by Paige Tyler
Muncie looked as if he wanted to argue, but he finally nodded and loaded his shotgun with the shells Logan had given him. Simpson, on the other hand, was studying the shells in the faint light coming from the streetlamps in the funeral home’s parking lot.
“What the hell kind of shells are these?” he asked. “They look as if they’re filled with salt and pepper.”
Logan was too aggravated to prevaricate. “They’re filled with blessed salt and hematite. The thing we’re going after doesn’t give a rat’s ass about lead, but it hates salt and iron.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, but instead dug out another gun case and opened it to expose two older style break-action shotguns. He would have preferred to carry his trusty pump-action like the ones he’d given to Muncie and Simpson, but he wanted Presley to be able to watch him load and shoot in case she didn’t remember the instructions he was going to give her. It was better if she had a simple weapon like the break action shotgun to operate in the heat of the moment.
Logan handed her one of the shotguns. “Since I can’t talk you out of this, I’m not letting you go in there unarmed. When you snap the gun closed, it cocks the triggers. The safety is off, so keep your finger away from the triggers until you need to shoot. It’s a twelve gauge, so it’s going to kick like a mule, but if you have to fire at something, the adrenaline will be pumping so hard you’ll barely notice. This trigger fires the shell on this side, this one fires the other one. Fire twice, then push this lever here. Got it?”
She nodded as he showed her how to break open the gun and pull out the empty shells, then she loaded her pockets with shells as he was doing.
He closed the back of the Hummer and headed for the funeral home, only to stop when he realized both Muncie and Simpson were still standing where he’d left them. He turned to find them staring at him as if he was insane.
“What the hell is going on here, Logan?” Muncie asked.
Logan walked back over to stand before the two men. The time to wiggle around the facts and talk in half-truths was over. “Okay. Here’s the deal, straight and simple. Presley and I are going in that building to find Carson Del Vecchio’s body. Once we do, we’re going to burn it.”
Muncie frowned. “Burn it? What the hell for?”
“To get rid of his ghost.”
“Ghost?” Simpson asked incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”
Logan slanted him a hard look. “No, I’m not kidding. What do you think has been murdering all those women?”
Simpson’s mouth tightened. “There are no such things as ghosts.”
“Yeah, well tell that to the five women he murdered,” Logan said. “Let me ask you this, Simpson. If it wasn’t a ghost, how the hell do you explain how the murderer got into Marissa Day’s bedroom without an apartment full of guests ever seeing him, huh? Or into a locked panic room? Or any of the other locked apartments he got into without being seen?”
Simpson didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought.” Logan looked from Simpson to Muncie. “Del Vecchio’s ghost is going to try to stop us from burning his body. Your job is to keep him away from Presley and me long enough for us to roast him. Don’t assume you’ll be safe because you have your backs to a wall. As you saw from the crime scenes, things like walls won’t stop him. Those shotgun shells will. But they won’t kill him. Burning his mortal remains is the only thing that will do that. Which is why you have to make sure he doesn’t stop us. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Muncie said. “We got it. What about the other guy, Martin? How does he fit into all this?”
“Martin is a practicing necromancer, which means he brings people like his friend Del Vecchio back from the dead,” Logan said. “If you see any stiff, shambling things moving toward you, feel free to shoot to your heart’s content. They’re already dead and sure as hell won’t feel it.”
Simpson shook his head. “Malone, you’re one certifiably sick fuck, you know that?”
Logan snorted and headed across the street. He didn’t bother checking to see if the other two men followed him and Presley this time. They were in or they weren’t. Right now, he didn’t much care. He glanced at Martin’s car as they passed, taking in the half dozen tree-shaped air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. Leave it to a necromancer to want to get the smell of death off his body by drowning it in artificial pine scent.
When he and Presley reached the back door of the funeral home, Logan threw a quick look over his shoulder to see that both Muncie and Simpson were with them. He hoped the cops had paid attention to what he’d said back there because once they got inside, things had the potential to get real ugly, real fast.
Logan reached out and grasped the doorknob, giving it an experimental turn. To his surprise, it turned freely. Luckily, Martin hadn’t locked it after he’d gone inside. That made things a little easier.
He glanced over his shoulder at Presley. She looked nervous, but not terrified. She was also keeping her shotgun pointed straight up and her fingers off the triggers.
Logan turned his attention to Muncie and Simpson. Muncie appeared tense and focused, like he would on any bust. Simpson still seemed like he thought this was all a big-ass joke. Whatever. He’d figure it out soon enough or he’d be dead. Logan didn’t have time to worry about him. His one and only priority was protecting Presley.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LOGAN KNEW HE was in deep shit the moment the zombie knocked him to the floor and his shotgun went flying. He didn’t know where the thing had come from, but one minute he was searching for Del Vecchio’s body and the next he was lying on the floor with a walking corpse on top of him.
