Dead Living (Spirit Caller Book 5)

by Krista D. Ball

  “How’s the book?” Jeremy asked casually, handing me the paper plate.

  “Really good,” I said. “This might be the best one yet.”

  “You say that every book.”

  “I actually mean it this time.”

  Jeremy sat down next to me. “You like this one better than the time Misty Monroe had a one-night stand with an angel and then the angel followed her around like a lost puppy because he couldn’t understand why she didn’t want him?”

  I sighed. “Okay, Rise of the Angel was really good.”

  “Or what about the time Misty shot the necromancer of Hell and forced him to summon zombie rats to infiltrate the Under Lord of Darkness’ sewer lair?”

  “All right, all right. I like all of the books,” I grumped. “Look, I love these books, okay? Besides, you like Star Trek books.”

  “Nothing wrong with Star Trek.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with my Misty Monroe books.”

  “I’m just teasing you. Eat.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Eat, woman!”

  I punched him in his very muscular bicep and set my tablet aside. I tucked into my supper. I never ate so good in my life, and that includes growing up. Mom and Dad took turns cooking, but they’d cook whenever they were off work, so there were mostly leftovers. Delicious leftovers, true, but it was a lot of stews and casseroles. Easy for them to make and stick in the fridge for when I got off school.

  Jeremy was like some kind of cooking demon. Maybe his supernatural power was cooking. I wonder what Misty Monroe would say about that. She’d probably tell me to elope right away in case he changed his mind about me.

  I tucked into the beans and moaned in delight. “These are delicious! I don’t know how you do it. All you have is a hot plate and a pot.”

  “It’s a gift,” he said through a mouthful of steak.

  The sun was low in the grey sky. At least it wasn’t raining quite as hard as earlier, but we were still stuck indoors. We discussed which board game we wanted to play, and decided to go with the alien invasion one, since it was us against the game. Those are always fun because it was nice not to lose to Jeremy on occasion.

  It’s not that I’m incompetent or anything, but he’s been playing these kinds of games since he was a kid. He had siblings to compete against, whereas my parents only broke out the Scrabble board on special occasions.

  “What’s that noise?” Jeremy asked. He set his plate down on the floor and walked over to the window.

  “It’s probably the wind,” I said absently, reading the rules of the game. “I don’t even remember how to play this game.”

  “I don’t see anyone out here,” Jeremy said.

  “Jeremy! We’re in the middle of nowhere. Of course there’s no one outside. Now come back here and…ARGH!”

  My heart thudded in my chest as I stared at the grey-hued creature looking in at us through the small window. His clothes was full of holes and soaking wet. What was left of his dark hair was plastered against his skin. My food churned in my stomach.

  “What is that?” Jeremy demanded.

  I sighed and wrapped my blanket tighter. I made a shooing gesture. “Scoot!”

  Jeremy glared at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sending it away.” I made more gestures. “Shoo! Be gone!”

  “Um, Rach?”

  I looked over my shoulder at Jeremy. I clenched my jaw as I stared at shambling, grey-faced creatures approaching the cabin. Oh, come on. I’m on my engagement-moon, I’m on my period, and I’m in my underwear!

  “Give me a break,” I complained.

  “Why are there zombies outside of our cabin?”

  “They aren’t zombies,” I snapped. “Be gone back to wherever you come from. Shoo! I’m busy.”

  In response, they began pounding on the windows. More approached the cabin and I clutched my blanket tighter. My hands trembled against their will. This was like the night Jeremy was shot all over again. I glanced at him and he was whiter than the blanket wrapped around me. He was looking to me for help. Drunken teenagers breaking into someone’s store was his thing. This was mine. I’ve done this before. I could do it again.

  Of course, they weren’t grey and waterlogged before, and had the demeanor of…

  Don’t say it, Rachel. Don’t say it.

  “Zombies are real,” Jeremy said in terrified awe.

  “They aren’t zombies. Be quiet, I need to think.”

