Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1) (20 page)

“How about you throw me one more bone,” I said.

Sarah Arias paused and I swore I saw surprise on her face.

“A bone?” she said. “Ezekiel 37.”

Was that a rock band or something?  Ezekiel 37.  Sounded familiar, but then I could say the same thing for just about anything she could say.  Hang out for more than two thousand years nothing feels like the first time around the track anymore.  But Ezekiel 37 was all the additional help I’d get because Sarah Arias walked to the restaurant door.

She stopped with the door half open, did her half turn thing again to face me.

Uh-oh.

“The coin with my butt on it,” she said.  “Pig.”

I was speaking to her back when I got in the last word.

“You said you couldn’t read my mind.”

The universe hovered just above chaos when you couldn’t accept the word of your guardian angel.  I looked down at the table to see if I’d left anything.  Just a white piece of paper.  I picked it up, read it, and realized something else about Sarah Arias.

She’d stuck me with the bill.  No matter what the culture, chicks always ended up treating me like that. Another thought came to me as I paid for the drinks.  If Sarah Arias really was my guardian angel, or even my watcher as she’d sort of called herself, then where in the heck did she just go?  I mean, there I stood unguarded.  And that previous night had to be the thing of guardian angel dreams.

I left the old Aachen town square and made for the train station.  I didn’t use my full vampire speed and I didn’t exactly shuffle my feet, either.  I hopped the first train for Frankfurt and within two hours I found myself jogging the short distance between the Bad Homburg station and my apartment.

Herr Doktor and Frau Maybe-His-Wife sat on the front porch of their first floor flat.  Smoking.  Of course.  Sarah Arias should get to know them better.  Maybe they could have an all-day smoke-a-thon and laugh about the way I don’t know how things are done…about how I don’t even know what it is they want.

If I were a betting man I’d say somebody upstairs did know.  Sparky.  I tossed exuberant hello noises toward Herr Doktor and Frau and they kindly returned my greeting with expressionless stares.  I ran up the stairs.  Lately everyone seemed to have the key to my flat so I hadn’t bothered locking it when we left for Aachen. I opened the door.  I really didn’t want to see what I saw inside.  I can’t say I didn’t expect it. 

Chapter 27

Two piles of steaming ghost-dog poop artfully arranged to appear random and I looked forward to what my life would be like AFTER the twenty minutes it would take for Karl’s floor sculptures to fade away. Something else wouldn’t need nearly as much time to fade away.  Sparky.  Why?  Because he was already gone.  I wasn’t surprised.  Mostly because I had a hint.  I’d noticed the dented jag wasn’t parked in the little lot behind the house.

I made my way to the computer.  Helmet had a cold beer waiting for me beside the keyboard and he’d placed a fluffy pillow in the chair.  And if you believe that, you’ve been skimming, not reading.  Helmet did do his normal hop to attention thing as I approached. No beer, no pillow.

“At ease, soldier,” I said as I pulled out the desk chair.  Helmet’s response reminded me that I still needed to check on when in history giving the finger became a common greeting. I looked up at the monitor. 
Somebody
had been doing a lot of research.  More Charlemagne stuff.

Sparky gone would make my job easier. True, he could tell me what was going on.  If he ever decided to.  Short of that, he’d take his half-truths and intentional wrong turns with him.  And if Helmet had anything to do with Sparky’s departure?  He deserved a medal.  If everyone came out the other side of this nightmare I’d buy him one on eBay. I didn’t know what the Nazi award looked like for informing on your grandparents at the local Gestapo HQ, but I’d search it out.  Millions must have been awarded.  Perhaps Herr Doktor would help me out and show me his.

Karl jumped in my lap as I began clicking all those Charlemagne windows closed.  The dog let loose an excited squirt…at least it wasn’t the usual three-alarm fire dousing.  He twirled around a couple of times and then settled down for a nap.  It’s nice to know who rules my house.

All those browser windows.  Must have been one heck of a Chucky fantasy going on.  Give a German a legendary king and tell him stories of German conquest and you better be ready to take out a restraining order because he’ll keep coming back for more.

I almost gave up on closing down the windows.  Why worry about a clean monitor when I haven’t seen the top of my desk since I moved in?  I hit the home button on one of open windows.  It took me to the Bing search page.  As I considered the proper spelling of Ezekiel I noticed an online photo situated on the lower right side of the monitor. An ornate gold box.

