by Unknown
“I like the people.” She flung her arms wide. “Heaven couldn’t possibly have a better party than what’s right here.”
“So, you haven’t crossed over because you like to party, not because of unfinished business?”
“The only unfinished business I had was a night of passion with a couple of the band members from the Rolling Stones. Got interrupted by the police for noise complaints.” A wicked smile quirked up the corners of her mouth. “Doesn’t matter, they’ll all be dead eventually, and maybe we’ll finish what we started.”
“Thanks for the visual,” I said against the urge to gag. “Okay then, I guess you have a performance to prep for.” More than likely she didn’t have any more information that would help us with Parker, and I was getting antsy about finding Nate. “So, I’ll leave you to it.”
“You won’t be sorry.” Her image faded. “This is going to be a night to remember.”
I had no doubt of that. When she’d completely disappeared, I pivoted and started down the hall. My mind sifted through everything each ghost had told me. The nagging feeling in my gut prodded me again. Something about Samuel Parker didn’t add up. If he truly had been a serial killer, why would he have murdered Evelyn Git? She’d said he’d been thrilled about the theater reopening. Even if the reason he’d been happy was the new supply of blondes he’d have to murder, it didn’t make sense for him to kill the one person who could make that happen for him.
Giving myself a mental shake, I pushed aside my doubts. No matter, what we had to reap him—and any other spirit we could get our hands on.
6
T he torch light to my left flickered as I passed, and my step slowed. I’d been so caught up with my thoughts, I hadn’t given much thought to being alone in the theater again. Chills skittered up my spine and along my arms. With the increased paranormal activity tonight, there was no guarantee Parker wasn’t already stalking me.
Having thoroughly freaked myself out with that thought, I unhooked the black cylinder from my waist and twisted the ornately carved ring. The whisper of the handle elongating hissed, and the smoky blade of the scythe formed at the tip. I won’t lie, the thing was so awesome that I sometimes played with it at home after the kids left for school. Hal had given me the scythe after my adventure in Las Vegas. There were less than a hundred in existence, and my sweet baby was the first—Death’s original scythe. So stinkin’ cool.
Feeling more confident now that I had the ultimate weapon of death at the ready, I advanced quickly down the hall. Brilliant lights illuminated the stage but it was empty. “Nate?” My whispered call reverberated back to me, and then silence. “Nate?”
Still nothing.
Crap.
My heartbeat quickened, the need to find him pressing me forward. Taking the stairs to the left, I climbed down to the house floor and stopped, letting my eyes adjust to the dark interior beyond the lights.
“Ticket?”
“Ahhh!” I gasped and spun toward the deep drawl behind me, my scythe at the ready. The spirit of an old man hovered an inch inside my personal bubble, his white gloved hand extending even farther into my comfort zone. I took an exaggerated step backward. “Excuse me?”
“Ticket?” When he spoke, his jowls wobbled. His half-closed eyes made it tough to determine if he stared at my face or my knees. “May I have your ticket, please?”
“I…uhhh…” Holding my scythe with one hand, I patted my pants pocket with the other. “I seemed to have misplaced it.”
“Misplaced it?” said someone from behind me.
“Holy crap.” I pivoted again and faced a small, much younger man, maybe in his forties. The way his head shook from side to side, his nose pointing in the air as if smelling my breath, reminded me of a ferret. “You guys just keep popping up, don’t you?”
“Sorry.” His clipped apology didn’t sound convincing. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his vest and pursed his lips at me. “Ma’am, did I hear you say you don’t have a ticket?”
“Yeah, I must have misplaced it.” Movement across the theater caught my attention. Yet another gossamer ghost dressed in the same black suit and white gloves floated up the aisle. Maybe it was a Halloween thing, but the paranormal activity in the theater seemed to be ramping up even faster than I’d originally thought. “Actually, I’m here with a friend. Tall guy, brownish-blond hair, amazing blue eyes. You haven’t seen him by chance, have you?”
