Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel (41 page)

“I made you coffee,” he said, holding up a mug.

“Now that’s a change.”

He smiled. “Want me to hold it for you?”

I giggled, a girlish peal of a sound. The movement hurt, but I couldn’t seem to stop. It was the stress. I’d been betrayed and then warned off by Falin, feared I’d been addicted to Faerie food, started glowing, spent too long with my father, one of my best friends had been attacked by a ghoul, whom I then almost—should have—died from, and now I’d exchanged life essences with Death. It was too much for one day and I was either going to laugh or cry, though at some point, it became both.

“Hey,” Death whispered, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey, what is it?” He stroked his fingers through my wet curls. “I’ll leave the coffee making to you from now on, okay?”

I buried my face against his hard chest, but I had to smile. “It’s not that. It’s just, everything.” And I poured out every action, every fear, because he was Death. He stood
there, holding me, making comforting sounds at times, offering a word or two of understanding, but mostly listening, his fingers twisting in my drying curls. “And what if the mender won’t fix me?”

“Then you’ll be a planeweaver in an unchanging body and I’ll be a collector in an unaging one.”

I shook my head. “You can’t remain mortal. But if your mender does fix me, and we switch back…” The last time I’d taken back my mortality I’d had a seizure. And we’d only switched for maybe fifteen minutes. What would happen this time?

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and stepped back. The friendly comfort in his eyes took on a glint of a much different kind. “But for now, your coffee is getting cold.”

This time I accepted the mug when he handed it to me. It wasn’t cold yet. In fact, it was perfect. For his first time making coffee, I was more than impressed. Of course, he’d spent years watching me.

“It’s good,” I told him, and he flashed me that dazzling smile of perfect teeth and smooth lips.

I swallowed. It was a good thing the ghoul didn’t get my heart, because it was suddenly working double time. I glanced into my coffee mug. “I should get dressed.”

“For now.” That same heart-melting smile.

Oh, I’m in so much trouble.
But I couldn’t understand how he could look at me with so much heat. I had to look terrible. I’d been crying and my curls were half air-dried, and then there was what hid under the towel. I cringed and set down my mug. “So if taking my life essence gave you a mortal body, how come I don’t have your incorporeal one?”

“You do. You just haven’t stopped touching mortal reality yet.”

Right. Planeweaver.
Well, I had no intention of letting go of the mortal realm. But one more issue nudged at the edge of my brain.

“You have a fae body, so why aren’t you…glowing?” After all, my Sleagh Maith body glowed.

“We switched life essences. It gave you my immortality
and me your mortality, but magic is part of the soul, not the body.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I’d never considered that the Sleagh Maith glow might be part of their—
our
—magic.

After I was fully dress and I’d walked and fed PC, Death held his hand out to me.

“Ready?”

I accepted his warm hand, and this time, when I closed my eyes, I was prepared for the cold.

“A night club?” I asked, eyeing the exterior, which wasn’t impressive with the bass thumping through the brick walls.

“Trust me, this is the most likely place.” Death started for the door. Only to be stopped by the bouncer, who wanted IDs and money.

I balked at the cover charge, but dug in my purse. Death put a hand on my arm, stopping me.

“Never mind,” he told the bouncer. Then he turned and walked back the direction we’d come. I had little choice but to follow.

“I thought you said this was our best bet?”

“It is. Hold your breath.” Then his arms were around me, a warm anchor in the sudden cold.

A moment later the chill abated. I looked around at the ugly green tiled walls with rust-stained urinals. “The men’s restroom?”

Death shrugged. “Normally if I pop into the mortal realm and a person occupies the same space, they get a chill. But with this body, I’m not sure what would happen.”

The fact it probably wouldn’t be pretty didn’t need to be said.

“Come on.” He pulled open the door and then led me into a madness of lights and bodies.

While I liked barhopping, I’d never been a clubber. Dim rooms with flashing strobes equaled one blind grave witch not having a lot of fun, so I avoided dance clubs like a
particularly vicious curse of pox. This club was worse than most with fog machines pumping onto the floor and the dancers using glow sticks and charms to create elaborate trails of light following their movements. I might have Death’s unchanging and hard to kill essence, but that clearly didn’t fix my eyes.

