Without thinking, a smile crosses my face.
Oliver’s face lights up. “My, my, did I just make you smile?”
“Shut up.” Stupid face, always betraying me.
He doesn’t talk for the remaining five minutes, but his smile never wavers. Probably thinking of blood milkshakes. I just watch the night go by. It’s not completely dark, as some dark blue remains in the west. I can still see the details of the trees as they pass. I hope we’ll be out of the cemetery before all the blue is gone. I can see pretty well at night but I bet Will and Oliver can see perfectly. I reach into the glove box and pull out a flashlight.
We’re the first to arrive at the small parking lot next to the cemetery. There couldn’t be more than ten parking spaces in all. Desolate too, trees on all sides, and quite a few in the cemetery. The cemetery itself is big. Newer and ancient headstones and little statues of angels sit randomly in the grass, separated by the trees. Despite the dark and the fact that it’s a cemetery, it’s not ugly like I expected. It’s … appropriate. I wouldn’t mind here as my final resting place.
As I get out of the car, I shiver. It’s the cool air. I’m not used to it. Yeah, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Oliver leans against the car, arms folded, eyes closed, nose up. “Do you feel it?” he asks. “It prickles my skin, like a hundred centipede legs.”
“What?”
“Power.” He opens his eyes. “After two weeks, I can still smell them … and her blood. The necromancer’s essence permeates this cemetery. I felt the same last night, just as strong.”
“Can you tell if it’s a man or woman?”
“No, but whoever it is will feel like death. Their aura will be black and as stifling as the grave.”
Well, that covers half the people living in Los Angeles but not Carrie. “Would Will know this?”
“Perhaps, but I do not believe so. One has to be tapped into death to fully comprehend it. He could feel it when the power is let loose, though, as would you.”
So Carrie’s back in the running.
“Should we wait for them or—” This question proves pointless as headlights flash down the road. Within seconds a matching SUV pulls beside ours and out climb Will and Agent Konrad. Will ignores my icy glare as he moves toward us. We’ll talk later, buddy.
“I thought you liked to work your mojo alone, Oliver,” Will says, eyeing me.
“I was afraid Trixie here would bring down the hotel if I did not let her accompany me.”
“I accompanied you?”
Once again, I’m ignored. “Are you sure the sheriff won’t bother us again?” Will asks.
“No. He should be on his way home preparing to grovel to his wife.”
“Then let’s stop the chatting and get on with this while there’s still a little bit of moonlight.”
“What should we look for?” I ask.
“Evidence of a ritual,” Will says. “Most necros need to perform a ritual to raise the dead. A salt circle, dead animals, blood, charms.”
“There was no evidence of anything like that at the fresh crime scene,” Oliver says. “Do you honestly believe there will be anything at a two-week-old one?”
“Just look,” Will commands. “And make a list of the corpses you think were raised. There could be a pattern. Two teams. I’ll—”
“I will take Agent Alexander,” Oliver cuts in. Oh, goody.
He glances at me, but I just glare. “Fine,” Will says, looking away. “Stay in radio contact. We’ll meet back here in half an hour. You take west, we’ll take east. Any trouble—”
“We will scream like little girls,” Oliver finishes. “Come on, Trixie.” He begins toward the cemetery.
Will grabs my arm before I can take a step.“If he gives you any trouble … ”
I yank my arm away. “I can handle him, thank you very much.”
His lips purse. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you. I just wanted to—”
“Can we have this conversation later?” I click on my flashlight, pointing it right into his eyes. “I have to follow the bloodsucking vampire into the dark, creepy cemetery.”
So I do. My partner waits by a black tombstone with that smirk on his face. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“Shut up, and let’s get this over with.”
“For you, Trixie dear, anything.”
I trudge down the small hill, sweeping my flashlight over the graves as I pass. Grass, grass, grass, grass. I walk and sweep in silence for a few minutes, Oliver staying a short distance behind me. I swear I can feel his eyes on my butt. Grass, grass, fresh dirt. “Found one.” Putting the flashlight under my arm, I find my pad and scribble down her name and date of death. Jane Etheridge, dead three months. “No signs of salt or dead animals. Do you smell blood?”