“No, ma’am, I have not. You’re the only corporeal I’ve come across.” He said corporeal as if it was a dirty word. Continuing to block my path, he scowled at me. “I have to ask you to vacate the theater if you don’t have a ticket.”
“How about I buy a ticket?” That seemed the quickest solution to the problem.
“Can’t,” he countered. “The show is sold out.”
“How can that be?”
“It’s Halloween night. Only performance of the year.” He stepped back and indicated that I should leave. “I’ll escort you out.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I find my partner.” I lowered my scythe and held it horizontally in front of me. His eyes darted to the weapon, but other than that, he didn’t flinch. “Do you know who I am?”
“I couldn’t care less, ma’am. The only thing that matters is whether you have a ticket or not.”
The guy really took his job seriously. OCD much? “How about we make a deal.” I planted the handle of my scythe next to his foot and straightened my spine, trying to look as imposing as possible. “You forget my partner and I don’t have tickets, and I won’t send your soul to the bowels of Hell.”
His lips pinched so tight I thought his jaw might crack. The loud inhalation through his nose left no doubt that he wasn’t thrilled about the choice I’d given him. For a couple of seconds, he didn’t say anything, and I got a little nervous that I might actually have to reap this joker. Then I’d have to have Hal take him for a trip around the circles of Hell before depositing him where he belonged—just to prove my point.
“Fine.” His nostrils flared a couple of times and his mouth only relaxed a fraction. “I’ll add you to the roster.” With that, he turned and marched up the aisle.
“You do that,” I called after him. Some people—give them a little authority and they think they run the world. I glared at his back and mumbled, “And I’ll tell Hell to keep your seat warm.”
Having secured our theater passes, I scanned the house floor again. Another usher spirit drifted along the balcony level, and a couple of ghosts had claimed their seats for the upcoming performance, but still no Nate. Maybe arriving spirits had waylaid him, too.
I made my way into the outer lobby, but it was empty. Something seemed different. The gold gleamed brighter, and the crystals on the chandelier sparkled as if they were no longer covered in decades of dust. Even the rose-colored carpet didn’t seem so faded. Maybe more than just the spirits came back to life on Halloween. Maybe it was the whole damn theater.
“Nate!” Stealth no longer seemed necessary since every ghost in the place knew we were there. “Nate!”
Soft whispers sounded to my right. My head snapped toward the noise, hoping it was him. Instead of my partner, I saw a soft yellow glow. I tensed, my scythe held in a ready-to-reap position. The light pulsed a few times before materializing into a spirit.
She had white blond hair and big blue eyes. Ginormous diamonds winked at her neck just above her enviable bosom, and I knew the spirit had to be Carolyn Turner. She held out a pink-gloved hand and whispered, “Help me.”
“Carolyn?” Jackpot. If I could get ahold of her, she might be able to tell us more about Parker—or—maybe we could lure him to us. Of course, using her as bait wouldn’t be our first plan, but I wouldn’t stop her if she volunteered. We needed to take this serial killing jackass out of commission for good, and she might be our ace in the hole. “I can help you.”
I’d only moved a foot toward the ghost when another spirit appeared between us. The breath jam
med to a stop in my throat and I froze. Samuel Parker. Before my brain jumpstarted back to reaper-mode, he whirled toward me and extended his arms. From his expression, he had every intention of choking me.
Rational thought refused to kick in, completely forgetting the fact that I held the scythe, or that I’d been trained to reap the worst kind of spirits. Nope, the only thought racing through my mind was, RUN!
I stumbled backward with no clear plan as to where I was going, or what I would do when he caught me. A loud shriek suddenly split the quiet. I confess—it was me. I totally scream like the rich, white cheerleader in a horror movie.
With his arms straight out in front of him, his fingers spread, Parker closed the distance between us, his eyes dark and focused. Even when I tripped over the handle of my scythe, it didn’t register to use the weapon.