I squeezed them closed and opened them again. All I could see were random flashes of light. Except, out in the center of the floor, I could clearly make out one solitary figure in a bright orange top with matching dreads that glowed in the black light. Her movements were fast, her body moving in time with the pounding bass. At least, until she spotted us. Then she stopped dead, her scowl exaggerated by the black light–sensitive makeup. As she stalked across the dance floor, she swept straight through several of the other dancers, making them pause and shiver. Of course, as hard as they where moving, the chill might have felt good.

“What have you done?” she asked, ignoring me completely as she whirled on Death.

“It was a necessity.”

“Well, I suggest you switch back before anyone else finds out.”

I frowned from one to the other of them. Apparently I wasn’t invited into this particular conversation. Not that I wasn’t going to join. “I need to see the mender.”

The raver glanced at me, blinking long eyelashes that glowed brilliant blue in the light.

“She means she needs mending,” Death said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him. I didn’t know if it was worry or amusement.

“You must be out of your mind if you think I’m taking her.” She threw her hands in the air, waving her nails in front of his face. “Actually, I know you are. Only a mad collector would do what you’ve done. Do you know what he’ll say about—”

“Will you take her or won’t you?” Death asked.

She cocked an orange eyebrow. “What kind of damage are we talking about?”

She doesn’t seriously want me to show her the wounds here?
But she only looked on expectantly and Death nodded for me to show her. Great. I glanced around, but no one was paying attention. I lifted the bottom of my shirt, the white gauze glowing in the black light. Still the raver waited, her long nails tapping her elbows where her arms crossed her chest.

Fine.

I unwrapped the gauze. She studied the wound with more of a detached analytical expression than anything that could be considered sympathetic. “Wrestling tigers?”

“Ghouls actually.”

She nodded, and then turned, dismissing me as she addressed Death. “Well, I see why you decided this was the only option. I don’t approve, and you know he won’t either.”

He?
Was she talking about the gray man or the mender? Or someone else? I had no idea how the soul collector hierarchy worked.

“I’m assuming if I disagree you’ll either find someone else or you’ll stay in that decaying body.”

“One day, you might understand,” he said.

The raver shook her head. “I sure as hell hope not.” She glanced at me. “Fine. I’ll take her, but if she’s too mortal to make the trip or he won’t mend her, it is not my fault.”

Death smiled and inclined his head graciously. The raver only scowled in return. Then she turned to me.

“Give me your hand and drop your shields. All of them.”

I blinked at her. Was she crazy? I glanced at Death, but the raver clicked her nails.

“Now would be good.”

Death nodded, stepping back. Then he either vanished or the darkness of the club devoured him. I shivered at the thought and turned away.

I took off my charm bracelet before taking the raver’s outstretched hand and lowering my outer shields. Realities swam over my vision and grave essence reached for me, making the wind from the land of the dead tear through me.

“Look at the people—what do you see?”

“Their souls. They glow softly under their skin.”

“Good,” she said, her hand tightening around mine. The wind was still swirling around me and several brightly colored souls were beginning to stare.

“Do you have any of your shields still locked?”

I didn’t answer.

“Take them down. Now.”

“I—”

Her hand around mine tightened so hard her nails bit into my skin. “Now.”

Dropping my innermost walls wasn’t so simple as opening them like my main shields; I had to deconstruct them. By the time I finished I could barely make sense of the scene in front of me. I had to be looking at a dozen different realities, all blurring into a jumble far more chaotic than the manic light show on the dance floor.

I swayed, and the raver kept her hand locked around mine. “Can you still see the souls?”

I blinked, trying to focus. It was like looking at one of those 3-D images that you had to stare at until it suddenly jumped into focus.

“Yes, I see them.”

“Good, keep your attention on the souls, just the souls.” She took a step forward, or maybe a step up, dragging me with her.