“No. And I would not bother looking for any type of ritual. I do not think our necromancer has need of one.”
“All the books say a blood sacrifice has to be performed.”
“My dear, when you have been alive as long as I have, you come to learn there is no such thing as ‘always.’ People are never predictable. I believe that our necromancer is one of the most powerful puppet masters living today.” He walks to the next grave, then the next. “More times than not, a necromancer requires power and focus to animate the dead. The blood adds power and the ritual helps him focus on the task. The one we are pursuing has all the focus and power he needs, hence no salt circle to protect him and no dead chickens laying about. Here is another one.”
I jot down the name and date. Another recent corpse. We start walking again. “Then why are we looking for signs of one?”
“William has no imagination. His mind is placed squarely in a box with no use for the outside. All black or white. Not an ideal characteristic for a lover. I, on the other hand, live in a world filled with gray, blues, and especially reds.”
I stop walking but he strolls on. “Eww. Are you really hitting on me in a cemetery? Because that is wrong on so many levels.”
“Some find cemeteries highly erotic.”
“And some people sleep with sheep.”
“Touché. I will try to contain myself until we reach the parking lot.”
“You can try afterwards too.”
He doesn’t quip back. He’s stopped in front of a large headstone, his head cocked slightly to the right like an inquisitive dog that has just spotted a cat for the first time. I shine the flashlight down and sure enough, where there was once grass now lays dirt. I go to write but both my arms drop at the name on the stone. Emma Minnie Wayland, Valerie’s daughter.
“Oh man,” I whisper. “The sicko raised Valerie’s daughter to kill her. That is … ” I shake my head. As if this could get anymore gruesome.
“There is something odd here,” Oliver says. Understatement of the decade. With that confused look, he bends down next to the dirt and practically puts his nose in it. Why did I have to be stuck with the vampire?
“What is it?”
“I get no sense of death at this grave. No scent, nothing. The magic is here, but—”
His attention diverts to something behind me. I turn to see what is so fascinating and find spotlights in the direction of the parking lot. I can’t make out the source because of the slope of the ground.
“Oliver, do you copy?” Will asks over the walkie.
I unclip mine and hand it to Oliver. “We are here. I assume you saw the lights.”
“Affirmative. Think it’s the police?”
“Possible. We will meet at the rendezvous. Over and out.” He hands the walkie back. “Apparently the sheriff’s mind was stronger than I thought. I do hate it when that happens. Come on, my dear. Let us just hope he is not as strong as our necromancer. Otherwise you might have to use your tricks.”
“I have tricks?”
“Two very lush ones.”
I cross my arms across my tricks. “Pig.”
Chuckling, he starts toward the parking lot as I reluctantly follow. H
is pace quickens into almost a jog, obviously giving no thought to the woman almost a foot shorter than him panting behind. It’s not as if the cop is going anywhere, if it is a cop. It could just be some perverse and/or horny teenagers who are in for a frightening experience when four FBI agents come out of a cemetery with guns. That’ll kill the mood.
Our dash stops dead. Almost mid-stride, Oliver halts as if he’s walked into an invisible wall. Seconds tick by and he just stands there like one of the trees. “Oliver?” Nothing. Wonderful. I face him and find a blank stare. No blinking, only eyes black as coal. Not even a glimmer of white showing. It’s as if he has hypnotized himself. This is the part where I should panic, but the centipedes I now feel crawling on and under my skin, prickling every millimeter of my body, get my undivided attention. But there’s no time to itch. The instant the crawling begins, Oliver’s eyes roll back in his head, and he collapses. The seizure begins even before he hits the ground. Can vampires have epilepsy? He only seizes for another second, then lies as still as the grave his body landed on. My mind comes out of the haze of shock, and I realize I should do something. Calling for help would be good.
“Will?” I say into the shaking walkie. “Are you there? Something happened to Oliver. He had some kind of fit.”
“Alexander? Where are you?”
