by J. A. Saare
He pulled his boot away, so fast it was there one second and gone the next. His lighter was in his hand and he lit another smoke, seemingly amicable, his moods spinning on a dime. He breathed it in and let it out, watching me, blue eyes normal and sparkling.
“What do you want me to do?” I kept the tremor from my voice. I remembered he could smell my fear, but I’d be damned if I’d showed it visibly. I still had my pride.
“I want to take you to a few locations to see what you uncover. I also need to introduce you to someone who’s working for us. He’s a specialist in the field.”
Fabulous. A field trip.
Maybe I could see if we could swing by the zoo along the way to pet the zebras, gorillas, and shit. I bit my tongue, telling myself to stop the diarrhea mouth—even if it was only in my head.
Not that I had a choice or anything, but I asked, “Who do you want me to meet?”
Disco lowered his head and lifted his arm, motioning for something.
I narrowed my eyes and scowled.
I smelled ambush.
My slitted eyes located him coming over. Ambush indeed. I shook my head, ashamed for not seeing it before. I waited until he scooted in next to Disco before I said anything.
He looked the same, short dark hair brushed back, clean button down shirt crisp and tidy.
“Well, hello again, Mr. Grey Goose.”
“We didn’t formally meet.” He reached over the table to shake hands. “I’m Ethan McDaniel.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus, bless him. He had no idea who the hell he’d just gotten involved with. I didn’t extend my hand, glowering at him from my spot across the cheap ass table. I didn’t like to be deceived, and Mr. Goose had done just that. No wonder he was someone I’d never seen, he’d gone in to the BP to check me out. I hoped he enjoyed that little show between Fitch and me. It was a precursor of what could happen to him.
He looked confused. Pulling his hand away, he tucked it under the table. “Am I missing something?”
“She’s abnormally happy this evening and doesn’t know how to express it adequately,” Disco said. “But she’s agreed to help us with our little endeavor. Haven’t you, Rhiannon?”
“Fuck you,” I snapped in agitation.
It didn’t have the desired effect. Disco burst out laughing, and Mr. Goose looked incredibly uncomfortable. I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe he’d been suckered into this as well. I quickly smothered any sympathy. He had scoped me out, and that made him an accomplice.
“She’s totally green.” Disco grinned at me, talking to Mr. Goose. “She has no idea what to do or what to look for. She doesn’t even know anything about our kind.”
“Is that true?” Goose observed me with a peaked interest. “Do you even know what level of power you have?”
“Power? Are you joking? Don’t tell me you enjoy seeing road kill right before breakfast. One bad corpse can ruin your whole day.”
“That goes without saying,” Goose agreed, veering over to the table. “But you also have the power to communicate with them. Have you tried that? What about raising the dead? Some of us can do that as well. It’s an amazing talent, once fully understood and channeled.”
The way he said it… like we were part of a little club—Jesus. He was getting off on this shit. Scratch what I said about vampires being creepy. Ethan McDaniel was fucking creepy.
“We are alike, but I’m limited,” he continued. “I can’t see past the second threshold of death—most of us can’t. It takes the natural talent of necromancy. Mine has been developed through years of practice, research and dedication.”
Well, well, well. Tickle my Elmo ass silly. I was sitting across from a person who enjoyed talking to dead people, and if they wouldn’t talk, then by God, he’d just wake their corpses up instead. Next to him was a moody, chain-smoking vampire who just might be bipolar and smoked like a corncob pipe.
“Listen,” I sighed and reached for my plastic bottle. “I want to get this shit over and done. Can we strive to obtain that goal? I have a meaningless existence, and I can’t put that kind of action on hold indefinitely.”
“You should quit your job.” Goose studied me with his big brown eyes. “It’s having a perverse effect on you, being surrounded by all that negativity.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil, for that fine psychological assessment,” I snapped and motioned with my chin to Disco. “Why don’t you and Oprah here go take a long walk off a short plank and do the world a favor?”
