by Gina Ardito
The worm of doubt wriggled into her brain. Had the Board finally granted her wish to go solo? Excitement sparkled inside her. Better to be on her own altogether than to continue under Luc’s icy tutelage.
With the data safely stored in her memory bank, she closed her eyes. Once her body filtered into particles of light, she aimed for the solitary keep of Rushing Waters Lighthouse. After all this time, she’d grown so accustomed to the transformation, she barely had to think about it. By now, the mere process of visualization sufficed to transport her to her destination.
When she opened her eyes, salty rain stung her face with the prick of a million needles.
Brrrr! Cold, too. Time to slip inside the lighthouse, away from the elements.
Spinning wildly, she studied the brick tower, looking for a chink in the mortar. Nothing. A solidly built structure. She soared up toward the dome.
Yes! A crack in the window pane. Not perfect, but any old port in a storm. And this was one hell of a storm. She managed to squeeze through the slim aperture an instant before the thunder rumbled.
Inside the old tower, musty air cloaked the service room. Thick cobwebs and thicker memories stuck to the rough-surfaced walls. The rainfall intensified, slapping the glass panes surrounding the brilliant Fresnel lens in an almost deafening kettle drum beat.
Though Jodie saw no one in the service room with her, illumination sparked, refracting white light off the plastic ridges and diffusing beams over the miles of pitching gray ocean.
“Amanda?” Jodie called.
No answer.
“Mrs. Kroger?” she tried.
Still no answer.
A low hum rippled the air behind her, but before she could turn, a crushing blow sent her reeling into the glass wall. White hot stars sprayed inside her. All her energy scattered like marbles dropped from a sack. Her vision dimmed, and then went black. Alarm bells screamed in her brain.
Don’t lose your focus. Keep your composure. Something’s wrong with this scenario. You’re going to need all your wits to piece this puzzle together.
The pep talk strengthened her resolve, and her energy returned in slow increments. After she blinked several times, the edges of her sight grayed. Gray sharpened to lines of color. Lines became images. And then at last, full awareness returned. Not a moment too soon. From behind the massive lens, an unholy roar erupted. A screaming black cloud sped toward Jodie. Ravens, hundreds of them, descended from the rafters. The flapping of their wings beat a battle cry. Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!
Jodie turned her gaze skyward where the rainwater, cascading in sheets down the panes of glass, turned blood red.
Chapter 13
Thwap! Hisssss! Thwap! Hisssss!
In the basement of the Halfway House, Luc watched the spinning green orb speed toward him. Focusing all his concentration on the velocity and arc of the missile, he waited until the perfect moment, and then…
Thwap! He sent the orb bouncing off the far wall and toward his opponent. Hisssss!
Sean Martino’s searing blue eyes never strayed from the trajectory of the spinning orb, and seconds later, he relayed it back toward Luc.
A while ago, he and Sean had discovered these four empty walls while commiserating over their shared frustration with the ennui of the Afterlife. Sean, angry at the results of a particularly nasty hunt, had fired up an orb and hurled it toward the wall as a means of disposing some excess rage. The orb had bounced off the wall and careened toward Luc, who quickly slapped the spinning ball of light with his own pent-up disgust. Thus, a makeshift racquetball game—and fast friendship—was born.
Once again, today’s orb sizzled a trail toward Luc. He readied enough focus to send it screaming toward the wall.
As the fiery ball neared, Martino chimed in with, “How’s your trainee working out?”
Luc’s gaze swerved to his opponent. With his energies directed elsewhere, the orb flew past him, fell to the cement floor, sparked once and died. “Goddamn it!”
The younger man arched a brow, leonine smile flashing white in his ruddy face. “That good, huh?”
Luc stared at the burn mark on the ground. “Shit. You’re so desperate to win, you’d cheat?”
“Since when is casual conversation cheating?”
“Since you brought my trainee into the discussion.”
Raucous laughter erupted, and Martino doubled over, one finger extended in Luc’s direction. “Wow. She’s really got you going, eh?”
