Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (5 page)

I arrived to work on the wrong foot. I was jumpy and agitated, constantly watching the doors.

I tried to focus on the patrons, the music from the stage, and even Lonnie’s fat ass, who as luck would have it, reverted to calling me bartender again. It was grueling and tedious, and I just wanted to go home and climb into bed.

Gathering my few belongings, I hit the door after close. I couldn’t shake touching Baxter, and it wasn’t because of my own personal hang-ups. Embedded in those shared memories was the perception of dread. I could feel his sense of doom, of damnation. He knew his life was ending, but it wasn’t death he feared. He was terrified of what came after, because he didn’t know if he would go to heaven or hell.

I couldn’t move past that. His regret at not knowing if he would gain admittance inside the pearly gates because of what he was.

I was curious about the answer myself.

I exited through the back of the building. Pushing open the door with a heavy scrape of metal, I entered the darkened morning dank with mist. I stared at the ground, too confused to pay attention, and nearly busted my ass when I bumped full speed into a hard body. Strong hands held me upright and I threw my weight back, lifting my arms to protect myself.

“Jesus, take it easy!” Disco spoke softly, letting go. He was in his normal black ensemble, the collar of his trench coat pulled up and around his turtleneck. He didn’t move closer, but regarded me carefully. “Ethan wasn’t exaggerating. You did have a bad day today.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” I snapped. Pulling in a ragged breath, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I was wrong. I wouldn’t skyrocket into orbit. My heart would simply burst inside my chest.

“I wanted to see if you were all right. Ethan said you wouldn’t return his calls.” Disco turned his blue eyes to my brown ones, and they were full of concern, not demands or expectations.

“Look.” I took a jagged breath. “I’m not cut out for this shit. I did what you asked, and now I’m done.”

“He told me what you saw. I apologize. I know it wasn’t easy, and believe me, I would have done it myself if I could. My friends are dying, Rhiannon. You confirmed our worst suspicions. If you walk away, they will keep dying. Can you turn your back and let others be murdered the same way Baxter was? The way Cash was?” he whispered the last part quietly, bright blue irises sparkling beautifully behind sooty lashes.

I ran trembling fingers through my hair. Whoever was behind this wouldn’t stop. The number of missing vampires made that painfully obvious. Could I walk away and save my own ass, turning my back on them and letting it happen because I was too afraid to do the right thing?

Haunted green eyes flashed in my mind.

“No,” I exhaled the word, answering both of us at the same time. “I guess not.”

Disco relaxed, standing tall and straightening his shoulders in one agile movement. “I’m relieved to hear you say that.” He approached, each step calculated and smooth, stopping just inches away. “Are you all right?”

Was I all right? Not really. My nerves were frazzled. My head was killing me. And my brain kept filtering those images over and over—the chains, the shining blade of the curved hunting knife, the blood—oh my God, the blood. And somehow, tied inside those visions, were ones from my own tormented childhood.

No, I wasn’t all right, but I said, “I’ll be fine.”

He moved, covering the distance, and stopped directly in front of me. “That wasn’t my question.”

I tried to step back, but he used his speed to place strong hands on my shoulders, keeping me still. His face lowered until just inches separated us. Up close, I could see how pale and smooth his skin was, like polished alabaster.

“Back off,” I whispered between clenched teeth. Bringing my hands to my chest, I forced them between our bodies. I couldn’t break free, and that knowledge sent my body into unwilling tremors.

“I could be a crass bastard and dig around in that head of yours, just forgoing any manners and say to hell with the impropriety. But I won’t, because I want you to come to me, Rhiannon. One day, you will trust me enough to ease your burden on my ears, and when that day arrives, I will gladly listen.”

His voice was like plush velvet against my skin. I closed my eyes, biting down on my tongue until I tasted the rusty bitterness of blood. When I lifted my lids, all I could see was bright blue, his irises darker on the edge and lightening near the pupil.

I drew in a breath, fighting back panic.

“Answer one question.” His hushed request sent a shiver down my spine. “Would you shy away from anyone’s touch, or do you just despise mine because of what I am?”

“Okay.” I swallowed and cleared my throat. The spark of my temper was small and weak, like flint striking a wet stone, but it felt good nonetheless. “If you were anyone else, your nuts would be taking a long vacation, and the destination would be out of your mouth.”

He smiled at that, enhancing his already angelic face. He released my shoulders and I sagged. Righting myself, I shifted my weight to regain my balance.

“Come on, I’ll escort you home.”

“That’s okay, I know the way.” I tried to scuffle past, and he placed his body directly in my path. If not for the ripples of his leather coat, I’d have never known he’d moved. I stood stunned as he stepped in beside me. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, which he promptly lit.

This time, I didn’t argue. He would do whatever he wanted. I started walking, breathing deeply until I achieved a small level of calm.