His face flamed and he looked away. Bingo, mission accomplished. Disco could care less. He just stared at me, shaking his head. Cash had probably warned him about my mouth, which begged the next question.
“Where’s Cash anyway?”
Disco had a cigarette in his hand, moving so fast I didn’t see him pull it from the pack. He lit it and took a deep drag. I felt compelled to tell him second hand smoke kills, but he spoke before I could impart my health care advisory.
“Cash vanished the last night he came to see you.”
Okay, that wasn’t good. Cash, for all his flaws, had grown on me in that week he pestered me. “I liked Cash,” I said softly and Disco’s head snapped up.
He read the truth in my words, and his face changed, becoming almost sad. “Everyone liked Cash, which makes this all the more difficult to understand. We run in our own groups, and sometimes we don’t get along or see eye to eye, but there wasn’t one single person who wasn’t taken with him. No vampire would hurt Cash, but only a vampire, or something as powerful as one, could get close enough to him to cause any harm.”
“Then what could hurt him? What kind of things can kill a vampire?” I was concerned for Cash and beginning to worry for myself.
Disco’s eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a harsh line. “That’s what we’re going to find out, and once we do, we’ll take care of it. Everyone is rattled by these recent occurrences. Vampires are vanishing at a rate of one or two every other week, and it’s been ongoing for weeks.”
“And you.” I nodded at Goose. “What have you seen?”
“I’ve tried to see whatever is available, but I can’t see the twice deceased. Perhaps if I visited their place of death, I could. But as it stands, they don’t appear to me.” His voice betrayed his frustration, and his face mirrored the sentiment.
We were dealing with something powerful enough to overcome vampires. The knowledge freaked my ass out. Anything that could kill a vamp would rip me a new one.
I peered at Disco through my lashes.
He could rip me a new one, too. It was the lesser of two evils. While I didn’t trust Disco, I knew I had something he wanted. As long as I delivered, I could return to my blissfully peaceful and mundane life of bartending.
“Where do you want me to go and what do you want me to do?”
“You’ll visit the last locations they were seen, as well as the places they normally frequented. You saw Jacob at Shooter’s, so I know you can see them,” Disco said.
“Jacob?”
“The man you so kindly told to get away from the pocket at Shooter’s. You described him the night we spoke—twenties, long hair…” Disco watched me, allowing the words to soak in. I could see the undead-dead. Those who bit the permanent gravy train just like the rest of us saps.
“When do I start? I wanted to finish this yesterday.” I spoke while I still had my nerve. That steel backbone of mine had turned into a pliable swizzle stick.
“When are you available?”
“Depends.” I thought about it for a moment. “I’m on at the BP four nights a week, sometimes more. Day’s are better for me, but I know you shrivel and burn in the sun.”
His lips turned upward mockingly. “That’s why Ethan will be accompanying you. He’s a professional. Pay attention and you could learn a few things.”
“Goose is a professional, huh?”
“My name isn’t Goose,” Ethan corrected me. “And I have free time tomorrow.”
“Your name is Go
ose now, like it or not. And tomorrow is fine. I can meet you after I hit the gym.” That would work out nicely. I could get my burn on and then get this shit over and done with ASAP.
Goose ignored my ribbing, reached into his pocket, and produced a little metal box. He flipped the lid and produced a card, which he tossed on the table. “There’s my number. Call me when you’re ready.”
I spun the card on the table with my fingers.
Ethan McDaniel, Paranormal Investigator.
Wow. The guy actually made a living from this crap.
The atmosphere in the club charged, and I frowned, turning my head in the direction of the dance floor.
Good God.
During the course of our conversation, the ratio of alive to undead had changed. For every human in the joint, there were two vampires. Even Miami wasn’t this bad.
“What kind of club is this?” I asked suspiciously, the truth revealing itself like an unwelcome surprise.