“Um … middle of the cemetery? I don’t know exactly. He isn’t moving.”
“He’ll be fine, just calm down. Turn up your flashlight so I can find you. And stay put.”
Like I’m going anywhere. I do the flashlight thing.
Still a little hesitant from my Carl/zombie experience, I don’t dare touch Oliver. I kneel down and watch him. He’s not breathing, but that’s normal—I think. No way am I doing CPR on him. He’d never let me forget it. At least he looks very peaceful like this, except for the tongue hanging out. I think I prefer him this way. One can just admire his unnatural handsomeness without his mouth ruining it. If he could just—
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
Jesus Christ! His screams almost burst my eardrums. I yelp almost as loud as he does and fall onto my butt. His eyes, now back to their normal color, fly open, jumping around like a trapped wild animal. He doesn’t recognize anything. This freaks me out more than anything. I crab-walk away in case he lashes out. I don’t move until the screams subside, becoming low moans. He begins to blink again, and within seconds, the moans stop. The whole thing takes about five seconds, not the five minutes it feels like.
“What the fuck was that?” he shouts at me.
“Are—are you okay?”
Before he can answer, Will sprints over the horizon like an Olympian. I manage to stand but Oliver tries and fails. I grab his arm and sling it over my shoulder. He must be weak because he doesn’t make a lewd remark or try to cop a feel. Now I’m worried.
Will reaches us, gun in hand. “Are you all right?” Will asks me.
“I’m fine.”
“Good,” he says with a sigh.
I help Oliver lean against the nearby tree his head narrowly missed when he fell. “I am fine as well, thank you for asking.”
“What happened?”
“Well—”
The prickling that I hadn’t even noticed had ended suddenly hits again, but this time it brings a two by four. I’m knocked off my feet, collapsing against Oliver, who seems to be hit by the same thing. We fall to the ground with Will crashing next to us. The world somersaults a few times before I can get a clear thought through the fog and itchiness. I’d scratch but I have no control of my body. The prickling stops as soon as it started, and I can move again. My frightened eyes meet Will’s. A scared werewolf. We are so in trouble.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
“Magic,” Oliver answers. “William … ”
“We are getting the fuck out of here.”
We all find our feet, though if my supernatural companions’ legs are as shaky as mine, those feet are going to get lost again. Then something hits me. “Where’s Agent Konrad?”
The men look at each other. “Oh, shit,” Will says. He pulls out his walkie. “Konrad, come in.” No answer. “Konrad, come in.” No answer. “I sent him to rendezvous with the car. Agent Konrad, answer me!”
The ground begins to shake under my feet. Do they have earthquakes in Colorado? I jump off the grave I am standing on with the speed of a rabbit. The ground keeps moving, shimmying, and falling down upon itself like a sinkhole. Dirt on dirt on dirt. All the grass is sucked underneath. That’s when I notice that all the surrounding graves are doing the same thing. Oh boy.
“Is what I think is happening, happening?” I ask, eyes glued to the ground. “Guys?” Instead of an answer, hands wrap around my waist, and I fly up into the air like Tinker Bell, landing on my stomach in a tree branch. Will’s arms are still up when I land. “Wha—”
“Shut up,” Will commands. “We have about ten seconds before they surface, so just shut up. You stay up there as long as you can. I mean it. Cover Oliver. Do whatever you can, but stay up there. Call for help. Get everyone out here. Tell them to bring the tranq gun and incinerators. Oliver … ”
“Go do what you must,” Oliver says.
Will nods. He pulls out his gun and extra clip and tosses them to me. “Just stop them from getting too close. Take out the legs, arms, teeth. Total dismemberment, remember that.” I nod. “And if anything, and I mean anything, comes at you, don’t hesitate.” With that, he takes off in the opposite direction of the parking lot.
“Where the hell is he going?” I ask, near hysterical.
“Werewolves like privacy when they change. It is a very gruesome sight.”
“He’s—”
A gray, dry hand rises from the earth from a not nearly far enough away grave. Several more emerge from the surrounding ones. The eerie silence is interrupted as three gunshots echo through the graveyard, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. A man cries out in utter agony for a few seconds. Then silence. I don’t know which is worse.
