Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel (40 page)

“Damn, you’re conscious,” she said. “Listen, your wounds are bad. I can sit here and put pressure on them and you might live five extra minutes. Otherwise, you’ll either drown
or bleed out in the next couple of minutes. Or I can save you the misery and end it quick. Preference?”

I blinked again. I was dying? I couldn’t die. Not here. I opened my mouth but instead of words, I coughed. It hurt like hell and tasted of blood. Fuck. She was right. The ghoul had hit a lung.

I tried again and this time managed to croak the words “out of graveyard.”

The blurry Briar gave me a confused look.

“Can’t die”—cough—“in graveyard.”—cough—“Get me out.”

She looked around, but the shock was peeling away under my panic. “Get me out.”

“Okay, okay.” She leaned down and wrapped my arm around her neck. Then she half carried, half dragged me toward the entrance.

I tried to help, but I couldn’t get my feet to cooperate. The gate looked a million miles away.
I’m not going to make it. I’ll be stuck here forever.
Somewhere I knew that my spirit wouldn’t just pop out of my body once I died, that when they removed me from the cemetery, the collectors would come, but all I could think of was that I’d end up a haunt.

“Hurry.” The word was broken and slurred, but Briar understood enough to curse about the demand.

The gate was closer now. I was going to make it.

And Death was on the other side. Waiting.

Briar dragged me just beyond the gate and then lowered me to the ground. “Happy now?”

I was. But I didn’t waste the strength to tell her. All my attention was on Death.

“I’m glad it’s you,” I said, or at least, I tried to say. Everything was darkening now.

“Why can’t you at least try to stay alive?” Death asked, dropping to his knees by my shoulders. “For me?”

I was out of words. Which was okay, because Death’s hand slipped under my head, and his mouth covered mine, negating the need to speak. His lips were warm and soft, but his mouth pressed hard against mine.

Well, if I was going to die, it might as well be kissing a very sexy soul collector.

The kiss sent a wave of heat starting at my mouth and spreading outward, but that was chased by a cold so biting I flinched. Death’s hand behind my head ensured I couldn’t pull back as the chill poured into me.

“What the hell?” I heard Briar say, but now I was actively struggling against the cold Death shoved into me.

And I had the strength to struggle, which was odd as I’d barely had the strength to keep my heart beating the moment before.
What’s happening?

Finally, once I felt like all my organs had frozen, the chill stopped and Death’s lips on mine were once again warm. He pulled back, not far, but far enough that I could focus on his eyes.

“You okay?” The question was a whisper.

And oddly, the answer was yes. I hurt like hell, but the darkness had pulled back, and I could feel all my limbs again.

“What did you do?”

At my question, he smiled, his eyes closing in an extended blink. I could feel the relief vibrate off him. Then he went still.

“Who and what are you?” Briar said, and I wiggled so I could see around Death.

Briar had her crossbow pressed against the back of Death’s head.
Oh, this is bad.
I was suddenly not dying and Briar could see Death—and I wasn’t forcing him to manifest. I could think of only one explanation. Death had switched life essences with me. It saved me, but it made him mortal.

Which meant if Briar shot him, Death would be very dead.

“D
on’t shoot him.”

“Craft? You sound pretty alive down there,” Briar said without moving her crossbow. “This thing heal you?”

“He’s not a thing. He is…” I hesitated. Explaining soul collectors to someone who couldn’t see them—at least under normal circumstances—wasn’t always easy. It probably also wouldn’t help convince her not to shoot him.

“He’s what, Craft?”

“Well, I’m starting to think he’s my guardian angel.” Though angel of death was what most people would call him.

Despite the crossbow pressed to his head, Death smirked.

“Do you shoot anything that catches you off guard?” Death asked without moving. I flared my eyes at him. Didn’t he have any sense of self-preservation? You don’t poke bears—or a witch armed for war.

“It’s worked for me so far,” she said, but she lowered the crossbow. She didn’t put it away, but at least it wasn’t pointed at his head anymore.

He straightened, helping me up as he climbed to his feet. I moved slower, wincing. The stabbing pain was still in my chest and abdomen. I glanced down at myself, and then
wished I hadn’t. There was a good reason the pain was still there—I’d been gored and though I wasn’t dying, I also hadn’t been healed. Shiny strips of flesh showed in my abdomen. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to hide the wound from Briar.

Not that she was paying attention. Her eyes were devouring Death. “Do I have to sell my soul to get a hot guy to show up and bring me back when I’m fatally injured? Even if the answer is yes, just tell me where to sign.”

I frowned. I wasn’t used to anyone else being able to see Death, and an oddly possessive streak urged me to step between them and tell Briar that if there was going to be any ogling, it would be by me. I didn’t do either, but I did move closer to Death. And my shoulder might have been slightly in front of him.

Though he didn’t make a sound, I could feel the amusement radiating off him and knew he was aware of exactly what I was doing. Then he stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, the hard planes of his chest against my back and his warmth engulfing me.

“Damn, Craft, I never thought I’d be jealous of a girl who just got her guts ripped open.”

Yeah, about that
…I forced a smile. How the hell was I going to hide the fact I was walking around with large holes in my abdomen? Redirection.

“It was a good day,” I said. “We got the ghoul, saved Tamara and the OMIH officer, and no one else died.” Much. “But I think we should probably leave.”

She glanced back into the cemetery. “You sticking around for clean up?”

Crap. Yeah, I guess we couldn’t leave smoldering ghoul around for visitors to find.

“I actually need to steal Alex,” Death said, releasing my shoulders.

Briar’s dark eyes darted to the parking lot, where only her SUV was parked. She gave Death a sideways glance, but shrugged. “I’m used to working alone anyway.” She started to turn, and then stopped. “Craft, aside from the
almost dying part, you did okay in there. I’ve seen grown men wet themselves when facing ghouls.”

