Romancing the Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  “Uh, yeah,” I said.

  “Would you do some?”

  “Some what?” I asked, concerned about the sparkle in her eye as she asked. Her words almost seemed like a come on, the way she said them.

  “Magic.”

  “Uh.” Again, I wasn’t exactly sure what Traci was requesting, especially the way she leaned closer across the table with each sentence. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to,” I said. I mean, ghouls weren’t supposed to do magic.

  “Oh, we wouldn’t do it together. But, you could scry,” she said. “You know, to find Sebastian.”

  I couldn’t believe this woman was asking me to stare into a crystal ball for a clue as to Sebastian’s whereabouts. Then, just as suddenly, I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of it myself. “Good idea,” I said.

  After Alison had satisfied herself that Traci didn’t have a secret S and M dungeon squirreled away in her house, we explained our plan—or rather, Traci did in breathy excitement.

  Alison pulled herself up to her full height. “It’s forbidden.”

  “We’ll just watch,” Traci said, hopping on the balls of her feet with unrestrained glee. To me, she asked, “What do we need to do this?”

  “This is unacceptable,” Alison said. “I won’t be party to it.” With that, she turned on her heels and slammed the door.

  Traci and I looked at each other. “Are you going to get in trouble?” I asked her.

  “Don’t worry about it. Sebastian has called it quits. I’m not a supplier anymore. Rules no longer apply. Anyway, there’s no harm in watching, is there?”

  Other than the fact that it seemed a bit voyeuristic? I shook my head. “I’ll need something reflective. Traditionally, scrying was done with a crystal ball, but I could use a mirror or even water in a bowl.”

  “I have a crystal ball,” Traci said. “Let me go get it.” Traci returned with a concrete statue of a dragon wrapped around one of those garden “gazing globes” of metallic purple. “Will this do?”

  “It’s, uh, fine,” I said. I grabbed the statue. “Let’s do this,” I said, thinking that I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

  Not ten minutes later, Traci and I sat on a stiff upholstered couch in a chilly living room staring at the dragon’s ball. Traci had insisted in getting dressed in a belly dancer skirt and shawl that dripped with bangles and beads. She also put some kind of humpback whale song on the stereo to get us “in the mood,” and I guess because she thought I needed it to be magical.

  I felt vaguely silly. Still, if it would help find Sebastian, I was all for it. Traci asked me what else I might need, and I just raised my hand dramatically to hush her. I closed my eyes briefly. I could feel Lilith loosen within me, like a spring uncoiling. I focused my thoughts: Where are you, Sebastian?

  I opened my eyes. There was only a reflection of darkness, and then I caught the flash of a wolfish grin. It was there for only a second before it was gone. But I instantly knew it wasn’t Sebastian’s.

  It was Micah’s.

  6.

  Mars

  KEYWORDS: Violence, Power, and Animal Nature

  I stood up. “I’ve got to go,” I said.

  Traci was thrilled. “You saw something! Ohmigod! What did you see?”

  Explaining Micah was far too complicated. “I’m not sure, but I saw someone I know. I think he might have some answers.”

  Traci nodded solemnly. “You have to go,” she agreed. “Do you need a ride anywhere?”

  Even though I wanted to find Micah as quickly as possible, the thought of spending another awkward ride in a stranger’s car—particularly a stranger who was quite so into me—made me shake my head vehemently. That kicked-puppy look threatened to surface on Traci’s face, so I said, “This is something I have to do alone. I saw it in the crystal.”

  Of course that was a lie, but Traci bought it. She thanked me several times and offered, very solicitously, that if I needed anything—anything—I should call her. I took the business card she offered politely. Glancing at it, I noticed a LiveJournal blog address. “Is this the supplier group’s blog?”

  She shook her head. “That site is locked. Do you want me to get you in?”

  “I do.”

  When it was revealed that I didn’t have a Live Journal account, Traci said she’d be more than happy to set one up for me. I gave her my work e-mail—it was the only one I had— and she said she’d be in touch. She hugged me a little too tightly for just a little too long, and we parted ways.

