from one woman, even if she is a willing donor, which I doubt she is. They never fall for one of us, have you noticed that?”

  Alison didn’t wait for my answer. “Anyway, I bet he made the rounds, you know, cutting everyone off. So, what’s the deal? Did, like, one of us pop a cork or something? Do we need to go rescue him?”

  Talking to Alison made my head spin. “You think one of the others is holding Sebastian hostage or something?”

  She stopped short, and gave me a quizzical look. “Isn’t that why you called me?”

  I suddenly had no idea why I’d called her. “Uh, he’s really only been missing a couple of days.”

  Alison gave me a very curious looking over, then said, “So I was the last one to see him? Are you accusing me of something?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily, I didn’t have to.

  “Well, that’s just silly,” she answered her own question again. “I’d never hurt Sebastian. You know who I think did it?”—I didn’t, but I was sure Alison was about to tell me— “I think it was Traci. That girl’s a freak. She seems like a White Rose to me. Don’t you think?” Think? I had no idea what a White Rose was. But before I could ask, Alison answered herself. “Yeah, totally.” Then she glanced at my black, spiked hair and bloodred T-shirt with a vampire bat centered over my breasts. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said easily since I had no idea just how I’d been insulted. I was still surprised Alison knew the others’ names. What, did they have a newsletter? A LiveJournal community?

  William came back from the storeroom with a box of books for shelving. He gave Alison and I a cursory glance and then did a textbook double take. “Ali?”

  William knew one of Sebastian’s ghouls? Did I even want to know how?

  “Oh, William, hey,” she sniffed, like something about William smelled badly to her.

  Undaunted by the obvious brush-off, William continued toward us. “Do you keep in touch with Feather? How is she?”

  Of course! I’d forgotten that William’s ex-girlfriend Feather was a bite junkie. Was Feather one of Sebastian’s ghouls too?

  “She moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.” And then, as if we were all thinking about the larger percentage of vampires living there, Alison added, “For school.”

  “Right.” William’s tone conveyed that he didn’t buy that last bit either.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about the business to you anymore, remember?”

  Anymore? I looked to William askance. He looked away guiltily and scratched at the hairs at the back of his neck. I had a vague memory of William being nearly seduced by Sebastian’s glamour. “You weren’t . . . ? With Sebastian, were you?”

  William raised his hands quickly. “No. I’d never do that to you. Honest. It was Parrish.”

  I remembered William had gone all black-haired and Goth after discovering that vampires were real, but I had no idea he’d become anyone’s ghoul, much less my ex, Parrish’s. That just seemed so wrong. It would almost be better if William had said he’d ghouled for Sebastian. At least I knew Sebastian was a gentleman and would have treated William well; Parrish was a bad boy to the core.

  Alison turned to me conspiratorially. “Do you have somewhere private we can talk? Now tha
t he’s left the fold, we need to uphold the vow of secrecy.”

  “Uh, right.” To William, I mouthed “later.”

  “Yeah, okay. Anyway, Ali, it was nice running into you,” he said, as he continued to the back of the store where we kept a small alcove of pagan-friendly kids’ books.

  Alison and I watched him go. “It’s too bad he’s out of it. I hear he was always in demand. He’d be cute if he did something with that hair.”

  I nodded absently, still trying to wrap my head around William as a ghoul. Anyway, William’s hairstyle changed as often as his religion. Currently, he seemed to be trying to emulate the side curls that some Orthodox Jews wore, except his sort of looked like messy sideburns heading toward muttonchops.

  As Alison still seemed to be considering William’s finer assets, I tried to steer her back on track. “Do you really think this Traci character could hold Sebastian against his will?”

  Her theory went with Mátyás’s strange statement this morning that Sebastian was “in hell.” Maybe that was some kind of dhampyr code word for “stuck in a ghoul’s basement,” but why he couldn’t just come out and say that I’ll never understand.

  “Totally. She’s always talking about leather and chains and things.”

  Leather? The more Alison spoke, the more certain I was that there were things I did not want to know about Sebastian’s life. Being face-to-face with this fragile, non-sequitur spewing woman was hard enough, but now I had to think about Sebastian in S and M dom mode too? Or as a bottom? I shook my head to clear it of half-formed images involving shiny buckles and leather. I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. After all, I’d been wrong about Walter. Maybe Alison was wrong about Traci.

  Alison was giving me a curious look. “You want to go kick some butt right now?”

  If Alison was right, and somehow Traci had captured Sebastian for some bondage fantasy, I did.