Authors: Multiple
“Jesus.” Jacob threw the car into reverse
and hit the accelerator whipping us around so fast my head spun. “I thought he
was friendly.”
“You thought wrong. Next time don’t
assume, ask. I could’ve used some help. Now get us out of here." I smacked
Jacob on the arm the same way a jockey whips a race horse. “Move it.”
“I am.” He shifted into drive and pushed
the accelerator to the floor, but not before the ogre had jumped onto the hood.
The metal buckled under the force of his weight. “What should I do?”
“I don't know.”
His eyes went wide and he frowned at
me.“What do you mean you don't know?”
“I'm a psychic, Jacob. Not an ogre
keeper.”
“And I’m a lawyer. I guess I'll wing it
then.” He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. “Hang on. I’m going to
try something I’ve seen in movies.”
I fumbled to fasten my seat belt and then
grabbed the oh-shit handle, praying Hollywood’s car stunts were based on actual
physics. Jacob accelerated taking the car well past eighty and then swerved to
the right while slamming on the brakes. The ogre might have been large and
strong, but he was no match for that kind of rapid change in direction. He shot
off the hood faster than a rock in a slingshot, landing in a heap several feet
away. Go Hollywood.
“Geez, is he okay?” Jacob peered out the
window at the ogre.
“I don't know and I'm not about to get
out of here to play the Good Samaritan. That thing wanted to eat me.”
“Are you sure? He doesn’t look like a
cannibal.”
“Yeah, well you didn't see his teeth.” I
rubbed my shoulder, which ached from my fall off the ogre.
Jacob looked thoughtful. “It's just, if
he dies, we could be liable for his death.”
God, trust a lawyer to worry about
liability before his own life. “And, if we stay, he'll be liable for ours.”
“You've got a point.” Jacob rubbed his
chin as he considered my point. “Hey look, he's moving.”
“See? He's fine. Happy now? Let's get the
hell out of here.”
Chapter
Six
I nursed my whiskey, hugging the glass
with both hands, while Jacob gulped the last of his rum and coke, and held his
empty glass up to the waitress in the universal signal for a refill. After our
run-in with the ogre, I needed a stiff drink and a place to tell Jacob what I
had seen. Pirate Pete's, a family run dive halfway between my place and Jacob's
seemed like a good choice. They served cheap Italian food complete with
red-and-white checkered tablecloths and cheesy prints of pirates on the wall.
Most of the pictures were faded with dusty frames. Pirate Pete's had opened in
the sixties and they hadn't redecorated since. But the food was good.
“It's a necromancer for sure.” I said it
fast, forcing myself to get the words out. “He made your brother into a
zombie.”
“But why my brother and his family? I
don't understand.” Morose, Jacob stared into his empty glass.
“They wanted to rob your brother’s bank.”
“What?” His voice went almost as high as
his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy. Unheard of,
but also true.” I lowered my voice. “I saw everything.”
Jacob was quiet for a long time,
processing it all. Finally he said, “So they want money then. But why a zombie?
I don't get it.”
“Do you know anything about zombies?” The
waitress came by with two more drinks for us, which I acknowledged with a nod.
“Other than they're the living dead, no.”
“Well, I’m no expert, but, from what I
understand, your brother became a zombie. One that likely retained his memory,
but not his will. That gives a necromancer complete control. He’s got someone
who knows the passwords and has the access to rob the bank for him.” I paused
and shook my head, still stunned by the whole thing. Across from me, Jacob’s
eyes went wide with shock.
I gave him a sympathetic smile. “It's the
perfect crime. The police would never realize the thieves were zombies, which
is why they think your brother was the one who robbed the bank. He’s the one on
camera, not the necromancer.” I looked at the menu in front of me, thinking it
would be a good idea to eat something. Liquid meals gave me the worst
hangovers.
“My brother was murdered and made into a
zombie for a bank robbery?” Jacob rubbed his forehead as if it hurt to think,
which given what I’d just told him, it probably did.
I nodded. “Think about it. No worries
about your victim refusing to cooperate and the police blame the wrong guy for
the theft. Like I said, perfect. There's something else though. The druids are
involved somehow.”
"Druids?" He gave a ‘now what’
look.
"Yeah, they were actually trying to
save Jason."
Jacob cradled his head in his hands,
overwhelmed. "What? How did they get mixed up in this?"
I shook my head. "I don't have any
details other than they were there after your brother died. They're pretty
mysterious about their agenda anyway."