Crap, compliments. I nodded in acknowledgment. “It would have been better without the ghoul ripping me apart.”

“The MCIB wouldn’t pay me so much if more people survived my job.” She shrugged before reaching into her jacket and pulling out a small card. “Taking out a nest in the middle of the day is a good way to do things. Call me if you’re up to searching more graveyards for me.” She held out the card. I was still hiding my stomach wound so Death was the one who reached out and accepted the card. She stared at him a little too long before turning back to me. “But, Craft, don’t think this means I’m not still watching you. Don’t leave the city.”

I smiled, hoping she’d take it as agreement and get the hell out of there. The look she gave me wasn’t quite as suspicious as any previous time she’d studied me, but even if the woman had complimented me, it was clear I hadn’t won her trust.

Finally she headed into the cemetery to deal with the corpses, and I turned to Death.

“I take it you swapped our life essences?” I asked and at his nod, I opened my arms to reveal my destroyed torso. “So now what? Will I heal?”

“Not exactly. Alex, I’m going to need an oath from you that you won’t reveal the secrets you learn in the next few hours.”

“You don’t need my oath for that.” I rarely discussed the collectors and I never revealed anything that wasn’t common knowledge, at least among grave witches.

“I do, and not just a promise because even a fae can be forsworn.”

Damn.
I hated oaths, but I tapped the magic in my ring and forced it to coat my words as I let him swear me to secrecy. Once I finished, he nodded his approval.

“Now close your eyes and hold your breath,” he whispered.

I did, and his warm arms wrapped around me.

Then the world vanished into a sea of magic as cold as the grave.

We reemerged a second later. As the warm air wrapped around me, I opened my eyes, gasping.

“What was—” I stopped. We were in my apartment.

PC jumped to his feet in the center of my bed, his tail tucked and ears quivering. Then he realized it was me and yipped in greeting before lunging from the bed.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, but as I moved to pick him up, I felt things inside my gut shift and squish in ways that seemed more than a little not good. Nothing was falling out at the moment—I wanted to keep it that way.

PC danced around me, but when I didn’t pick him up, he gave up and moved to Death. The dog was
so
not loyal. Death leaned down and petted the small dog, a strange look on his face.

“What?”

“He feels different from what I expected.”

I had no response for that. Until the last month, he had been in my apartment all the time. It never occurred to me that I’d never introduced my dog. He’d been able to interact only with objects that I touched while touching him, my planeweaving forming a bridge long before I even knew about the ability. But now Death was mortal and could interact with anything he wanted. He couldn’t stay mortal. That had to unbalance the world or something, didn’t it?

“So, uh, what now?”

“We have to get you mended,” he said, picking up PC.

“Excuse me?”

He pressed those full lips together, as if he wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking, but he already had my oath so after a short hesitation he said, “Soul collectors aren’t exactly immortal, but we are unchanging.”

“Like the fae.”

He shook his head. “The fae like to think themselves
unchanging but they are simply unaging.” PC licked Death’s chin and he jerked back in surprise before smiling and scratching behind the dog’s ear.

“Okay, so soul collectors don’t change. I kind of knew that. You’ve looked exactly the same since I was five.”

“It’s more than the way we look. We can have that altered if we desire. But we don’t change at all, which means if we are hurt, we don’t heal. We have to be mended.”

I absorbed all this. The last time Death had exchanged essences with me a cop had shot him—that’s sort of a hazard when you do major magic in the middle of an active crime scene. He’d seemed fine as soon as I gave him back his essence, and I’d assumed he’d healed. Of course, I had holes in my lungs and rearranged innards and they weren’t slowing me down.

“So then, I need to see this…mender? Where is he?” And would he fix me? I wasn’t a soul collector.

Death frowned and set PC back on the bed. “I can’t take you. This mortal body has certain limitations.”

“If you took my essence, your body should be fae.”

“Still mortal.” He smiled and walked over to me. “Just much longer lived.” He put his hands on my hips, careful not to touch any of the wounds. “Now we need to get you cleaned up so that the others can take you to get mended.”

Others?
“Not the gray man.”

His brow pinched. “Gray man?”

Crap, I always forgot that the collectors didn’t know what I called each of them. But they wouldn’t give me their names, what was I supposed to do?

After a moment, Death nodded. “Appropriate description,” he said. “Fine, not him.”

Which left the raver. I didn’t offer her nickname, but retreated to the bathroom. I grimaced when I glanced in the mirror. With my tattered clothes—and stomach—covered in drying blood, I looked like an extra in a horror flick. And all the drying blood? It made getting my top off hell.

I ended up wearing the shirt into the shower until the water loosened the blood enough that pulling the fabric
free didn’t threaten to skin me. Once I scrubbed clean, I dried off, trying to avoid my mirror. But I couldn’t seem to help myself.

Four ugly—and fatal—puncture marks pierced the right side of my rib cage. Ribbons of flesh hung from around the wound in my stomach and I could see darker things beyond the torn flesh. My stomach clenched at the sight, but at the same time, even though I could feel the wounds, they didn’t seem quite real. Maybe it was the lack of blood.

Just to be safe, I wrapped gauze around the stomach wound. I didn’t bother with charmed OMIH-certified bandages—they were expensive and if I couldn’t heal, an accelerated healing charm wasn’t going to do me any good.

Death looked up as I emerged from the bathroom in just the gauze and a towel. His gaze trailed over me, not in a searching-for-wounds way but with eyes that were all male interest and heat. A flush burned across my cheeks, but what was under that towel wasn’t anything I wanted to show off, that was for sure.