“No.”
Martino straightened, keeping his arms folded over his chest. “Gimme a break, Luc. You’re gonna try to bullshit one of New York’s Finest?”
“You’re not one of New York’s Finest anymore.”
True enough. Detective Sean Martino had put his service revolver in his mouth two days after accidentally killing an unarmed suspect in a seedy alley in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Despite his superior’s assurances he’d be cleared of any wrongdoing—the man Sean shot had waved a toy gun that looked suspiciously real in the dark—Martino couldn’t live with the guilt of knowing he’d killed an innocent man he’d sworn to serve and protect.
Looking at him now, though, with that smug grin splitting his lips, no one would know the torment the detective had suffered after that single incident.
“Once a cop, always a cop,” He tapped an index finger against his temple. “I’ve still got the instincts, you know.”
“Save those instincts for bounty hunting. You’re wasting your talent on someone as shallow as me.” He amassed another orb, floated it between them in an enticing dance. “You wanna go another round?”
A quick head jerk toward the wall. “Go for it.”
Luc sent the new orb, purple this time, sailing in a line drive to the far corner.
Martino returned it easily. Thwap! “Is she pretty?”
Hisssss!
“Who?”
“Your new trainee. What’s-her-name.”
Thwap! “Jodie. Jodie Devlin.”
Hisssss!
“So is Jodie, Jodie Devlin, pretty?”
Luc dared a glance at Martino, but the cop’s expression stayed blank. Cocky bastard. “Isn’t every resident of the Afterlife pretty?”
“Yes and no.” Thwap! “There’s pretty…” Hisssss! “…And then there’s pretty. Which one’s your girl?”
Luc wanted to roll his eyes but he sensed that was exactly why Martino steered the conversation in this convoluted direction. Keeping his focus trained on their makeshift ball, he growled, “She’s not my girl.”
“Shit.” Martino’s voice remained calm, matter-of-fact, detective-in-questioning-mode to the max. “She must be something else to get you so riled up. What is she? Like, runway model material or something?”
“No.” Thwap! Hisssss! “As a matter of fact, she’s scarred, stubborn, and a major pain in the ass.”
“Scarred?” He paused, allowing the orb to fall to the ground, where it created an identical burn mark to the previous smudge on the concrete. “What do you mean scarred? You mean she’s got mental problems or something? Hell, we all do—”
“No, you idiot. She’s got physical scars.” He ran one fingertip over the back of his hand. “Pink striations all over her hands and feet. Like scar tissue. Looks like someone used her as a human torch.”
Martino swiped the air. “Get outta here.”
“I’m serious.”
“Does she know she can erase those scars?”
Lips twisted in a grimace, Luc cocked his head. “Got her back all up when I suggested she get rid of them.”
“So they must have some meaning for her. Hmmm…” The former detective scrubbed his temple as if awakening his investigative skills. “Do the scars have to do with how she wound up here?”
“Not that I know of. She’s a dumb suicide like—” He stopped. But judging by the way Martino’s eyes darkened, he cut the words off a little too late.
“Like me?”
A flush of heat crept up Luc’s throat.
In an attempt to draw attention away from his obvious embarrassment, he rubbed his hands across the words on his t-shirt: I love poetry, long walks on the beach, and poking dead things with a stick.
“You can say it, Luc.” Martino kicked his toe along the scorched cement. “I’m not gonna react like a whipped puppy. I fucked up my life and I know it. I think that’s why the Board presses suicides into service.”
Luc arched a brow. “Did you recently go into deep therapy with your Elder or something?”
“Scoff all you want, but I’m serious. Oh, I know Sherman spouts crap about our reservations not being ready, but I think the Board wants us to realize what we threw away. Me? I’ve made peace with myself.”
Winded from the exertion as well as the conversation, Luc pulled up an old wooden crate and sat. “Yeah? How’s that?”
Martino sank down beside him. “When I was on the force, I’d always considered myself above the people I served—stronger, wiser, you know? But the first real hardship I was forced to face, I took the coward’s way out rather than challenge my demons head-on.”