“Trixie! Call now!” Oliver shouts.
“Uh, right.” I fumble to get my phone off my belt. Not easy when you’re balancing on a branch half your size. The first few heads surface above the ground. Some are just skulls with dry skin in patches. A few are newer but the smell nearly chokes me. The rash of hands popping out gets closer and closer to us by the moment. I get the phone and push redial. Someone picks up on the second ring.
“Special Agent Chandler speaking.”
“Weneedhelprightnowzombiesarecomingthey’recomingout
nowWill’sawerewolfI’minatreeyouneed—”
“Slow down, I can’t understand you. Who is this?”
Slow-moving silhouettes appear over the hill. A lot of them. They join a half dozen or so of their friends who have just freed themselves from their not-so-final resting place. Oliver kicks the half-surfaced zombie by his side in the face.
“Oh, fudge,” I say under my breath. “Valerie Wayland’s cemetery now. Entire cemetery raised. Zombie horde coming. Will’s a werewolf, bring tranq gun and incinerators. Gotta go.” I slap the phone shut and put it in my pocket.
In mere seconds, their numbers have more than quadrupled. The corpses ramble with no real direction. A dozen more stagger over the hill, some looking like normal people, most partially or totally decayed. Some are nothing but sinew holding bones together. The stench is unbearable. The zombies closest to my tree hideout have fully risen. Oliver kicks like a karate master and punches them like a man in a bar brawl. If I wasn’t so scared, I’d be impressed. Even with no eyes, they seem to know where he is. More freaking magic. “We’re going to die,” I say under my breath.
“Shoot them!”
“Um … ” I fumble for my gun, but my mind goes blank as three more stumble over the hill. One of their arms falls to the ground. There are too many of them. They’re a freaking army. I—
“Trixie!” a choked voice says.
My eyes jolt back to Oliver. An elderly woman has hi
m by the neck, the only thing separating her teeth from his neck are his shaking arms. She lunges at his neck like a snapping turtle on speed. There’s a deafening noise as her head spins 180 degrees, and now she’s snapping at air. I think I did that.
Oliver takes advantage of the reprieve and pulls both her arms off at the shoulders. This time I know it’s me sending her flying into four incoming zombies like a bowling ball knocking down pins. Another zombie grabs at Oliver, but he rips its arm off. Aiming my gun at one a foot behind Oliver I fire, severing the leg at the knee. I shoot a few more times, hitting something important each time. Eat your heart out, Annie Oakley.
I’m aiming for another when Oliver shouts, “Get down from there!” He kicks another zombie away.
“What? But Will said … ”
The zombie he just dispatched comes back and gets a roundhouse kick to the head. “I said get down! Now!”
My brain shouts “no way” but my body obeys. I grab onto the branch and swing into zombie central. Immediately, I’m grabbed from behind by bony fingers. On reflex, I elbow it in the stomach. It releases me. I spin around and send the half-decayed thing flying into thin air along with two of his friends. Guess all those hours staring at pencils in The Building paid off.
“Come on,” Oliver says as he grabs my wrist and starts pulling me toward our unknown destination, dodging and weaving between both the zombies and the holes they’ve left in the ground. “Keep them away from us,” he says after releasing my wrist. We run closer toward the massive horde coming over the hill. Invisible hands knock any zombie within three feet of us away. With a sense of poetic justice, some fall back into their graves. We make it up the hill only to be greeted by more rotting corpses. This is getting ridiculous.
The ground suddenly disappears under me. I trip. My arms break the fall but this momentary misstep gives my pursuers the chance they need. I pull my foot out of a hole just as hands grab my shoulders. A mouth clamps down on my right shoulder with the grip of a pit bull. A wail escapes me before I push the creep away with my mind. You’d think after working in an elementary school I’d be used to being bitten, but each time it happens I’m shocked by the pain. Blood trickles down my back. Despite the pain, I get to my feet.
Mind Over Monsters Page 14
