Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (10 page)

“I have respected your wishes. You spoke aloud.” He moved closer. I could feel and sense his nearness.

“What do you want, Disco? Or should I call you Gabriel?” I closed my eyes, forcing my sensitive peepers to take ten.

“I want you to stop being so afraid. I want you to feel safe and protected. I want you to show me the real you, no more false pretenses or facades. And I want you to trust me. You can call me whatever you wish; by the name chosen on the day of my birth, or the one intended as a joke. Both will lead you to the same man.”

I resisted the temptation to let it all go, to leave all the burdening shit I’d carried behind in the past, but forgetting your mistakes made you prone to repeat them, and I would never allow myself to be placed in a helpless position again.

I felt split down the middle, absolutely torn.

“Some people are beyond repair, and I’m one of them. I can’t be fixed, not by you, or anyone else.” I opened my eyes and stepped away from the wall. Walking to the bed, I reached for my boots.

Disco rounded on me, eyes flashing in anger. “Why won’t you tell me what happened to you? What’s bound you so tightly you cannot let it go? Let it out, Rhiannon. Expel the taint from your life so you can move on.”

“I won’t ever tell anyone about it,” I responded flatly and shook my head, zipping the boots up one at a time. I hated ending the night on a sour note, but it was safest thing—for both of us. “And I think it’s time I went on my way.”

“You can’t just leave,” Disco grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. It was the first time I’d seen him lose composure, and the knowledge that I was responsible made me feel like shit. “Are you certain you want to go? You don’t want to discuss this?”

He moved across the room in a burst of speed, standing across from me in one moment and in front of me the next. He made sure not to touch me, but it wouldn’t take much to bridge the gap.

I sighed, changing my mind and offering an explanation I hoped he would accept. God help me, I cared about what he thought.

How the mighty have fallen.

“The girl you want to know died a long time ago. She’s gone, Disco.”

“She’s still there.” The gold shifted in his irises, becoming bright. “You choose to keep her locked away in a place that festers and rots. It’s a shame; she deserves better.”

“Have you finished analyzing me yet?” I snapped. He was doing the one thing I couldn’t stand for, asking for something beyond my capacity to give.

“For now.” His eyes reflected the light. The gold was truly stunning, as if the iris was a three dimensional display of color—black edges, shifting blue as the base, and liquid gold on the top.

“I want to go home.” My voice lost the anger, becoming deflated.

“As you wish.” He cupped my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my jaw tenderly. Those gold tinged eyes rolled me under, erasing the room, sending me into darkness.

Birds were chirping outside, serenading worms, hatchlings, and nests. I smiled and stretched, breathing in a deep lungful of fresh morning air. I had the worst nightmare, but now, it was over. I was home, in my bed.

No more blood…

My eyelids flew open.

I wasn’t at home, and I wasn’t in my room.

The ceiling fan rotated in a slow motion, causing the thin cream-colored curtains at the window to flutter. I sat up, eyes wide. The striped comforter matched the Robin’s-egg blue interior of the room, and contrasted with the antique cream-colored dresser and nightstand.

Someone was outside the door. I could hear the floor creaking with each footstep.

My socked feet slipped on the polished wood as I slid from the bed. Padding across the room, I paused to glance in the full-length mirror on the back of the closed door. Other than a case of bed head, my face was completely normal. There were no bruises, and the cut on the edge of my mouth was gone. I inspected my hand. The white lines were barely visible on my skin. I flexed my body and it responded with no aches or pains; muscles strong and ready to go.

Grasping the tarnished golden handle, I turned until the latch gave, held my breath, and said a prayer that the door wouldn’t creak as I peeked out.

Beady-eyed stares greeted me from the top shelves, and a growl rumbled inside my chest. I knew exactly where Goose was. I could hear him shuffling about as he prepared breakfast.

I glided into the strawberry kitchen, thus dubbed by me because of all the kooky strawberry decorations inside. Goose had it all—strawberry salt and pepper shakers, a strawberry paper towel holder, a strawberry sugar jar, and cookie containers. He even had a strawberry teapot, complete with matching glasses and saucers.

I sneaked up from behind and said, “You and I are going to have to work on our communication issues.”

An egg slipped from his hand as he whipped around. I rushed forward, catching it in my palm before it hit the ground, and shoved aside my temporary shock. This was about Goose and his failure to communicate, not my ability to save falling objects with superhero-like reflexes. I put the egg back into the Styrofoam carton, anchoring my hands on my hips, and stared him down.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were marked by Disco’s people?”