  While Jeremy stared awestruck at the ghostly grey dudes pounding on the glass windows, I considered the situation like a calm and rational person. Dema hadn’t appeared in days, and she was normally always here to protect me. What was I to do without her guiding me? I was decades away from truly grasping my powers, if you want to call them that. I could take on a lost young spirit or the little girl who haunted the grocery store. I couldn’t take on something like this by myself.

  The window frames began to creak. They were going to break the windows soon. Then what? What would happen if manifested spirits swarmed me? Would they rip apart my body or my soul? Or both?

  Jeremy gripped a kitchen knife in one hand and a frying pan in the other, a stern expression on his face. He would have looked murderous, if not for the grey boxer briefs he was wearing. He took up a fighting stance, preparing himself for a rush of other beings.

  So I asked myself: what would Misty Monroe do?

  I dropped my blanket and the damp air made the hairs on my neck prickle. I grabbed a plastic cutting board as a shield and a stainless steel meat mallet as a mace.

  “Why did you bring a meat mallet?”

  “I’m going to make chicken later.”

  “But a meat mallet?”

  “Stop yer bitchin’, woman!” he said, though he did flash me a little grin to let me know he wasn’t angry. We turned to face opposite windows, not quite back-to-back, but close.

  “What are we going to do if the zombies get inside?”

  “Shut up, Jeremy.”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “Shut up!”

  “Fine. Whatever. Let’s not talk about the horde of zombies…”

  “They are not zombies!”

  “That is a horde of zombies trying to get in here. I need you to tell me how to deal with them.”

  “I can’t think how to get us out of this if you keep talking about zombies that aren’t even real!”

  So there we were, in our underwear, enjoying our mini getaway at a romantic lighthouse suite off the coast on this tiny, unpopulated island. Arguing over if zombies were real, all the while these manifested spirits pounded against the glass windows of the lighthouse.

  Note that I called them manifested spirits. That’s because zombies aren’t real. I’ve said this a million times, and will probably say it a million more.

  Zombies are not real. Repeat it after me. Zombies. Are. Not. Real.

  Jeremy muttered something about zombies being real. I wanted to whack him with the cutting board. I had no time to argue about the metaphysics or whatever of zombies. If I didn’t figure out how to get us out of this mess, we were about to become bloody smears on this very nice rug. The stains would never come out, and that would be a shame. Also, the entire being dead thing sounded bad.

  We were completely alone. We were weaponless. I was without Dema. Jeremy was more concerned with getting to me admit I was wrong than actually helping me. And, by helping, I do mean shutting his mouth to let me think.

  When did my life turn into a low budget zombie film? Now I’m calling them zombies. Dammit!

  Chapter 9

  Old Friends, New Friends, Undead Friends. It’s a Party.

  Let’s recap. I’m in my underwear, on my period, enjoying my romantic island getaway, surrounded by manifestations of spirits which my fiancé insisted calling zombies. Even though we all know zombies aren’t real.

  The definitely-not-zombies pounded on the windows with their spotted, greyi
sh flesh. At least they weren’t super gross, with bits of flesh everywhere. That would have been awful.

  “Do you see a boat? Down there. It looks like a boat.”

  “Oh, come on!” Jeremy complained. “Who is out in this weather?”

  “Probably whoever is making this happen.” I waved at the definitely-not-zombies.

  “You mean the zombies.”

  “Would you give it a rest?” I snapped. “I’m trying to think here and I can’t with you going on and on about the zombies. Just shut up.”

  “Did you just tell me to shut up? There’s a fucktonne of zombies surrounding the cabin, Rach, and you’re telling me to shut up?”

  “For the love of…Jeremy, zombies aren’t real.”

  He pointed out the window. “They look damn real to me!”

  I used my meat tenderizer as a pointer. “For the billionth time, there are no such thing as zombies. Look at them. Real zombies moan for brains and then eat you. They are ghosts. Spirits. Other. Whatever you want to call them, that’s what they are. They are not zombies.”