I lived through the middle ages and I knew a fancy coffin when I saw one.  I brought the window holding the photo forward and enlarged it.  There was a caption.  “Frederick II reinterred Charlemagne’s bones in this gold and silver casket.”  That convinced me.  I looked over my shoulder and there stood Helmet.

“Dude,” I said, “this man crush you have on Chucky is getting out of hand.” 

I did the theatric pointing-with-both-of-my-hands at all the Charlemagne stuff and combined it with the eyebrows-raised accusatory look at Helmet.  The ghost scowled at me.

“I met him,” I said. “He could be a cool guy but I don’t think he’d been “All That” if he weren’t already born into it.”

Helmet closed his eyes and shook his head.  I’d seen Herr Doktor do the same thing when he caught me putting a beer bottle in the cardboard recycle container.  The look said idiot even if the mouth didn’t.

“To each his own,” I said and I turned back to the monitor. 

The brief exchange didn’t wake Karl.  The dog probably slept through World War I.  Right up until the shell got him.  The photo of the golden casket.  Impressive workmanship for a guy too dead to appreciate it.  Some people have all the luck in life AND death.  I closed the window and returned to the Bing search page.

I typed in Ezekiel—correct spelling on the first try—and it returned nearly eight million hits. Mostly Bible references.  No good.  I decided to narrow the search by adding thirty seven at the end.

Three million hits didn’t narrow things as much I expected.  I scanned the first page of results. 
Jackpot
. “The Valley of Dry Bones.”  That’s what each of links said.  The thirty-seventh chapter of the book of Ezekiel as it turned out.

Dry bones.  How could I not associate that with the photo of the gold and silver casket? A thousand years dead?  I couldn’t see how bones could get much drier than that.  A solid lead.  Finally.

My mind raced as I glanced out of my third story window at the street below.  This is where you’d expect the single clue to unlock the entire mystery.  Didn’t happen.  My mind sped along all right. But in no cogent pattern. Thoughts ran like headless vectors.  All velocity, no direction. 

Still, I didn’t want to lose the high associated with that first baby step.  Tradition says small victories are celebrated with large beers.  At least my traditions do.  I handed Karl to Helmet and stood.  The crazy thing was running in his sleep.  I’d only taken a step toward the kitchen when my smartphone started beeping.  I retrieved it from the desk and recognized the caller ID. 

That made me stop.  And I’m not talking about the caller ID.  Notice I said “retrieved it from my desk?”  Hadn’t I left the phone plugged in on the windowsill?  I glanced at Helmet.  The ghost winked. Not the best time for Helmet’s antics.  I pushed the answer button.

“What do you need, Sparcius?” I said.

A long pause and I thought about disconnecting.  That would just delay things because he’d call back.

“I’m not in the mood,” I said.

A smooth feminine voice.  Petulant and in English squeezed through a heavy Magyar accent.

“And here I thought the photos would change all of that,” Soyla said.

Raw fear shivered through my heart like the big wave that crashes to the winter shore and then recedes to hide among the smaller ones.  My eggs also buzzed.

“I’m not talking to you,” I said. 

Wasted breath, but ego demanded some display of displeasure over having my butt kicked by a girl.

“Ah,” She said. “Is my strong Gaius angry with Orsoyla?”

Maybe not angry, but certainly miffed.  Of course she’d scored big points with the maestro-level sexting.  And Helmet was looking like he agreed.  I could tell by the way he stood with his head nearly touching mine.

I put the phone on mute and whispered, “I’ll put it on speaker.”

Mollified he wouldn’t miss anything, Helmet backed out of my personal space.  Good.  Maybe my left ear would take less than an hour to thaw.  What is it about ghosts—both Helmet and Karl—consuming all the heat?

“I’m putting you on speaker,” I said.

Everyone can tell when you’ve put them on speaker by that sound of the conversation moving to the inside of a toilet bowl.  It can make the other person suspicious, make them hold back or just hang up.

“It’s just me here,” I said.  “So you can talk freely.”

“But my love,” Soyla replied, “you know that I always do.”

Good point.  I’d sooner expect self-control out of a grizzly bear.  Or maybe Karl.