"But pretty public about their
financial support of certain politicians," Jacob said referencing some of
the recent campaign finance scandals that involved the druids. Only normal
non-magic humans could hold public office, but money talked and magic worked on
humans just fine, something the druids knew very well. Or so the rumors said.
"I know. It's funny too, because the
druid that showed up just before the house blew up is my new neighbor." I
thought back to the missing eyebrows and made the connection with the explosion.
Interesting.
Jacob looked at me, surprised. "No
shit."
"No shit." Malcolm and I were
going to have a talk as soon as I got back to my apartment.
Jacob downed his second drink in one
swallow and looked longingly at mine. I pushed it towards him, but he held up a
hand to stop me. “No, that's okay.”
“It'll take the edge off.”
“You sound like you speak from
experience.”
“I do.” I gave him a grim smile.
“How long has it been since Mark died? A
couple months right?” Jacob ran his finger around the rim of my glass.
“Just about a year actually.” My chest
tightened all of a sudden and I had to work to inhale.
“Is it getting any easier?”
I swallowed the lump of misery in my
throat, but my voice still came out hoarse. “No.”
His gaze met mine as tears gathered in the
corner of his eyes and I knew he saw the same when he looked at me. For a
second, we had a connection that transcended language, one of those silent
moments full of tacit understanding.
Uncomfortable, we both broke eye contact.
I dabbed my eyes with my napkin, pretending not to notice when Jacob did the
same. The grief between us was too fresh and our pain fed off each other. It
was either ignore it or pay the price it demanded. Neither one of us wanted to
have that particular breakdown.
Careful to act as if nothing was wrong,
we studied our menus as if competing to see who could memorize it first. I
waved to the waitress who passed our table carrying a pizza for a couple
sitting close to the door. She nodded at me and came right over after dropping
off their food. We ordered our meals as well as another round of drinks. I went
with my favorite comfort food, spaghetti and meatballs, and Jacob ordered
lasagna. When the waitress left, we sat in silence looking at anything but each
other.
“Does it ever get better?” Jacob asked
finally, an expression of such anguish in his eyes that it tore at my heart.
I shrugged. “Too early to tell. I think
so.”
“What if it doesn't?” Jacob caved and
took my drink, tossing the amber liquid into the back of his throat.
I thought about feeding him one of the
many platitudes I had been made to suffer, but the raw appeal in his eyes gave
me pause. Pat answers like 'they're in a better place now' didn't help, they
just sounded good. I was probably one of the few people who could understand
the devastation of his loss. I would be lying not just to him, but to myself as
well if I fell into the trap of psychobabble. “I can't pretend to know your
grief or the depth of your loss. All I can do is tell you what it's been like
for me. The first few days after the accident, I didn't think it was true.”
He snorted. “Denial.”
“Yeah. I kept forgetting Mark was dead.”
“Me too. I catch myself dialing my
brother's phone number all the time.” Jacob poked at the ice in his glass with
the tiny cocktail straw. “His voice mail account is still active. I always wait
to hear his voice and then I hang up. Once I even left a message.”
“I did that too. The worst was when
doctors or people he had plans with, but didn't know he died, called looking
for him and then I had to explain why Mark hadn't shown up.” I gave a bitter
laugh. “I even had to fight a bill from the doctor's office saying Mark was a
no show. They didn't want to make an exception for a patient who had the gall
to die without canceling first. After a while, I couldn't deal with them
anymore. I just hung up or deleted the messages.”
“How did you get through the funeral?”
“I didn't. I was told if I showed up I
would be forcibly removed.” I closed my eyes remembering how I had snuck into
the funeral home on the morning of the burial to see Mark one last time. Little
did I know his ghost was about to become a regular part of my life.
“That's cold.”
I just shrugged. “Mark's parents blamed
me for his death, I was the driver after all. They even campaigned for the
involuntary manslaughter charges.” Our drinks arrived and we paused as the
waitress murmured something about our food being ready soon.
“I don't remember hearing that,” Jacob
said after the waitress had left.
I laughed again. “You're probably the
only one who didn't read the paper that day. Or watch the news.” The media had
mobbed me like piranhas at a buffet. I think I'd even made national news that
day. They dubbed me the 'psychic murderess'.
“But it was a car accident, right?” He
frowned at me, confused.