My idiocy could have meant my end if it hadn’t been for Nate. Out of nowhere, he launched himself at the ghost and connected with Parker. The two men crashed to the floor, toppling head-over-heels until coming to a stop a couple of yards away from me.
Maybe it was because Nate’s life was in danger now and not mine, but sense finally kicked in. I jumped to my feet, howling with a battle cry Conan the Barbarian would have been proud of, and bolted toward them. Parker sat on top of Nate with his hands pinning Nate’s shoulders to the ground. When the ghost heard my cry his head snapped up. Our eyes locked for a fraction of a second. With one look at my face he no doubt thought it unwise to go head-to-head with a crazy, scythe-wielding wackjob. In one smooth move, he jumped up and sped toward the closest wall. Unfortunately, Nate still had ahold of Parker when the ghost passed through the solid barrier.
The very act of my partner slamming into the wall was a horrifically awesome sight. For a few seconds, it looked as if someone had hung him like a painting. One arm and both legs dangled limply, while the other arm remained somewhere underneath his body. Then, like a cannonball, he fell to the floor, unconscious.
“Nate.” I practically flew across the room, forgetting about Parker or Carolyn Turner. “Nate, can you hear me?” I dropped to the floor next to him and pressed my fingers to his neck to make sure he wasn’t dead. A strong beat pulsed against my touch. “Thank God.”
Despite what my junior high babysitting CPR course had advised about moving someone with a possible head or neck injury, I gently rolled Nate onto his back. A spot on his forehead purpled and swelled, as did an area on his left cheek. A major headache loomed in his near future—if I could get him to wake up.
“I haven’t seen a collision like that since Iditarod Doris slammed Black Betty into the wall at the Northern Lights Roller Derby Finals,” said a man above me.
Cradling Nate’s head on my lap, I craned my neck to see the speaker. A young man leaned over the counter and smiled down at me. He wore a black suit like the ushers in the theater, but the neck appeared to be a couple of sizes too big. “Excuse me?”
“Your friend, he hit that wall just like Black Betty did in the roller derby finals of fifty-eight.” He gave me a wide, gap-toothed grin. “But she had a helmet on, so she didn’t get knocked out. Broke her arm though.”
“Fascinating.” I turned my attention back to Nate and stroked his forehead, but avoided the purple goose egg. “Can you hear me, Nate?”
A low groan emanated from him, and relief swept through me. Maybe I should have called the ambulance, or at the very least found some ice to put on his head. Why hadn’t I had the foresight to pack a cooler? Then I’d have an ice pack or a can of cold soda to lay against his bruises. At that point, I would have settled for a cold ham sandwich.
“What happened to him?” The spirit of a woman glided toward us and stopped on the opposite side of Nate. Decked out in a short red velvet and gold dress, she swung the tray that hung around her neck to the side and stared down at us. Red curls corkscrewed from under her gold pillbox hat, and her big brown eyes roamed up and down his body before shifting to me. “Is he drunk?”
“No, he ain’t drunk, Ginger,” The concession guys said, “Mr. Parker nearly dragged him through the wall.”
“Jeepers!” Her thick black lashes fluttered rapidly and her mouth puckered into a cupid bow. “Why’d he go and do that?”
Explaining that we were grim reapers, there to send their boss to the afterlife, seemed a bit above their pay grade and intelligence level. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ice on that tray, would you, Ginger?”
She shook her head and knelt. “Sorry, just cigarettes and chewing gum.”
My gaze flashed to her hands. “Hey, can you press your hand against his forehead?”
“Huh?”
“Right here.” I pointed to the burgeoning lump. “Just lay your hand over the top.”
“Sure, I guess.” After lifting the tray from around her neck and depositing it on the floor, the ghost repositioned herself. “Will I hurt him?”
“Don’t worry about that.” I smiled at her. “I doubt he’ll feel a thing.”
The theory that cold spots are ghosts is true. It’s even more so for grim reapers. Sometimes being touched by a spirit feels like an icicle slicing through my flesh, especially if the ghost is violent. Other times, when a spirit is gentle or calm, the connection is merely cold, and that’s exactly what I needed from Ginger right now.