  “They’re totally zombies,” Jeremy muttered under his breath.

  “They totally aren’t,” I sneered.

  “Totally are.”

  “Oh my god, it’s like talking to a twelve-year-old!”

  “At least I’m right.”

  It is a statement to my maturity that I let him win because, if we continued, we were going to bicker the spirits back into their graves.

  The faint view of bright yellow against the white swells faded away and I wondered if we’d just been imagining it. We were close to the little wharf, but with the waves, rain, and wind, my overactive imagination might have also been conjuring more trouble than there was.

  The manifestations of…okay, fine, the damn zombies stopped pounding on the windows and stared blankly at me. Specifically, at me. Eeep!

  “Why are they staring at you?”

  “I have no idea.” I frowned.

  “Are they waiting for you to go out and greet them?”

  I shook my head. These spirits weren’t behaving any way I’d seen before. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

  “I thought you were the expert.”

  “I thought I used to like you,” I said bitterly.

  Jeremy snorted. “Rach, I love you, but damn, a lot of weird shit happens around you.”

  I made a disgusted sound. I opened the window an inch and asked, “Why are you here?”

  “You called us,” the zombies whispered.

  See, this is how I knew they weren’t real zombies. Zombies don’t whisper. Everyone knows that.

  “See? The zombies are talking. That’s what zombies do,” Jeremy said in hushed tones behind me.

  Bloody hell. With as much authority as I could, I said, “Spirits, go back to your rest. Be gone.”

  Nada.

  “Leave.”

  Nope.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “You called to us,” the zombies said again. I gritted my teeth at my internal voice taking Jeremy’s side.

  “Well, I uncall you. Go away!” I shouted. “Do as I command.”

  “You called us.”

  “Just go away already.”

  I let out a frustrated sound. Normally, spirits listened to me when I banished them. Even the ones possessing and influencing Manny the night Jeremy was shot listened eventually. And how exactly was I calling them? I made the little ward around Mrs. Saunders’ plants, but if I’d screwed those up, I would have attached them all to Amy’s house, not to me.

  And where the hell was Dema?

  I saw more figures bobbing into sight along the path from the wharf. One was wearing a bright yellow raincoat, typical for the fishermen around these parts. Well, at least those spirits were polite enough to stay on the path. I leaned forward. Was that…Manny?

  Jeremy noticed my squinting over the heads of my annoying stalker squad and asked, “Is that Javier?”

  “Rachel! Jeremy!” a faint masculine voice called out as the figures rushed to the cottage. “Stay inside! Don’t open the door!”

  “Is that Connie? Ugh, this stupid zombie won’t move. I can’t see over him,” Jeremy complained. “Tall son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

  If hell really does exist, this would be it. Surrounded by dead things that were too tall to see over. While in my underwear. I put my various weapons down and picked up my blanket in an attempt to clothe myself.

  That’s when the memories hit me. Words flooded into my mind of travels I’d never taken. Soft calm filtered through my soul and a smile formed on my face. My worries about Mrs. Saunders’s health vanished, replaced with the quiet reassurance that I was supporting her in what might be the final major decision of her life.

  My worries for Jeremy’s health were replaced with the sweetness of remembering how much he’d improved. And, an anxiety I’d never truly formed into words drifted away as I felt the comfort of knowing Jeremy loved me for me and not out of obligation because I’d cared for him.

  The wedding would all be fine. The money would work itself out. My plans would be fine. My art would work out. Everything was going to be fine.

  Why was I even worrying?

  “Spirits! Depart to your rest or be destroyed.”

  I blinked my eyes and stared about me. Javier was standing behind the manifested spirits, who’d all turned their attention to him. His ball cap was drenched and water dripped off the brim. There was no smile on his face, no look of recognition. It was all professional calm.

  He held the spirit sword that only I could see and said, “I will destroy you forever. Go.”

  And all the while, his voice of calm continued its litany in the back of my mind.