  Outside, the afternoon had turned into a storybook gorgeous summer day. The temperature had leveled out somewhere in the mideighties, no clouds in the sky, and the rhythmic sound of automatic lawn sprinklers filled the suburbs.

  I needed to get back to the city. Micah knew something about Sebastian’s disappearance, I was certain of it. Not only had I seen his smile in the scrying bowl, but he’d been standing at the junction where Sebastian’s astral cord frayed.

  Bright yellow school buses made their rounds, and the clusters of mothers waiting at street corners gave me suspicious looks as I walked down the wide-paved sidewalks. I took advantage of their stares to ask for directions to the nearest bus stop. I was informed that the best spot to pick up public transport into town was the strip mall about a mile and a half thataway. Good luck, good-bye, and don’t come back was the subtext. Even so, I thanked them cheerily and went on my way.

  The big square houses that I passed, which all looked much the same, made me want to sing Pete Seeger’s “Little Boxes.” Even the gardens had a cookie-cutter feel, tending toward hydrangea, sedum, and hosta. Occasionally, some brave soul would break out and have a tall stand of sunflowers or a riot of deep purple wave petunias spilling from hanging baskets, but they were rare. All the trees were approximately the same size and shape, being all the same variety and having been planted at the same time.

  In my spangles and black jeans I felt conspicuously different. My shoulder blades itched like I could feel eyes watching my progression through this Stepford community.

  There was a reason I lived in the city.

  When I reached the busy intersection near the mall, something akin to relief washed over me. Shoulders I didn’t remember hunching, relaxed. It was as if a tiny bit of “city” chaos had encroached into the sterile orderliness of the suburbs, and I felt much more anonymous among the billboards and neon. Even the smell of fast food and exhaust comforted me with its familiarity.

  The bus stop proved difficult to find. Foolishly, I assumed it would be somewhere convenient for shoppers, like right at the main mall entrance. I walked up and down the mile-long mall twice until I finally broke down and asked someone. Of course, they didn’t know, having driven there like everyone else. Just about ready to give up and do a no doubt equally fruitless search for a pay phone to call a cab, I spotted an information desk inside. The bored security guard directed me to the back alley. She also told me the wait would be nearly an hour, since I had just missed the bus a minute and a half ago.

  Great.

  Frustrated and tired, I made my way to the food court. With any luck there’d be a Subway, which at least had a veggie sandwich option. If not, I could get something to drink and sit down for a while.

  My pace quickened when I noticed the yellow and green logo, pleased that at least this one thing had worked out for me today. I ordered and paid, gleefully splurging on chips and a drink.

  That’s when I noticed Micah Cloud sitting two paces away. A Wile E. Coyote T-shirt hugged his sleek frame, and his hair was loose and unruly. Apparently in an attempt to ward off the muted, neon glare of the mall, he wore sunglasses. He looked like some kind of fugitive from the law; or he would have, if he weren’t reading a book and eating a meatball sub.

  The coincidence was too much. I stormed over to him so fast the soda nearly slid off the slick plastic tray. “You’re stalking me again, aren’t you? What did you do to Sebastian? I know you’re involved somehow.”

>   He looked up from the pages of Coven Craft by Amber K. and smiled lazily. “Garnet, it’s nice to see you again too.”

  I held my tray in shaking hands. “I’m serious, Micah. I saw you in the scrying ball. I know you have something to do with Sebastian’s disappearance. Quit screwing around with me.”

  He removed his sunglasses to give me an appraising look. His eyes twinkled, and I realized I’d handed him the perfect opportunity to be flirtatious. So, I was already blushing by the time he said, “Unfortunately, I haven’t had that particular pleasure.”

  I hid my embarrassment by settling down in the plastic chair opposite him. He moved his book aside to make room for my food. “You’re avoiding the issue.”

  “Which is?”

  “Sebastian,” I said.

  “Sorry, wrong tree.” He looked me directly in the eye, though the fluorescent light made him squint at me.