The thing was faster than any zombie had a right to be, and twice as strong. Logan blocked a wild swing with his forearm, then threw a straight jab up toward the decayed creature’s jaw. He didn’t have a lot of leverage on his back, but his fist still managed to connect solidly. Even if the zombie couldn’t feel pain, it had to obey the laws of physics, and the blow knocked its head back. Logan used the opportunity throw his body sideways enough to unbalance the monstrosity straddling his chest before drawing both knees up and slamming them into the thing’s gut.
The zombie sailed over Logan’s head with a grunt and went sprawling.
Logan jumped to his feet and got out of the way, fully expecting Presley to shoot the creature. When she didn’t, he spun around to look for her, but she was nowhere in sight. His gut clenched.
Shit.
“She’s gone and you’re never going to see her again,” a gravelly voice said from behind him. “That bitch is dead for what she did to me.”
Logan stiffened. Since when could zombies talk?
He turned around. The zombie had gotten to its feet and was eyeing him coldly. That was when it struck Logan. He’d been too busy defending himself before to realize it. This wasn’t any old reanimated corpse. It was Del Vecchio. Somehow, Martin had put the serial killer’s spirit back into his body. Logan wasn’t sure Del Vecchio had come out on the fair end of the deal, though, since his body looked as dead as a six-week-old corpse should look.
Logan didn’t know what the bastard meant about Presley, but he did know there was no way she would have left on her own. That meant either one of those zombies had dragged her out of here or Martin had grabbed her. He needed to find her. Fast. But first, he had to get rid of Del Vecchio. Now the serial killer was corporeal again, accomplishing that was going to be a hell of a lot easier.
Logan would have made a grab for his shotgun, but Del Vecchio lunged for him again. This time Logan was ready for him. The moment Del Vecchio drew back his fist, Logan kicked out and landed a solid blow to the inside of the half-dead asshole’s knee. The impact made a satisfying crunching sound and the serial killer let out a bellow as his leg almost buckled.
Logan stepped forward to deliver what he hoped would be a disabling blow when Del Vecchio’s blackened mouth split into a grin of satisfaction. Logan immediately tensed, the hairs on th
e back of his neck standing on end. A moment later, agony slid up his back and he collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, he found Del Vecchio’s ghost standing over him, looking as material as he had earlier. Right beside him was Del Vecchio in his zombie form. Logan swore under his breath. Okay, now he was really screwed. How could the serial killer’s ghost still exist if it was back in his half-decayed body?
Logan wanted to lie there on the floor and think about that for a while, then maybe check to see if his spine was still intact, but he didn’t have the luxury. Del Vecchio’s ghost was already coming at him while his corpse was hobbling over as fast as his bum leg would allow.
Logan scrambled as fast as he could toward the last place he’d seen his shotgun. He got to it just before Del Vecchio’s ghostly form reached him. He would have blasted the ghost with it, but he’d never had a chance to reload. Just because he couldn’t shoot Del Vecchio’s ghost, it didn’t mean the shotgun was completely worthless. Rolling over, he swung the barrel toward the ghost as it descended on him. Steel met the ethereal knife blade in the ghost’s hand with a loud screech. Del Vecchio’s ghost didn’t like the steel barrel any more than he did hematite, and he howled as both the knife and part of his arm disappeared. The part of him that was left spun halfway across the room, giving Logan a chance to get to his feet.
He didn’t get much of a breather. Del Vecchio’s corpse lashed out with his fist and got him a good one right to the jaw, sending him flying backward into the wall. Pain seared up Logan’s back and he let out a grunt of pain as he hit the control panel for the incinerators. Fire flared up, throwing wildly dancing colors of light across both Del Vecchio’s corpse and his ghost as the two serial killers advanced on him. Effing wonderful. Now it really felt like he was fighting the demons of hell. Every time he tried to dart around them and get away from the heat of the incinerator, one or the other would block him.
He still didn’t have time to reload the shotgun, but the steel barrel did a number on the ghost, and the wraith came at him more slowly each time Logan hit him with it. The butt of the gun’s stock did plenty of damage to Del Vecchio’s corpse as well. Unfortunately, neither creature showed any signs of tiring. He needed to end this, and fast.
Logan lunged to the left, away from the corpse and closer to the ghost, then ducked and swung his shotgun sideways, avoiding the knife while slicing his own weapon directly through the ghost’s midsection. It roared in pain and fury, almost completely disintegrating. That would take a while to recover from.