I tried not to be offended. The question
was frequent enough, understandable even. Still, it stung. I suspected it
always would. “Yes it was an accident.” I enunciated each word, placing
emphasis on the word accident. “I shouldn't have been charged at all. They
dropped the case fairly quickly when my lawyer threatened to reveal certain
key, prejudicial connections Mark's family had with the DA and the presiding
judge.” I had gathered the evidence of the bribes myself with clairvoyance. Celia
wasn't one to let ethics stand in her way and I could fight fire with fire when
pushed.
“Wow. You've had it pretty rough. I guess
I should be grateful I'm not a suspect.”
I shook my head. “Loss is loss. There's
no hierarchy saying one type of loss is easier than another.”
“I see your point.” He spun his glass in
slow circles between his hands and we both watched the liquid swirl and eddy.
“Well, where do we go from here?”
“The police. I need to make a report.
After that, the ball is in their court.”
“And my brother?”
“I'll try to track his body after we deal
with the police. Who knows maybe they'll find it...” I paused realizing I had
just relegated Jacob's brother to a thing as opposed to human remains. I took a
breath and corrected myself, “I mean, him before we do.”
Jacob gave me a hard look. “I get the
feeling you don’t want to look for my brother.”
I avoided his gaze and looked at the
napkin in my lap brushing off imaginary crumbs. Never mind no food had been
served yet. The charade didn't matter so long as it kept the tears from pouring
out.
“Are you going to say something?”
I flinched at the sudden anger edging his
voice. Despite my fight for control, my bottom lip began to quiver and tears
started the long, slow slide down my face, so hot, they burned.
“What is it?” This time his voice was
gentle.
I looked up at him then, and opened my
mouth to speak, but couldn't. Jacob stood and slid into the booth next to me,
his arm going around my shoulder. He rocked me back and forth making shushing
noises while I convulsed against him in silent sobs. His shoulder felt strong
and the smell of his Djinn made aftershave enveloped me. I cocooned my face in
his chest, letting him hold me until oxygen-starved sobs turned into gaspy
sniffles. Our embrace became awkward instead of comforting then. We might share
common circumstances, but we didn't really know each other well enough yet to
be this close.
I pulled away and blew my nose with a
tissue from my purse. “I'm sorry," I whispered.
“It's okay.”
“It's just…" I hesitated. “It's just
that all I've ever found are dead bodies. And when I’m not finding them, I’m
making them.”
Jacob remained silent and watched me with
his steady brown eyes, his arm still wrapped around me.
I gave a nervous laugh and looked down at
the napkin in my lap, hyper-aware of his eyes on me. He had beautiful eyes.
Like rich chocolate and right then they were melting with empathy for me.
“Even search and rescue dogs are given a
live person to find because otherwise they get depressed. Everyone around me
ends up dead.” Another wave of crying threatened to consume me, but I fought it
back. “I just don't want to find any more dead people.” I pressed a hand to my
eyes hoping to stop the tears, but they seeped through anyway. I had yet to be
successful at stopping them once they started.
“I don't know what to say other than I'm
sorry.” He squeezed me against him and I briefly let my head rest on his
shoulder again.
“Thanks. There really isn't anything you
can say.”
“Why do you do this then?”
“The PI thing was always Mark’s idea. I
prefer antiques, but the word is out now and people keep finding me.”
“And I was one of them. I'm sorry.”
“No, it's okay. I don't mind helping,
that's the part I like. It's the other stuff I can't take.”
The waitress arrived with our food, and,
taking one look at us, said, “I'll get another round from the bar.”
I reluctantly pulled away from Jacob.
“Sorry for the meltdown.”
“Perfectly understandable. To tell you
the truth, human contact felt pretty good.” Jacob moved back to his side of our
booth. “I don't have any family left to speak of and it was nice to connect
with someone.”
“I know how you feel. Sometimes it's just
nice to be touched.” I twirled spaghetti around my fork inhaling the rich
basil-tomato-oregano aroma. If comfort had a smell, this was it. “Thanks for
the hug.”
“Any time.” He watched me raise my fork
to my mouth and reached across the table to touch my free hand. “Maybe we
should make it a regular occurrence.”
I paused, looking at his hand on mine. I
lowered my fork and considered his offer. Jacob watched me, hopeful. If we had
been normal people, this would be when he would ask me out on a date, but we
weren't normal. Far from it. Still, through all the grief and stress, there was
a spark between us and I had to admit, maybe there could be more to Jacob and I
than just a client/psychic relationship.