“Hello Helmut,” she said in a purring voice you’d happily pay the five buck per minute charge just to keep on the line.  “Have you come out to play?”

Soyla always used the more Germanic-sounding Helmut rather than the ridiculous Helmet.  Made me wonder if Helmet had been one of the occupation troops in Budapest.  Far-fetched, but enough of a possibility to allow the green-eyed monster an appearance from time to time.  Crazy.  I had to remind myself I was avoiding Soyla, not wooing her. 

And Helmet?  He did nothing to disguise his sophomoric crush.  You’d think a man of his age could exhibit some measure of restraint.  Look at me.  I pulled it off.  Why did it have to feel like two roommates after the same girl? And why was I spending so much time worrying about something that was
never
going to happen.  I returned to business.

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

Wrong thing to say to a potentially psycho woman.  But I’m being redundant.  Soyla didn’t respond for so long a time I checked twice to make sure the connection hadn’t dropped.  Helmet threw that slow shake of the head, disappointed look thing my way.

“I know,” I said to Helmet. “It’s not the way things are done.”

“Your apology is accepted,” Soyla said.  “But only if the gift and flowers arrive tomorrow.”

She was joking but I didn’t think Helmet saw through it. By the morning there’d be flowers on the way to Soyla from an online florist. Along with a diamond trinket.  I’d get to pay for it all, and the ghost would sign his name on the cards.

I whispered to Helmet. “She’s just kidding about the gift thing.”

I toyed with the thought of cancelling all my credit cards but knew he’d just sign me up for more and spend double the intended amount as punishment.  And then he’d probably order a pallet of soy baby formula to be delivered to Oberursel customs.

“Of course I’m not, my love.”

“Soyla,” I said, “Will you quit yanking Helmet’s chain and get down to business.”

“But of course, my love,” she said.

I did the mute thing again and turned to Helmet.

“See, she’s not mad.”

Helmet looked dubious but I hoped he’d at least stop short of the diamond bauble.  And the baby formula too.

Soyla said, “I have him.”

“Sparky, right?”

Nothing for a while and then Soyla said, “Nothing to say?”

Darn mute.  I disengaged it.

“Yea, right.  You have Sparky,” I said.  “And you want something out of me before you let him go.”

“Yes, my love.”

“Soyla,” I said, “this isn’t how a Blood Feud is supposed to work.  If you have him, you’re supposed to kill him.”

“So precise, my love,” she said. “And this talk of killing,” she added, “makes the paint melt off my body in all the places I couldn’t reach.“

Helmet’s face hit the floor.  Good thing I was sitting down because I’d have ended up on top of him. 
Holy crap
.  But I couldn’t let that thought run away with my mind.  Either one of them.  But what harm in letting the melting paint thing settle for a few moments?  It was Soyla who broke the spell.

“My employers offer redemption,” she said. 

“For a price,” I said.

Soyla laughed.  It sounded wicked, it sounded crazy, it sounded like a woman who could kiss you with genuine passion while she ripped your frilly bits from your body.  It sounded just like Soyla.

“Yes, my love,” she said.  “There is always a price.”

What I said next came without forethought.  I could blame it on my normal disorientation when dealing with Soyla, or maybe the unprecedented incursion of No Face and his demon gang into my previously sleepy life in Germany. Now, I tend to think it was that begrudging hint provided by Sarah Arias.  Well, maybe not so much begrudging as it was ultimately helpful…crucial in the way a rubber ducky is important to a drowning man.  And of course, important to innocent souls caught in a demonic painting.  Just the sort of thing you’d expect out of a guardian angel.

“Dry bones,” I said, using the title reference for Ezekiel 37.

Another laugh from Soyla.  This one sounded more like a happy giggle.

“So my love already knows,” she said.  Her voice changed to all business. “Bring them to the Niederwalddenkmal at midnight tomorrow,” she said.  “Or not,” she added.  “Because I will enjoy my time with Sparcius.” 

The last comment came from a heartless psychopath.  Good thing too.  It reminded both Helmet and me of what we were dealing with.  The calm murdering bitch routine tends to deflate things enough to bring a guy back to his senses.  Happens to me all the time. I waited for more, but it didn’t come.  She’d said what she called to say.

Soyla had disconnected.