“So?”
“So, by spending time with all these other spirits, I’ve gained perspective.” He cupped his hands between his knees. “Hell, how many horror stories have you heard in your duties here? There’s hell on Earth, and then there’s hell in death. Given the choice, I’d opt for the Earth one every time. At least, there’s hope for a better day tomorrow. But in death, you’ve got nothing but your pain. If those souls can survive their hardships in death and release their hold when called to do so, I know I can stand tall against my own failures. Next time I’m challenged, I’ll take a different path. And when the Board calls me to move on to my next life, I’ll be ready. Smarter and braver than this last time around.”
Gaze locked on the stupid words on his shirt, Luc mumbled, “That works great for you, Sean. But I’m not a suicide, remember?”
“No. But I’ll bet there are lessons in the souls you seek, too.”
“Like what?”
Martino shrugged. “Beats me. Each person has to find his own solutions. But I’m guessing your trainee is part of your lesson plan.”
“I think your instincts are rusting, pal. Do you honestly believe the Board has nothing better to do but test me? As in, ‘Let’s see how many times she can screw things up for Luc before he loses his mind’?”
“Why is she a screw-up? From what you told me, she bagged two bounties back to back.” Martino twisted his lips into a thoughtful pucker. “That hardly sounds like screw-up material to me.”
“She’s too damn soft for bounty-hunting. You should have seen her with that kid.” Luc forced his voice up two octaves. “Play with him. Play with him.” An impatient snort escaped his nostrils. “And I told you how she fucked up my capture of Finch.”
“I think you’re overreacting.” Martino wagged his index finger. “Could it be that Jodie, Jodie Devlin is here to teach you something in exchange for your training her?”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Martino shrugged. “I don’t know. I just find the scenario odd. Of all the women who come and go through this place, why was this one chosen to work with you? Not Samantha, not that sassy little redhead who works behind the welcome desk. But scarred, soft Jodie, Jodie Devlin was assigned by the Board to be your girl. Makes me think they’ve got a powerful reason.”
“She’s not my girl.” Anger flared, blazing heat over his throat and cheeks.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Don’t bullshit me, Luc.” He tapped his temple. “Instincts, remember?”
Luc snorted. “Rusting, remember?”
“Wanna bet?”
No. Hell no. And he didn’t want to continue this discussion anymore. Jodie Devlin took up too much of his time on hunts. He didn’t need her intrusion in his downtime too.
“Forget it. You won’t listen.” With a last wave of his hand, Martino rose and turned away. “Forget I said anything.”
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeet! A shrieking alarm sounded inside Luc’s head, and he fell to his knees. Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? The hunger, the gunshot wounds, the electro-shock he’d experienced while fetching that kid from the asylum. All bizarre events he’d never felt here before now. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he suffered from some Afterlife brain fever. Now, this siren in his head? What the hell? Christ, he had to get a grip. But the alarm screamed in his skull until the searing pain brought tears to his eyes.
Helpless, he reached a hand toward Martino, but then pulled back. His friend was sinking to the ground, hands over his ears. Relief poured through Luc, even while he covered his own ears. Yet, the siren continued to wail inside his head.
“Christ!” he shouted over the din. “What the hell is that?”
“Dunno.” Martino crouched beside him, head ducked inside his folded arms. “Sounds like some kind of air raid siren.”
Luc scanned the room for the source of the ear-splitting noise. A haze, fierce as a raging forest fire, blazed a circle around them. Meanwhile, an army of red-coated characters marched up the walls in double-time.
The clipboards! He and Martino had dropped their communication devices on the floor near the door while they played their game. But now, the boards glowed angrily, neon claws scraping the room like nails on a chalkboard. And not in the normal happy purple hue, but in blazing red-alert red.
Crawling forward against the painful noise reverberating in his head, Luc fumbled for the two boards. After tossing Sean’s to him, he picked up his own and slapped his palm across the frantic characters. Urgent words coursed through him.