We didn’t move in space, we moved in realities. Bright light filled the previously dark room, several of the other realities falling away. The wind from the land of the dead cut off.

“Can you still see the souls?”

I could. They looked different now, somehow more like crystal than light. I nodded and she stepped again.

“You can close your shields now,” she said.

I did and blinked into the brilliant light surrounding us. I could still see aspects of the techno club we’d been in, but now the people were colorful jewel-like beings and the walls crystal.

“Is this what you always see?”

She frowned like she wouldn’t answer the question; then
she cursed under her breath. “I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it? No. I prefer to stay as close to mortal reality as I can. This place is too sterile for my tastes. Come on. Now that you’ve finally let go of the mortal form you were holding, we’ll be able to move faster.”

“I what?” Was that squeaking sound my voice? Still, I
needed
my mortal body, and as pretty as this place might be, I didn’t want to hang out here forever.

I looked around. Even with my shields up, I could feel that there were other realities around me, some I could tell instinctively shouldn’t touch this place but were trying to move through me.

“Stop thinking about it or you’ll spoil everything we’ve done so far. Now face me and give me your other hand as well.”

Well, I’ve come this far.
And if this was what it would take to reach the mender, so be it.

The crystal plane swirled around us and I couldn’t tell if we were moving or if it was, but without warning a large structure appeared in front of me. The building glowed with life as if it were made from living rock. A man stood outside on the stoop, as if he’d been waiting.

“This is the girl?” he asked, looking me over.

The raver dropped my hands. “Unfortunately.”

Gee, thanks.
I turned my back on her and faced the man. He had an ageless quality to him. Actually that wasn’t quite accurate. It wasn’t that he was ageless so much as his age seemed in flux. When I first saw him I would have sworn he was in his late sixties but as he studied me, he appeared younger, much younger. Surely no older than thirty.

“Hello,” I said, stepping toward him. “I’m Alex.”

He huffed, and walked inside the softly shimmering building.

Well, things were going just smashing, weren’t they? I looked at the raver. She shrugged and followed him. I fell in step behind her.

“I suppose he sent you to be mended,” the man said once I’d stepped through the door.

I assumed “he” referred to Death. “Yes.”

From the outside I’d thought the structure was a building, but the walls contained a garden filled with the most perfect flowers I’d ever seen. Every rose and lily glowed with its own light and I realized I was seeing the plant’s life force, not quite a soul, but definitely a life.

“Your garden is beautiful,” I said, turning a full circle to admire the clematis and ivy climbing along the inner walls, the carefully laid out plots of perennials, and the waterfall trickling into a pond of colorful koi.

The man squinted at me, looking old once more. “What do you see, girl?”

“Life,” I said without even thinking about it. From the birds to the stones everything glowed with its own form of life.

The man nodded. “Let’s see your wounds.”

I tore my gaze from the beauty around me and looked at the ageless man.
What would he have done if I’d just said “pretty flowers”?

I didn’t dare ask. Lifting my shirt, I unwrapped the gauze around my stomach. He studied the wounds in silence. “That’s not all of them?”

“Uh, no.” The rest were higher. Much higher.

“Off with the shirt,” he said and when I didn’t immediately comply he frowned at me. “You’re not the first female to require mending. Do you want to be fixed or not?”

Right. The top was fitted and tight enough that I hadn’t worn a bra underneath—poor planning on my part. Hindsight and all that. I unzipped it reluctantly and shrugged it off. I felt more than a little exposed as the mender examined the punctures in my upper rib cage, but he studied me the same way Tamara examined bodies during autopsies. Not as a person, but as a puzzle to be solved.

Finally he nodded and his callused hand pressed against my skin. I cringed back and received a disapproving glance. Then the mending began. I don’t know what I expected. Healing magic is usually warm. I’ve even felt my skin stitch back together under powerful enough magic.

This was nothing like that.

The man put his hand on me, and my flesh turned to something liquid, rippling under his touch. I would have gasped, but I couldn’t seem to draw air, as if for a moment, I had no lungs.