Past Life

Chapter One 

Frankie cried out as she was hurled into a headstone.

“
Son of a bitch!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet. “Oh, you are asking for it now, you bastard!”

“
Don't tell me I've upset you again.” Frankie would recognise that voice anywhere, with its rich timbre and the American accent.

She turned to see Dante lounging casually against another headstone, doing his best impression of a Calvin Kline model; only with more clothes.

“
Not unless you're an evil, malevolent ghost,” she said, looking around warily. “Be careful,” she warned him.

“
Be careful of a ghost?” Dante mocked, shaking his head at the quaint little human superstition.

Frankie almost laughed as the ghost sent him flying. The surprise on his face as he climbed to his feet was something Frankie wouldn't forget any time soon.

“
Now hold on, George,” she tried to pacify the ghost before he struck either of them again. “I just want to talk. There's no harm in talking, right?”

Obviously there was, Frankie realised, as she found herself bouncing off the railings around his mausoleum.

“
George, if you don't talk to me now, the next time you see me it'll be to exorcise you! That's the ghost version of dying, George. No heaven, no hell, no haunting, just poof! Gone.”

George clearly wasn't impressed with her threats, as he picked her up and held her off the ground by her throat.

To Dante she just appeared to be hanging in mid air, but he could tell that she was in distress. He grabbed her leg and pulled, but the ghost was strong and wouldn't let her go of her.

Frankie was growing light headed and she knew that if George didn't drop her soon, she was going to suffocate. She tried to speak but there was no air passing into her lungs.

Suddenly it released her and she crumpled to the ground. She lay there for a few moments, panting and trying to recover herself.

“
Where is it?” Dante asked, crouched beside her and ready to pounce. For once he looked every inch the predator that he was, though his hunting skills would be useless against a ghost.

“
He's gone,” Frankie said, her voice hoarse.

Dante looked confused. “Gone where?”

Frankie didn't answer him but smiled and began talking in a baby voice. “Oh, who's my big brave boy!”

Dante briefly wondered if he'd slipped into some alternate dimension where nothing made sense.

“
You are. Yes you are.” She held her hand out about a foot off the ground as she rubbed thin air.

“
Frankie, who are you talking to?”

“
Bobby,” she said, bringing her other hand up to cup... nothing. “He's a good boy, isn't he?”

“
Okay, unless the next thing out of your mouth actually makes sense, I'm leaving.”

Frankie ignored him as she got to her feet. Dante was at least gracious enough to help her up.

“
See you later, buddy,” she said, bending over to be closer to the nothing that she had been stroking. “And just as soon as I figure out how, I'll bring you a big ol' ghost bone, how does that sound? Good boy.”

Finally she turned her attention to Dante. She opened her mouth to explain but instead gave a long sigh. “It's a really long story.”

“
I've got time.”

“
Then let's get a drink. My throat is killing me.” She raised her hand towards her neck but hesitated when she saw a bloody graze on her finger. She was about to put the finger in her mouth when Dante caught her wrist.

“
Don't waste it,” he admonished, popping the digit into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure as the blood hit his tongue.

Frankie allowed it because she knew that his saliva had healing properties, but it made her more than a little uncomfortable. Finally he took her finger out of his mouth and opened his eyes.

“
Delicious,” he said, his eyelids heavy with desire. “Does the rest of you taste as good?”

“
No,” she said, perhaps a little too sharply as she snatched her hand back.

Dante shrugged  then tilted her chin up and looked at her neck.

“
That's going to bruise I'm afraid,” he told her.

Frankie grimaced at the thought and pulled the collar of her shirt higher. Seeing that she was still unsteady, Dante offered her his elbow and after a moment's hesitation, she took it and they left the cemetery together.

“
Okay, so where do I start?” she asked, rhetorically. “You know that ghosts are real, right?”

“
Not until now, no.”

“
Well they are. Most are harmless but some actually start hurting people.”

“
Poltergeists.”

“
Exactly. This one, George 'Bloody' Mackenzie, has been hurting a lot of people recently,”

“
Why?”