“How do you smoke, doesn’t that require breathing?” I finally decided to ask the question. If anything, it would break the ice.

“We don’t have to breathe, but it’s how we form words to speak. It’s the reason we can’t be killed by drowning. We can hold our breath indefinitely.”

“So…your organs function as needed?”

“It depends on the organ.”

“Take your heart for example.” I avoided looking into his eyes. “Does it still beat?”

He turned swiftly, tossed the cigarette, grabbed my hand, and placed it on his chest. His fingers were cold, the delicate ivory coloring matching my own. I flattened my palm over the softness of his sweater, feeling the solid area over his heart and the steady beating coming from underneath.

“Amazing,” I whispered, eyes wide, marveling at the thumping against my fingers. The rhythm was strong and steady.

How could you classify someone as dead when they still had a heartbeat and could breathe?

“We are not so different,” he said softly, answering my unspoken question.

“How is it possible? Does it ever stop beating?” I was mesmerized by the sensation and felt slightly disappointed when he moved away to walk beside me once more.

“It slows when we haven’t fed.” He said evenly, returning to his nicotine fix.

“That’s a nasty habit, you know.” I wrinkled my nose distastefully and pointed at the cigarette.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll put down the smokes if you stop speaking so crudely.”

“Fuck that.” I bit my lower lip to disguise my grin.

He sighed and shook his head, but retained the smile. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”

He followed me like a shadow, quiet but ever present. It was strange making the trip home with someone, because it had never happened before. After we exited the subway, we walked to my street in relative silence, and it wasn’t because of my lack of questions. From the moment I’d discovered his heart still beat, my mind went into hyperdrive.

Then, I remembered the female ghost I’d seen, and the question of their crossing the threshold came to mind. I hesitated, afraid to ask initially, but my inquisitiveness overcame logic.

“Is the myth true? Do you have to be invited into someone’s home before you can enter?” I asked the question nervously, fidgeting and staring ahead.

“Are you inviting me inside?”

Shit.
I tried to keep my expression blank. That wasn’t the smartest question to ask after all. I clammed up, words escaping me, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Yes, we have to be invited,” he answered, saving my ass from sheer humiliation.

“Ghosts are the same, or I should say, the few I’ve encountered near my apartment stop at the door. I wondered if it was connected.”

“Ah.” He nodded and smiled.

“Thanks for seeing me home.” My smile didn’t reach my eyes. I felt awkward and uncertain.

He gave a mock salute. “Anytime.”

Walking quickly to the door, I yanked it open, stepped inside, and turned to look through the glass. Disco was in the same spot I’d left him, framed by the glow of the street light. I lifted my left hand and swept it up and out in a goodbye wave. He lowered his head in acknowledgement, and I rushed up the stairs, refusing to breathe until I was safely inside my apartment.

Goose’s apartment doubled as his office and consisted of a hodgepodge of all things mystical. With walls painted cream, dark natural wood floors, and a random stuffed critter here and there.

I took a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk and settled in. On the edge were several thick books, their pages marked with ribbons of multiple colors. Directly in front was a name plate—Ethan McDaniel, P.I.

I snickered. Goose thought he was a private dick.

I closed my eyes and envisioned him chasing a criminal mastermind through the tough streets of New York. Working for the oppressed and down trodden, his feet are swift and his balls are mighty. The visual worked until the pursuit came to a screeching halt and the criminal revealed his Cletus-like physique. What would Mr. Goose P.I. do? Arrest the bad guy and save the day? Get beaten to a pulp and left for dead?

Tune in next week, kiddies, for the exciting conclusion!

“Here we go.” His voice echoed from the kitchen, and he appeared holding a steaming mug in hand.

Goose was a consummate gentleman. He opened doors. He offered refreshments. And he didn’t interrupt others when they spoke. I was finding it near to damned impossible to hold my previous grudge against him; he was too damned likeable.

“Thanks.” I accepted the hot ceramic mug graciously, smiling at him. He was dressed casually while in the comfort of his own domicile. The baby-blue polo and blue jeans made him appear younger and less uptight.

“Where were we? Oh!” He lifted one of the books off his desk, opened it, and flipped the pages. “Muti is a widely used African term to describe medicine, but in recent years, the word has been associated with the excision of body parts from living people. The belief is that pain increases the potency of the organ, as do the screams rendered at its taking. These organs or body parts are then used in medicines or assorted black magic spells, ranging from ones that heal to those that bring wealth and power.”

“Pain increases the potency? And they want them to scream?” I shivered, momentarily reliving Baxter’s suffering. “That’s sadistic.”

“Indeed.” Goose nodded in agreement and closed the book with a plop. “Which begs the question—why vampires?”