  Too smooth; I didn’t buy it. “You were there when I was searching for him on the astral plane, and I had a vision of you when I was asking for clues for Sebastian’s whereabouts. Explain that.”

  He stared at me for a beat. It was just long enough for me to sense the coyote behind his eyes, that unblinking, inhuman gaze. “Maybe the Higher Power is telling you that you need my help to find him.”

  Oh, he was good. So good, in fact, that I found myself entertaining the possibility. The image in the ball had been a flash of his smile, nothing more threatening than that. “But, on the astral plane, when I met you . . . it was a place where Sebastian’s cord split.”

  “Fate,” he said simply, taking a bite of his sandwich. When it became obvious that I had no idea what he meant, he finished chewing and said, “Clearly, I represent some kind of apex of choice. You join forces with me; Sebastian’s fate goes one way. You don’t . . . ?” He spread his hands indicating a wide open future.

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  “It’s not. It’s just a possible explanation.”

  I frowned. Either he was playing me or he was being sincere. I couldn’t decide. His easy, unruffled demeanor wasn’t helping either. Somehow Micah managed to crook his smile in a way that looked untrustworthy and charming at the same time. I unwrapped my sandwich. Oil had made the paper slick and transparent. My mouth watered at the tart scent of banana peppers and onions. Micah watched me surreptitiously from behind long lashes. We munched as I tried to decide whether or not to trust him.

  “Have you decided what you want to do about”—he jerked his head in the direction of my stomach—“you know.”

  My weight problem? I glanced at my tummy for a second before it occurred to me that he must mean Lilith and his offer to release her. “I haven’t had much time to really consider it. The last few days have been a little crazy.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but went back to his book. I, meanwhile, tried not to dribble lettuce down my shirt and considered Micah’s motives. What was he up to? Did I really believe that fate wanted the two of us to try to find Sebastian together?

  “Every day you become more like her,” he said without lifting his eyes from the text.

  “You said that before, but I don’t see it. I haven’t sprouted chicken legs.”

  He looked up from his book. “But you could be sterile.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  Micah shrugged. Flipping a page, his eyes went back to the text. “Or you could be growing more judgmental and cruel and not even realize it. Your morals could be eroding so slowly you won’t even notice the change until it’s too late.”

  I frowned. Had I become colder? Living with a vampire had made me a little jaded, it was true—I mean, blood no longer made me squeamish. But could that also be Lilith’s influence?

  “Think about it,” he said, glancing at me briefly. “How often do you tap her these days? Is it more than before? Are you using her for simpler and simpler magic? The kinds of stuff you used to do on your own?”

  Bristling, I put my sub down. “I’m a strong Witch on my own.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said without inflection.

  He finished eating and returned his attention to the book, content to let me stare unabashedly at him. “Why are you reading a coven primer?” I asked.

  The eyes that peeked over the edge of the covers were quizzical. “Seriously? You can’t guess?”

  “You’ve never been in a coven before?” I ventured.

  He put a finger on his nose. “Got it in one.”

  I found that hard to believe. With all that raw power roiling under his skin, Micah could hardly be a newbie to magic. I wanted to check his aura again, but remembering how devastating it had been last time, I didn’t dare. Maybe he’d been a loner up to now. That made a kind of sense.

  “You said you thought that the ‘Higher Power’ wanted us to try to find Sebastian together,” I said. Rolling up sub detritus in the paper that I’d used as a makeshift plate, I stuck it in the plastic baggie. “I’d be up for that.”

  Micah nodded. Putting down his book, he seemed to be waiting for me to say more.

  “So are you busy?”

  He laughed. “You mean now? Boy, you don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “So are you? We could go to my place . . .”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “A Jeep Cherokee?” I asked when he led me to the spot where he’d parked. “Not seriously. Aren’t you offended or something?”

  He shrugged. “Do you think there’s a bunch of naval officers pissed off that there’s a Jeep named the Commander?”

  “Ha-ha, but they’re not . . .”