“A club that caters to my kind. Didn’t you know?” The smug smile on Disco’s face pissed me off.
“She is green,” Goose said, sounding both shocked and slightly haughty.
“Sad, isn’t it?” Disco spoke to him but looked at me, “If she put half as much effort into honing her craft as she does into expanding her sailor’s vocabulary, she could have potential.”
I blew them off and stared at the blood guzzlers in the room. Each orifice of the dance floor was crammed as they romanced their dinners.
My eyes squinted in concentration as I peered into the dark nooks and crannies. Outlines of people lingered in the shadows, bodies melded together. I had a good idea of what was happening, green or not.
“Ugh!” I cringed and averted my eyes. How people ever functioned under the notion vampires were sexy was beyond my comprehension. You were making out with a corpse, formaldehyde not included.
Disco regarded me intently, as if offended by my reaction. Then his face became a blank slate—nothing there but an empty stare that bore me back into the seat.
“Do you hate us so much?”
“It’s not personal,” I explained. There was no reason to be an absolute bitch. “I just tend to steer clear of things that give me the creeps.”
“Don’t you mean things that frighten you?”
I didn’t bother trying to deny it. He would know if I was lying, and besides, it would explain my reaction. “That too.”
Chapter Five
Canal Street is one hell of a place to discover the real New York. It’s not bright lights, big city. It’s gritty, raw, and crowded. The buildings and streets are dirty. There is garbage scattered along the way, and the rats live lavishly through the waste.
I met up with Goose after my workout. It was early and the street was filling with vendors. The air had just lost the permeating smell of oriental foods, stale smoke and asphalt, but soon it would be back in force. As usual there were ghosts galore—having died from both natural and unnatural causes. So far I’d passed four men and two women, only one of which had died violently.
Since Goose was the professional, I decided to grill him with some choice questions, and once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. He appeared to enjoy my interest, answering readily, and I discovered several things.
Not all people will become spirits. Most of them just take off to that special place we all go when we die. However, for some, the tie to the mortal world is still strongly connected and they continue to exist. These poor souls usually venture along the same paths they took during their life, only veering off course if they sense a necromancer in the vicinity.
That’s where we came in.
Ghosts want to communicate. They want to get that final word out to a loved one, or seek vindication for their untimely death. Afterward, they’ll fade to the other side.
We discussed the ‘yuck’ factor, which essentially are the super gooey and bloody ghosts who made me skip all my daily meals. They are perfectly intact, their forms seemingly solid at first glance. The first time I saw one, I scared the shit out of everyone around me by screaming like a pansy and hauling ass in the opposite direction. Thank God, I was only fifteen at the time, and the witnesses to my humiliation reside in Miami.
“The fresher the death, the fresher the spirit,” Goose explained, smiling at my harrowing tale. “Most spirits begin to fade over time. The hazier they are, the older.”
“I remember a hellacious car accident when I was in high school. Two cars collided head on, and it killed everyone involved. The traffic was backed up for a mile solid. When I finally passed the wreckage, I could see all of them, standing around the police at the scene. If it weren’t for the blood, head traumas and broken bodies, I would have sworn they’d all survived.”
Goose nodded. “Very common. Sudden deaths, as you’ve described, leave the soul in flux. Most will pass over within a matter of hours, accepting their time here has passed.”
“But not all?”
“Not all, no. Some people have strong emotional ties to this world. The ghosts I’m generally retained to contact are those who refuse to cross over and leave behind their husband, wife, or children.”
“I haven’t seen a child yet,” I admitted with relief. “I don’t want to either.”
“Children are tough.” He scooted toward me to avoid a vendor’s booth. “I’ve only dealt with a handful of cases myself, and each of them involved…not so pleasant circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” I jumped aside as someone came barreling out of a door with a huge cardboard box.
“Abuse, murder, molestation. I only involve myself if the police are close to apprehending someone. The smallest of things can land a conviction. Children, above all others, deserve vindication.”