He crossed out of the office and into the living room, drawing the thick curtains closed. A little click sounded and a warm glow flooded the area, courtesy of the Venetian floor lamp in the corner. He walked to a bookshelf and ran his finger along the wood, locating and then removing a volume from the top. The wood creaked under his feet as he walked back and placed the book on the desk. He opened it, revealing a faux cover that hid various glass vials, and pulled one out. The liquid inside was deep red, nearly black in its thickness.

“Here.” He extended the vial and I took it in my fingers, flipping my wrist to study the goopy liquid.

“What is this?” I asked, making odd faces as I imagined the worst.

“Vampire blood,” he answered, reclining against the desk.

It didn’t seem different from human blood, except the color and consistency was thicker and darker. I held it toward the lamp, twisting the vial. The red was more distinguishable in the light.

“Do I even want to know where you got this?” I peered around the glass and met his steady gaze.

He smiled broadly, nodding his head in approval.

Maybe next time I would get a cookie.

“You want to know exactly how I got that. Vampire blood is huge on the black market. If you drink or inject it, it makes for one hell of a high. It also has the power to heal wounds faster, make you stronger, and does wonders for the sex life. People are willing to pay a high price for what you have in your fingers, and some vampires are always out to make a quick buck.”

I was just absorbing the healing faster and better sex life part when the vampires making a quick buck registered. “They sell their own blood?” I asked, completely grossed out. How did that work? Did they keep syringes on hand for a blood draw?

“They do, and they’re smart about it. They don’t sell directly to seekers. They use reputable underground suppliers where this kind of thing is the norm. They bag it, take it to their contact, swap out goods for the cash, and presto—blood out of body and cash in hand.”

“That’s nasty. You know that, right?” I stared at him, my opinion validated when he nodded. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Then I remembered I was holding a tiny glass container filled with the stuff. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what are you doing with this?” I lifted the container into the air. “You don’t drink this shit do you?”

“I have before, but not for the reasons you assume.”

He rose, walked around the desk, and plopped down into his swiveling leather recliner. “The blood in that vial belonged to Jacob. Or as near as we can tell, it did. Disco couldn’t get a positive identification from the supplier, so we’re going on assumptions. I tried to use his blood in the hope that I could call him with my necromancy. As you already know, it didn’t work.”

“I won’t tell you how incredibly disgusting I think you are right now. Instead, I’m going to ask you what vampire blood has to do with Muti and vampire organs.”

“I think they’re connected. I also think that whoever is behind the disappearances got their start in the clubs with blood and decided to move onto something bigger and better. It’s that, or a dealer got greedy and started offering new and improved vampire specialties at private gatherings. Either way, our next step is to get invited to a private screening to see what’s on the menu.”

“Oh man.” Images of wanna-be vampires came to mind and an electric tremor shot down my vertebrae. I didn’t want to be involved with a crowd like that. I gave Goose my most pitiful look. “Do we have to?”

He laughed, the unexpected sound reverberating inside his apartment. “Why can’t you be like this more often? It’s refreshing and rather adorable.”

“Fuck that shit,” I grumbled and felt my face flush red as I resumed my normal disposition.
Adorable
was a word with which I never wanted to be associated. No more chocolate. It coerced me into being happy and joyful.

“It was fun while it lasted.” He frowned disapprovingly and looked at the ceiling, as if God needed to intervene on my behalf. “And yes, we do have to. Disco got the location of the next blood tasting. It’s Friday night—”

“Hold it.” I sat up, placing the vial on the desk along with my mug. “I’ve got work.”

“Can’t you take the night off?”

He seemed dumbfounded, and I wasn’t sure why. Work means you have a schedule, and when it’s your day to work, you come in. It seemed like a basic concept to me.

“Sure, I could, but it’s a busy night. I can’t afford to lose my job over this.” I liked my job and the people I worked with. No way was I letting that slip. “That is one condition I’m not budging on.”

“Please, take the night off. Getting invited to these social functions is no easy feat, and I’m not sure the opportunity will come again in the foreseeable future. I won’t ask again, Scout’s Honor.” He lifted his fingers and drew a cross over his heart.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, and it hurt to do it. I’d never requested off work at the last minute before. I hoped Deena didn’t chew me up and spit me out. “But this is it, no more ditching.”

“That sounds fair.” He sat up and opened a drawer on the desk. The chair squeaked in protest as he reached into the back, pilfered around, and pulled out a card. He tossed it across the desk, and I caught it with my hands. “That’s for your expenses. You’ll need to buy something for the occasion. Pamper yourself with a manicure and pedicure. Enjoy yourself.”

“What about you?” I tried to picture him in head to toe black, with lipstick and eyeliner.

“What about me?” He frowned, peering down.

“Do you even own a black article of clothing? And who is going to apply your makeup?”