She settled her right hand over Nate’s forehead and her mouth turned upward in an uncertain smile. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” I said in a reassuring tone. Nate groaned again and rolled his head toward the ghost. “I think he’s coming out of it.” I rested my hand on his chest and leaned over him. “Open your eyes, Nate.” His eyelids cracked open and slowly widened. I could tell his gaze was unfocused, so I shifted and placed my face directly above his. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was hit by a train.” His eyelids drifted shut again. “Did I get him?”
“If by get you mean practically taking out a wall with your head,” the concession guy said, “then yeah, buddy, you got him good.”
I frowned at the ghost and then returned my attention to Nate. “Sorry, he got away.”
“Damn.” His stare drifted upward and settled on Ginger.
She smiled at him. “Hello.”
“I must have hit that wall pretty hard.” His gaze remained fixed on the pretty spirit.
“You sure did,” Ginger said. The hand she covered his forehead with slid lower to gently brush the area above his eyebrows. “Your lady-friend had me put my hand on your forehead.” Her expression relaxed into a smile. “I must have a magic touch because you’re awake.”
The urge to push her hand off his head shoved at me. I told her to cover his bruise, not soothe his brow. Instead, I asked, “Can you sit up?”
“Maybe.” With my help, he shifted and rolled to a sitting position, grunting with obvious discomfort on his ascent. “Remind me to let go next time.”
“Seriously? You’re actually going to need reminding after that impact?” What I wanted to tell him was that there wasn’t going to be a next time, but we were reapers, and his clients were violent criminals. Thinking he’d—we’d—never be in a situation like this again would be foolish. “Didn’t the wall drive that point home?”
“You’d think so.” He extended his arm, silently asking for help to stand.
Wedging my shoulder under his body, we slowly stood. “Maybe we should go to the hospital and get you checked out just to make sure you don’t have any internal damage.” We limped to the concession counter, and Nate braced his arm against the edge. “We could come back when they give you the all clear.
“There’s no time.” He shook his head. “Parker is already here. The sooner we get him taken care of the better.”
“You know if you’d been killed I would have had to reap you, right?” I furrowed my brow, because I didn’t know how to do that cool arching thing, and peered down my nose at him. “Because that was stupid with a capital s.”
“I get it. Not my finest hour
, but I wouldn’t have had to tackle him if you’d stayed in the dressing room.”
“If you’d come back in a reasonable amount of time, I wouldn’t have had to come looking for you,” I retorted.
He straightened, wobbled a bit, but caught hold of the counter and steadied himself. “Let me sit for a few minutes and then I’ll be ready to go.”
Stubborn, another s-word that described him. We’d done this dance before, during other tough reaps, and I knew I had a better chance of playing Juliet than I did getting Nate to go to the hospital. I turned to Ginger. “Is there somewhere he can sit down that’s out of the way?”
“Sure, there are a couple of rooms over here.” She pointed to the end of the foyer and glided toward the first door. We can use one of these. Nobody ever goes in there anymore.”
“Ginger!” The concession guy said, “Nobody’s supposed to go back there except Mr. Parker and you know who.” He floated through the counter stopping a few inches away from us. “He’ll be really mad.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And so will she.”
“So will who?” I asked. If there was another ghost involved, we needed to know about it.
“Miss Turner.” Ginger shook her head, her curls violently bouncing. “She didn’t like anybody going into her sitting room.” Her face screwed up with determination and she glared at her coworker. “But I don’t care.” Spinning away from us, she continued her course toward the room. “This is an emergency and I plan on helping. Why don’t you go back to selling candy and beverages, Eddie?
“Fine.” He backed away from us. “But, don’t come crying to me when she starts yelling and throwing things.”
Ginger harrumphed, and then waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Don’t listen to him. He’s always been afraid of Miss Turner. Actually, he’s afraid of most women.” She drifted forward. “Eddie was right about one thing, though. She sure can yell.”