“Hello and good day to you, too, Rhiannon. It’s wonderful to discover you’re so pleasant in the mornings.” He narrowed his eyes and hitched his chin in the direction of the bedroom. “How did you sleep, by the way? I hope better than I did. The couch isn’t very forgiving on my back.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” I snorted. “You will not play the victim. Do you have any idea of the shit I went through last night?”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry. I should have insisted on going with you.”

“Why? So the big bad vampire could mind fuck you too?” He paled and I said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I’m joking!”

“That’s not very funny.” He cracked an egg on the edge of the bowl and tossed the shell haphazardly into the trash.

“Without humor, I couldn’t survive insane shit like this. I would lose my mind.” I smelled coffee and followed the aroma. A freshly made pot sat waiting. I pointed to the machine. “May I?”

“I had planned on surprising you with breakfast, including coffee. So yes, you may.” He started whisking the eggs, wrist and arm moving effortlessly.

“All right, Martha, tell me about this business between you and Disco. I want to know why the hell you didn’t let me in on the fact you were part of the family.” I grabbed a mug and pulled it down. It was decorated with Christmas trees and eight tiny reindeer, but at least it wasn’t strawberries.

“It’s complicated.” He poured the eggs into the pan, moving a plastic spatula along the bottom.

“Lucky me.” I smiled sardonically and took a seat at the table. “I have all day.”

“Necromancers don’t have it easy. We can see the dead, communicate with the dead, and in some cases, we can control the dead. That’s a very dangerous ability when you live in a world where dead things co-exist among the living.”

“I’m waiting,” I prodded when he didn’t continue.

“For our own safety, it’s generally advised that we find a group of people who can offer protection. Necromancers are sought after because some of us have the capability to overcome vampires if we so desire. It’s uncommon. Only three such people exist that I am aware of, and all of them are marked.” He pulled the pan from the stove and emptied the eggs onto a waiting plate.

“And you?” I hiked my chin at him. “Why did you decide to allow Disco to mark you?”

“It was the smart decision, and the right decision. All of us have to find security, and if it’s offered by someone you trust, you can’t ask for more. I could have found myself bound to a group that loaned me out for profit, or demanded I only work directly for them. And that does happen, more often than I care to admit.”

He filled a plate with eggs and two slices of toast, slid it across the table, and sat down, folding his arms across his chest.

“What does it mean anyway? Do you actually have a mark?”

He removed his thick Tag Heuer watch to display an intricate splash of lines and dots along the width of his wrist.

“It’s just a tattoo?” I exhaled a sigh of relief. A tattoo was easy. Where did I sign up?

“No.” He shook his head as he refastened his watch. “You have to swear fealty to the family, and it’s a lifelong commitment. You also have to give a blood exchange, which allows them to find you no matter where you go. It links you together.”

“Hell no,” I breathed.

“It’s not without benefits. How would you like to look any vampire in the eye and maintain control? Their mind manipulations don’t work so well once you’ve entered the fold. It’s a double-edged sword. And the best part is your necromancy. Once that gate is opened between you and them, you’ll discover just how far your abilities go.”

He rose from the table and went for coffee.

“I was interested in understanding my abilities,” I said, “but if joining the home team is the means to that end, I’ll have to pass.”

“God damn it!” Goose roared, no longer happy go lucky Ethan McDaniel P.I. He faced me, his tone harsh. “Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you, and don’t interrupt with your sassy smart ass comments. This isn’t funny anymore. You don’t have many options left, Rhiannon. Once word gets out that a necromancer is floating around unmarked, it’s only a matter of time before undesirables start sniffing around. That badass attitude of yours won’t hold an ounce of water with the kind of people you’re about to meet. And they’re coming. Hell, they may already be here. So you think about what Disco offered, and you think about it real hard.”

He took a deep breath, turned around, and filled his mug.

I didn’t know if it was the information shared, his anger, or the look he gave as he forced me to listen, but I kept my mouth shut when he walked back over, sat down, and rested his elbows on the table, clasping the mug with both hands.

“I understand there are things in your past that keep you distant, but this is something that even you can’t tackle alone. I don’t want to see you broken, and that is exactly what would happen if you’re marked by the wrong people.” His concerned brown eyes locked on mine, and his voice softened. “They won’t ask for permission. They’ll force you to give fealty. And once they have it, they’ll own you. I don’t think you’d survive something like that. Not for long.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted wearily. “Why us? Why are we so important? How would they even know if someone is marked or not? Can’t I just say that I am?”

“Because that connection between the living and dead flows through us and they can absorb it. If they are hurt or weakened, they can draw strength from our life force for themselves. The mark is a living thing. They can sense it, just as we can sense the spirits around us.”

“It sounds dangerous,” I said, unable to conceal my fear.