I absent mindedly touched my stomach, tracing my fingers along the line of my yoga pants, knowing all too well how children deserved their vengeance.
“Rhiannon?”
Goose’s voice snapped me out of it, and I let my hand drift to my side.
“Are you all right?” His face was full of concern, brows drawn together. “You went blank for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” I answered, relieved my voice was steady. “What are we doing here anyway?”
“We’re looking for Baxter Lomen. He vanished after Jacob. Disco said he wanted to buy a few trinkets for his”—he paused, searching for the right term—”female friends. Since this was his favorite place to shop, and we don’t know if he visited a jewelry store or an outside vendor, we’ll need to comb the area.”
“Why do you think he’d linger around China Town?”
“This was his little neck of the woods and his favorite place to be. He had a thing for Asian women, too, if that tells you anything. All ghosts return to their favorite places. It’s ingrained in their psyche.”
We rounded the corner in front of Beny’s Jewelry and I stopped. Goose kept walking, unaware that I saw something. A few steps ahead, and he whipped around, confusion changing to excitement. But I wasn’t paying attention to Goose, eyes drawn to someone else.
He stared at me just as I stared at him. His thick hair was dark, his skin barely transparent, and his eyes were the most amazing shade of green I had ever seen. He approached me, and unlike all the times before when I’d walk away, or turn in the other direction, I allowed him to.
“What do you see?” Goose asked anxiously.
“Gorgeous guy, in his thirties maybe, with dark hair and the most vivid green eyes.” My words were hoarse, my voice detached.
“Green eyes, that’s him!” Goose took my hand. The contact made me jump, but I didn’t break it. A strange undercurrent passed between us, a tiny vibration. He was silent a few seconds, then squeezed my fingers in a crushing grip. “My God, you can see them.”
I tore my gaze away from Baxter to stare at Goose. His eyes were wide in awe and wonderment.
“How do you see him now when you couldn’t before?”
“Your necromancy. You’re sharing it
with me through physical contact.”
My attention returned to Baxter. His long white sleeves were covered in blood, as was his chest, which had been opened wide. The shirt dangled in ripped shreds around his torn flesh. His sternum was cracked, several ribs broken or missing, and his heart was gone, leaving nothing behind but empty red casing.
I swallowed back the bile rising to my throat.
“They took the heart.” Goose sounded repulsed.
“Look at his wrists.” I cringed, fighting nausea. The skin was ragged and raw. I could see white flashes of bone. “He was bound somehow. What kind of object can hold a vampire?”
“Holy ones,” he answered, equally horrified. “Anything blessed, especially silver, can keep them restrained. Once it’s on, they’re powerless.”
Baxter’s arm extended. The ripped skin splayed out as his hand rose palm up into the air.
“Touch him,” Goose instructed, giving me a shove but keeping contact with my right hand.
“Are you fucking insane?” I yelled in disbelief, yanking my hand free and turning on him.
“My attempts to establish contact through other mediums haven’t worked, and I don’t have the ability to communicate with him through physical contact. But you do, so touch him!” Goose explained anxiously. “Hurry up!”
“Oh man,” I whined. This was not what I wanted to do today. His face might be gorgeous, but his body was minced. Baxter was waiting, palm raised. I did the spider dance, extending my hand but pulling it back before we made solid contact.
This shit was beyond disgusting.
I held my breath and went for it, fingers sliding past until our palms touched. My hand molded into his as if he were a solid object. The skin was smooth, fingers long. I looked into his face, and garbled images flashed in my head.
A dark room, the hard concrete floor stained with blood, silver chains and knives, arms bound, cutting skin, breaking bone, unbearable pain, and then nothing. The images shifted. A bedroom painted lilac, white lace curtains, twin beds. Scratchy music from the record player as it skipped over one section and drowned out the muffled begging coming from the next room that turned to tear filled cries…