  “And I’m not Cherokee,” he said over the red hood. It sounded like one of Micah’s quips, but I thought I detected a slight edge. He’d parked underground and I couldn’t read his expression in the stark, fluorescent light. “Get in.”

  For the second time in so many hours, I slid into the seat of a stranger’s car. Broken in but well kept, the seats and floors were clear of major clutter. There were a few library books—fiction, mystery or thrillers from the looks of them—stowed in the back and a paper bag half full of Coke bottles and other typical car garbage.

  Wisconsin Public Radio came on when the car’s engine sprang to life. He glanced at me almost apologetically as he switched it off. He probably expected me to say something snarky about his choice in stations, but my horizons had expanded a lot since dating a vampire who loved country and western. I could hardly point fingers. Besides, NPR was comfort radio to me. My hippie folks tuned in every Saturday for A Prairie Home Companion for as long as I could remember.

  Micah powered down the window on my side a little bit, as a way of indicating that natural air flow was the driver’s preference. There was something inviolable about the prerogative of the owner of the vehicle and the use of AC. One didn’t question it, at least not the first time you rode—maybe after you had dated several months. For instance, Sebastian and I could argue about it—well, we could if any of his cars were new enough to come standard with a cooling system.

  Not that I minded the fresh air. I’d gotten used to it with Sebastian to the point of preferring breeze, no matter how warm, over the ultra chill. Besides, this way there was less shock going from car to building.

  Even though he’d been parked underground, the Jeep still smelled of overheated leather. I found the control and dropped the window another inch or so—just enough to catch a breeze. Because I knew we’d be taking the highway, I resisted opening the window all the way and hanging an arm out. Like a dog, I loved the feel of the wind on my skin, and, if it were socially acceptable, I’d ride with my face blasted with sun and speed.

  “You’re not Cherokee,” I said, even though I knew it might be a sore subject. “What are you?”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, as he backed us out of the parking space. “I’ll tell you what, Garnet. You tell me your flavor, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  I was probably supposed to
buy a clue that he didn’t want race on the table, but I forged on cheerfully. “Scots-Irish, English, German, and Latvian.”

  “Latvian?”

  I nodded. “My grandmother Apsitis.”

  “Me too,” he said. “That is, I’m lots of things. But the answer you’re looking for is Ojibwe.”

  Being a transplant to this area, I had no idea if there were Ojibwe in Wisconsin. However, I did know there were a lot where I was from. “Are you from Minnesota?”

  “Yeah, you?”

  For the next ten minutes, Micah and I bonded over Norwegian bachelors, “Minnesota Nice,” butt-freezing winters, lakes “up north,” and how much we both loathed the movie Fargo.

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “Except, one time when I was trying to make the point that most people in Minnesota don’t talk like that, this guy comes into the café and we have this conversation. ‘Hot enough for you?’ he asks. ‘Yah,’ I go, ‘At least it keeps the mosquitoes down.’ ”

  I laughed so hard I nearly peed. I’d had conversations just like that. “It’s embarrassing isn’t it? I once overheard my grandfather, who was standing around watching my dad put up a fence, say, ‘Other guys might have measured that twice.’ ”

  “ ‘Other guys might have.’ ” Micah snorted. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that one a lot too.”

  We pulled up to my apartment. My front gardens— really a wide tangle of purple-blossomed oregano, foxgloves, and yellow snapdragons—looked a little droopy in the afternoon heat.

  “Your place is certainly, uh, bright in the day,” Micah said, miming shielding his eyes from the horrendous Day-Glo hot pink my landlord had painted the exterior in a misguided attempt to be historically accurate.

  I grimaced. I’d actually tried to plant flowers I thought would help soften the color scheme, thus all the soft indigos of violets and Johnny jump-ups and bluebells of the creeping bellflower. It didn’t help. “It’s better inside, I promise.”

  Micah followed me up the stairs, making admiring noises at the woodwork and leaded glass. His hand traced reverently along the plaster, as though acknowledging the hardships of a noble, worn sanctuary.