“
His mausoleum was vandalised a few weeks ago. It's been cleaned up but apparently he's still pissed. He's been bruising and biting people for years but there's nothing new there, they even have tours for people who want to encounter a ghost, so I was going to leave him be. Then a few days ago he struck a woman in the head and she suffered a nasty concussion.”

“
So you came to exorcise him?”

“
No, I came to talk to him. Exorcising a ghost is bloody difficult and not always successful. Plus, most ghosts can be reasoned with and convinced to cross over into the afterlife.”

“
So they don't often toss you around like a rag doll.”

“
No.” Frankie shook her head. “Even most poltergeists just want someone to hear them. As soon  as they realise that I can, they tend to calm down.”

“
And who is Bobby?”

As they exited the graveyard through a short alley, Frankie smiled and pointed.

“
See that statue?” she asked.

“
Yes.”

“
That's Greyfriars Bobby.”

“
But that's a dog.”

“
Yep,” Frankie grinned and they went into the bar opposite the statue, aptly named Bobby's Bar.

“
So you're telling me that dogs can leave ghosts now?” Dante frowned. “What's next, rat ghosts? Spider ghosts?”

Frankie shivered. “Ugh! I hope not, I hate spiders. But in answer to your original question, Bobby's the first animal ghost I've ever seen but given his story, if any dog was going to become a ghost, it's him.”

“
What story?”

They approached the bar and Frankie ordered a double whisky for herself and a water for Dante. Since the bartender could hear them, they remained silent as he prepared their drinks. When they'd been served, they found a booth in the corner that afforded them some privacy, and Frankie explained Bobby's story.

“
Bobby was a terrier who belonged to John Gray, a night watchman. They patroled together and were pretty inseparable by all accounts. Then when Bobby was only two, John died. Bobby was adopted but he would never stay with the families who took him in, and for the next fourteen years he went to sit on John's grave every night. After a few years they tried to put him to sleep because he didn't have an owner or a dog licence. Thankfully the Lord Provost intervened, bought him a dog licence and made him the responsibility of the council, so Bobby carried on protecting his master's grave every night until he died. He's buried just inside the Kirkyard. ”

Frankie took a long sip of her whisky.

“
Ow, that stings,” she said.

“
I'll bet,” Dante sympathised. “Do you want some...?” He showed her his wrist to indicate he was offering her his blood. Vampire blood was a powerful healing aid.

Frankie shook her head. She still felt supercharged from the last time, even though that had been six months ago. “But thank you.”

Dante shrugged it off. “So this dog is still there, then?”

“
Who do you think chased Bloody Mackenzie off? It certainly wasn't us.”

“
How do you know it's a dog?”

“
I can see it.” She tapped her head and lowered her voice. “I'm psychic, remember.” She took another long sip of her drink and closed her eyes as it burned the inside of her throat. It was having a slight anaesthetic effect though.

“
I met Bobby when I was at university here. Poor chap's lonely, so I used to come and sit with him sometimes.”

“
How do you know he's lonely? Can you sense his emotions?”

“
Strangely no. I can with human ghosts but it seems that animals are as hard to read in death as in life. I knew he was lonely because I could see him jumping up at passers-by. Sometimes he left scratch marks, which people blamed on Bloody Mackenzie, but he just wanted some attention.”

“
This is all very surreal.” Dante shook his head.

“
What did you think I do on ghost hunts?” Frankie asked. It always amused her when one supernatural creature had trouble accepting the existence of another.

Dante laughed. “To be honest I always pictured you dressed like something out of Ghostbusters.”

“
That's an interesting visual,” Frankie smiled.

“
Okay, back to real ghosts. Why would a ghost be afraid of another ghost?”

Frankie shrugged. “I haven't the foggiest. To be honest, most ghosts don't seem very aware of each other. But maybe if they can harm us, they can harm each other. Anyway, whatever the reason I'm just glad Bobby was on our side.”

“
Yes, me too. Can Bobby feel it when you scratch him?”

Frankie shrugged. “I don't know for sure but he looks like he enjoys it.” She finished her drink and turned serious. “So what do you have for me this time?”

“
Down to business,” Dante said, raising his eyebrows as he reached into his jacket and withdrew two Mont Blanc pens. “Another blood feud. Both say the other started the latest altercation. Their human partners both gave evidence to the council's proxy while holding these.”