He laughed so hard, I thought his neurological pathways had been fried.

“What?”

He grinned, laughing again, until he noticed my expression. “This isn’t that kind of party, Rhiannon. That card is to purchase a dress—a
nice
dress. The people who attend these functions are not young adults with a lingering case of depression. Purchasing vampire blood is an expensive habit, one that requires thousands of dollars each time.”

I wanted to gag. I hadn’t worn a dress since my prom. “Can’t I wear what I did to the Razor?”

“No.” He was completely serious now. “These people will notice anything out of the ordinary. You’ll need to get a dress, get your hair done—all of it. That’s why I insisted you come along and request the night off. These gatherings are exclusive and undisclosed.”

My stomach knotted at the gravity of what I was entering into. I stood up, bracing my hands on his desk. “What goes down at these little social functions? I’m not down with guzzling someone else’s blood, dead or alive. If that’s part of the arrangement, I’m telling you right now, it ain’t happening.
No fucking way
.”

“The expectation for you to sample the product will be there, but you can decline. You can say you’ve recently come down from your last taste and need a breather. It’s similar to a wine tasting. People taste before buying, same difference.” I could tell he was choosing his words carefully.

They would expect me to drink vampire blood, no matter what he said to the contrary. I knew what they’d expect, because it is what they’d want themselves. My stomach churned, and I could taste the chocolate from earlier. I drew in a huge breath through my nose and released it as I sat back down. I felt icky and nauseous.

“I need to know what to expect, in case I’m forced to taste it.” I willed myself not to flinch as I met his gaze.

“I’ve never been to one myself. I’ve only heard about them from colleagues. But I have tasted blood before.” He took an uneven breath, and looked away. “It’s instant. The minute you swallow, your eyes, ears, nose, everything, goes into overdrive. It’s disorienting at first, then unbelievably empowering. I can easily see why people become addicted to the rush. Once it’s gone, you realize just how weak, blind, and deaf you truly are.”

The temptation to tell him to forget it and walk out the door reared its head, but I suppressed it. I despised fear, especially my own, and that’s exactly what I was experiencing. I was frightened of stepping outside of my comfort zone, of letting go of the little security blanket I’d built so solidly around myself.

And I didn’t want to live that way anymore.

“I want something from you in exchange for everything I’m doing,” I told him. “When this is finished, I want to know about my necromancy. I want you to teach me how it works.”

“Nothing would please me more. You have my word,” he promised. Pushing free of the chair, he walked to the bookshelf. He removed a book and placed it into my hands. “As a show of trust, you can take this to read.”

The leather binding was thicker than any book I’d held, the pages coarse and uneven. I flipped to the first page and studied the freehand script. I scanned through, intrigued by words like summoning, conjuring, channeling and sacrifice, mixed with diagrams and descriptions, lists of ingredients and moon cycles.

“What is this?” I stopped at the page with a full moon and a corpse digging its way out of the ground. My lips came together, forming a thin line as I read the descriptions and necessary items.

“That is the first of my personal journals. I have it all written down, everything I’ve learned.” He cleared his throat and returned to his recliner.

“Please tell me you don’t wake zombies on a regular basis.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s difficult to do here in the states, and not so easy to explain. It’s also very dangerous. Zombies don’t feel pain, and they won’t return to the grave until you release them.”

“Then what exactly do you do.” I closed the book and leaned forward to touch the nameplate. “Mr. Nathan McDaniel, P.I.?”

“I help people. People who are mourning. People with missing loved ones. People who need answers they can’t have because the person with the information has passed on. When they’ve explored every possible venue that’s considered normal, and all that’s left is to wait or give up, they turn to me. I do my best to ensure this is the last stop they have to make.” His eyes focused on mine as his tone became solemn. “Placing faith in a medium one doesn’t understand is difficult enough, but if people were willing to embrace the truth of what we are capable, could you imagine how beneficial our powers would be?”

I broke eye contact, shifting my focus around the desk. “You didn’t add vampires to that list. How did you end up working for them?”

He answered quietly, “Eleven years ago, a girl went missing on her way home from Brooklyn College. Her parents filed a missing person report, but it was Disco who retained my services. It didn’t take long, just a few days of tracing her normal route. Her ghost was clear, and a simple touch told me all I needed to know. They found her body in a trunk in the Bronx a week or so later. I’ve been the liaison for his people since then.”

“Who was she?”

“Just a girl that was terribly unlucky. She was snatched somewhere between the campus and her house by several not so nice guys on a cocaine binge. She didn’t die quickly; they took their time. When it was over, they discarded her like a rag doll, wrapped in cellophane and garbage bags in the trunk of an abandoned vehicle. It didn’t take long for Disco’s crew to track them, and when they did, there wasn’t anyone left for the police to haul into jail.”