  Dema appeared next to Javier. Her eyes glowed red and a seething hatred creased her young features. She whirled on the spirits surrounding the cabin before her eyes landed on Javier. “You! Do something!”

  “I don’t want to destroy them if I don’t need to,” Javier said steadily. “They’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Kill them before they kill the Spirit Caller!” Dema demanded.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Do not speak,” Dema commanded.

  “I bloody well will speak,” I said.

  They ignored me. The spirits ignored them, because they turned their attention back to me.

  I looked at the gathering. Javier and Dema stood side-by-side with rage in her eyes and resigned determination in his. Off to the side were Manny and Connie holding hands. Next to them was a woman I’d never seen before. No, wait. I knew her. What was Isabella doing here?

  “Why are you all here?”

  “Hush,” Isabella said.

  Dema appeared inside the cabin. “Why are you not dressed for the weather?”

  I sighed and realized I’d dropped my blanket in all of the excitement of Javier’s sword. I grabbed it from the floor and held it up against me. “For the millionth time, what are you doing here?”

  “You are in danger,” Dema said.

  If I wasn’t so annoyed, I would have said something about her saying it in Whoopi Goldberg’s voice. Instead, I said, “Yes, I’m surrounded by the undead zombie squad.”

  “These zombies were summoned by Whisperers,” Javier shouted so that I could hear him.

  “Ha! See? Even Javier says they’re zombies!” Jeremy said triumphantly. “Hey, Javier. Good to see you.”

  Javier tipped his chin at Jeremy. “You’re looking good, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy, of course, was in his boxer briefs. Jeremy, however, didn’t feel the total humiliation of being in his underwear. Cultural expectations are a bitch and a half.

  “Get. Rid. Of. Them. Now,” Dema ordered.

  Javier frowned and cut through the first figure. The zombies roared in unison and rushed Javier, overwhelming him. He shouted in rage and his spirit sword pierced through their manifested bodies. The sword hummed with each new soul added to its vast reservoir.
>
  “Jeremy! Keep Rachel safe!” Isabella shouted. She reached behind her shoulder and a glowing sword appeared in her hand. She carved a path to Javier.

  Jeremy grabbed me by the waist and pulled me tight against his body, kitchen knife still in hand.

  I watched in sick fascination as Manny grunted and growled, punching the ethereal zombies. His fists would sink through their forms and they faded away. Connie muttered under her breath, sweat poured down her face, and she ripped the, well, soul out of the spirits. Assuming spirits had souls, I suppose.

  I shouted at the spirits. “Be gone!” Still nothing happened.

  I could feel slippery thoughts entering my mind, fighting for space alongside Javier’s calm litany of comfort. I couldn’t do anything about it. I tried other phrases and things that had worked before, but nothing.

  “Why can’t I banish them?” I shouted through my opened window.

  “Powerful summoning. Requires a banisher,” Connie shouted back, thrusting two hands into two different spirits who’d turned their attention to the cabin.

  “Like those old Viking ghosts,” Javier shouted.

  An agonized, heart-wrenching sound escaped Jeremy. I snapped around to look at him, just as he screamed, “Get out of my head!”

  “What’s wrong? Jeremy, what’s wrong?”

  He continued to scream, falling to his knees and dragging me down with him. “I’m not listening! Do you hear me? I’m not listening!”

  “What? What is the matter?” I shook him. “Jeremy, speak to me!”

  “They…the voices…I’m not listening!” Anger like I’d never heard in him before rose up in his voice and he shouted, “I’m not afraid, you bastards. Do you hear me? I’m not afraid of you!”

  The tension in the air snapped. An energy that made the hairs on my arms stand up washed over me and, just like that, the spirits faded away. Gone nearly as quickly as they’d arrived.

  I brushed a hand across Jeremy’s tear-streaked face. “Are you all right?”

  Sweat beaded along his hairline. He was trembling, but he gave me a shaky smile. “They tried to get into my head and mess me up. But I’m not afraid of their bullshit.”