“This is a high alert. Bounty hunter in severe distress. All available spirits are required at Rushing Waters Lighthouse, coordinates one-thirty east, three-ninety-five north. Proceed with caution. Amanda Kroger, aka The Lighthouse Widow, murdered her abusive husband and anchored his body in the sea in 1915. When her crime was discovered, she was imprisoned, tried, and executed. She has now turned her rage onto one of our own. Repeat. This is a high alert. Bounty hunter in severe distress…”
Beside him, Martino sucked in a breath. “Shit. A Fury. A bad one, if they’re hooking all of us into it. Think the poor schmuck who originally pulled this detail is still whole?”
An excellent question. Like Luc had tried to explain to Jodie, Furies could be…
Oh, shit.
A chill crept into his bones, freezing him to the floor. Some inner sense screamed the identity of the poor schmuck who originally pulled this detail. “Jodie!”
Chapter 14
She rocketed toward Jodie on black thorny wings, hands curled into claws with nails sharp enough to cut a diamond. Sheets of flame encased her ebony mourning gown, yet never singed a thread. Beneath a frilly white lace cap and steel wool hair, her pale face was a contorted mask of rage. Garnet eyes blazed with hellfire.
Amanda Kroger, aka the Lighthouse Widow. A Fury.
Bloodless lips opened in a puckered suture line. “By what business do you dare to disturb my solitude?” Her voice, raspy as sand, scraped Jodie’s hackles.
Still, Jodie gathered enough energy to shout back, “By the order of the Board. I’ve been sent to take you back with me to the Welcome Level of the Afterlife. A new life awaits you there.”
“To hell with your new life!” On a blur of violent hues, the widow’s talons slashed Jodie’s face.
Her atoms split like fabric tearing along a seam. The universe diffused, casting her into a spiral vortex of dust and debris. Funny…who knew dead people could still suffer pain? But agony radiated through Jodie’s cells, and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Centipedes of color began a frenetic dance across her consciousness: white-hot sparks turned yellow, collided with red, bounced off orange, and wavered over pulsing blue lines. The sparks blinded her, their flashes of neon intensifying each needle-like stab in her vision.
The widow expelled enough hatred to feed a global war for centuries. Instead, though, she focused all that
negative energy toward harming Jodie. Chaos ruled, and she spun like fruit in a blender, colliding with the walls, the glass, the iron rail, even the burning lens. Each impact brought a new series of shocks to jolt her, as if she wrestled an electric eel. Slam! Zap! Slam! Zap!
Maniacal laughter rang in her ears while the Fury continued to toy with her. With no fight left and her energy completely depleted, she sagged like a sodden rag doll. Apparently, Amanda Kroger grew bored with a spirit who didn’t fight back. She slowed Jodie’s dizzying speed to a more reasonable rotation until equilibrium returned. Slowly, Jodie sank to the floor and stayed still.
Too dazed to move, she lay scattered across the cold concrete. Searing heat blistered the paint beneath her hands, and then crackled over the walls of the service room. Struggling to pull herself together—literally as well as figuratively—she recalled Luc’s comments regarding Furies. Trying to convince a Fury to release his hold on Earth and return to the Afterlife often results in violence and destruction. These spirits are so full of hate they’ll wreak havoc rather than move on.
Yeah, well, she could certainly attest to that. In hindsight, announcing her intention like a dorm mother during a panty raid was probably not the wisest way to handle a Fury.
A high-pitched shriek drew her attention a heartbeat before the glass walls overhead burst. Running on instinct, Jodie covered her head with folded arms. Shattered slivers rained down. A thousand knives sliced her elbows, neck and back, severing her newly gathered focus into pieces yet again.
In her mind, Jodie catapulted back to that day in El Salvador. Her parents’ bodies jerked and danced in the front seat. Blood popped everywhere, splattering her hands, her cheeks, her bare legs. Screams and pungent smoke filled the air. The sharp taste of gunpowder pierced her tongue. Fear filled her throat, clogged the scream struggling to escape. And then, the hiss of the gas lines…