“It is.” He looked at me, stressing the importance of his words. “That’s why you have to trust those you align yourself with. A selfish person won’t care if you live or die because of their needs. They’ll just suck you dry, and if you don’t survive, wait until another comes along to repeat the cycle. Are you starting to get the picture now?”

I cradled my head in my hands. I got the picture. I was being forced to choose between the lesser of two evils again. It sucked and pissed me off something fierce, but it also scared me shitless.

“Do you trust Disco?” I lifted my head, gazing across the uneaten plate of food to catch Goose studying me.

“Implicitly,” he answered, never breaking eye contact.

“Damn it.” I reclined in the chair and stared at the ceiling. I could see the tiny little bubbles where the paint had dried too quickly. My vision still shaper than normal.

“What other reason besides your affinity for isolation do you have to say no?”

“He wants more from me then I’m willing to give.”

“Like what?” Goose kicked my chair.

I sat up, frowning at him. “What did you do that for?”

“You have the worst manners. It’s rude not to pay attention to the person you’re speaking with. Now, stop avoiding the question. What does he want you can’t give?”

I hesitated and answered, “He wants my trust.”

“Your trust,” Goose echoed. “Why is that too much to ask for?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” I stared at him unapologetically, anger simmering within. I allowed the emotion to wrap around me like a familiar blanket.

“Then come to some kind of understanding. Your life is worth swallowing a bit of pride, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that simple.” I swallowed, treading into unknown territory. “I don’t want to relive my past. Not for anyone or anything. I just want that part of my life to stay dead and buried. Is it so wrong to want to forget?”

“No, that sounds like a positive thing. And if you mean it, you can start today by letting that baggage go. You can’t claim you want to forget when you keep those memories around as a defense mechanism.”

“You skinny ass version of Dr. Phil.” I scowled. “I swear to God, you should get into talk show television.”

“Call me whatever you want, but you know I’m right. You keep watching out for what you expect to happen, and you’re going to be blindsided by something you don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what.” I compromised grudgingly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Baby steps are fine with me.” He grinned over his mug and took a huge gulp.

“How did I get here anyway?” I looked around the kitchen. Even the wallpaper had strawberries. Willy Wonka popped inside my head, his wicked little voice repeating, “the snozzberries taste like snozzberries”, and I snickered.

“Disco doesn’t have a standing invitation into your home, so he brought you to mine. What’s so funny?”

“Your strawberry hard-on.” I motioned at the strawberry basket in the center of the table. “Did you just wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to collect strawberry kitchen gadgets and shit, time to visit Pier 1’? It’s kind of weird, like you’re a closet Suzie homemaker.”

“The wallpaper was here when I got the place, and I accessorized. So sue me,” he grumbled defensively, giving me the evil eye.

“Hey, whatever floats your boat, shortcake,” I laughed. “But if you ask me to go to rummage sells to find that all elusive strawberry toothpick holder, I’m having you committed.”

I pushed the chair back, grabbed my untouched plate, and walked over to the trash. I was usually starving in the morning, but I had zero desire to eat. Another side effect of new spidey senses I guessed. I tossed the food into the garbage, rinsed the plate, and placed it inside the dishwasher.

“Thanks for breakfast. I suppose I should get a move on. I still have to go to the store, and I probably should swing by Mike’s for a quick workout. Where are my shit kickers?”

I walked out of the kitchen and spotted the black leather boots near the door. I snagged them in my hand, sat down in the chair across from his desk, and slid them on.

“Wait!” Goose hurried out of the kitchen. “I checked up on Jude Mason. So far, he’s clean. He works down on Wall Street in foreign exchange. I’m looking into Mark and Sabrina Smith next. It’s no surprise they used an alias, so I have to track them down.”

“How do you plan on doing that, Sherlock?”

“Mark said he worked real estate, so I’ll start by looking for an agent.”

“And how do you know he wasn’t making that part up too?” I waited expectantly, smiling and leaning back in the chair, crossing my arms.

“I don’t.” He shrugged. “But it’s a starting point.”

“Be careful. They might be into some kinky shit. Do
you
have a gun, Goose?”

“Very funny.” He pretended to laugh, moving around the chair to face me. “Rhiannon…” He waited until he had my undivided attention and said, “When I took that first case for Disco, I wasn’t green. I knew about the dangers and the pitfalls of flying solo, but I did it anyway. I was too damned cocky for my own good. I almost regretted it too, when Deidre and her crew came calling. I got lucky. Paine and Adrian were trailing me the night they showed up. I don’t want to think about the flipside of that coin.”

“Paine and Adrian?”

“Two of Disco’s people. You would have met them if you’d stuck around last night.”