But the victory against the ghost left Logan open to the corpse’s attack. The rotting thing slammed into his ribs from the side, knocking the shotgun from Logan’s grip and shoving him back against the control panel of the incinerator again. He shook his head, trying to clear the stars that were spinning around the edges of his vision and looked around for the shotgun, but instead his gaze locked on the big, clunky handle on the door of the incinerator.
Shit.
He’d been bouncing off the best chance for salvation for what felt like half the night. Why the hell hadn’t he realized it sooner?
Logan chanced a quick glance at the ghost and was relieved to see that the thing wasn’t much more than wisps of smoke coalescing in the far corner of the room. Good. He could focus on the corpse.
Normally, Logan would have kicked the damn thing in the balls, but he’d already learned Del Vecchio no longer had those, so he aimed for Del Vecchio’s good knee instead. His boot landed with a satisfying crunch that sent the serial killer to his knees. Logan was tempted to pound the half-dead thing into the floor a few times, but he couldn’t risk wasting time. The ghost would get its shit back together soon enough and when he did, Logan’s chance would be lost.
Grabbing the handle on the incinerator, Logan yanked open the door. While heat rushed out, the flames inside immediately began to recede. Probably a safety feature that kept it from burning while the door was open. Which meant he needed to get Del Vecchio’s body inside before the fire went out completely.
Logan turned in time to see Del Vecchio’s corpse crawling to his feet. His lip—or what was left of it, at least—curled and he stumbled forward. Logan waited until the zombie was almost on top of him before grabbing the thing and shoving it toward the open door. The serial killer immediately put his hands out to stop himself, but Logan rammed into the corpse from behind, shoving against the thing like it was a tackling dummy and pushing it into the flames. Del Vecchio fought like a crazed beast and it took all Logan’s strength to try to get the corpse’s arms and legs in the incinerator.
Logan cursed. This was taking way too much time. Presley had been out of his sight for at least ten minutes, maybe more. That was a long time to fight off a necromancer and his zombies.
Grinding his jaw, Logan lifted up one of the corpse’s legs, almost twisting it off at the hip joint. Del Vecchio let out a grunt of pain and released one side of the incinerator to reach for Logan. The moment he did, Logan shoved with all his weight, sending Del Vecchio’s dead ass flying into the oven. The serial killer let out a roar that seemed to shake the entire building, but Logan barely heard it. Slamming the door, he leaned his shoulder against it to keep it closed. As he did, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Del Vecchio’s ghost coming toward him, the knife in his hand gleaming in the firelight.
Oh, hell.
Logan was torn between going for his shotgun and guarding the door. If he left the door unattended, Del Vecchio might be able to crawl out. Deciding he’d have to take his chances and hope the corpse turned to ash before the ghost got him, Logan stayed where he was and smacked the large, red button to re-ignite the incinerator blaze. The moment he did, he heard a gratifying whoosh as the flames inside the oven came to life, followed by screams as the serial killer’s corpse started to burn.
Hoping it would be enough to destroy the bastard’s ghostly form, Logan turned around to see that Del Vecchio’s ghost was already on him, knife raised to strike. Logan didn’t have time to throw himself out of the way. All he could do was wait for Del Vecchio to kill him and pray that somehow Presley made it out of this.
But the blade disintegrated before it slashed open his throat. The serial killer’s hand vanished next, then his arm, and finally the whole body. Del Vecchio’s face, twisted in pure hatred until the very end, was the last thing to disappear.
Logan didn’t turn around to see what was going on with Del Vecchio’s physical body. The ghost’s disappearance told him everything he needed to know.
Pushing away from the door, Logan grabbed his shotgun from the floor. It was beat-up, but still intact. He thumbed the breakdown lever and jacked open the barrels. It took only seconds to reload, but he regretted even that small amount of time. Presley needed him now. He could feel it in his very core.
When he finished reloading, Logan did a quick look around the room and immediately disregarded the entrance he and Presley had used earlier. There was no way someone could have dragged her through those double doors without him noticing. Which left the lone door on the other side of the room. He ran over and yanked it open, then raced down the dark hallway beyond, not caring that something could be lurking in the dark. All he cared about was getting to Presley. He prayed he wasn’t too late.
* * * * *
Presley woke up to find a foul-smelling rag stuffed in her mouth. She swallowed, hoping it would get rid of both the odor and the horrible taste, but it made them worse. She coughed, but all that came out was a weak, muffled sound. She tried to lift a hand to take out the rag, only to realize they were pinned back above her head.
She squinted at the bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling above her, jerking at her bonds, but they wouldn’t budge. She pulled again, yanking on her wrists as hard as she could. When she still couldn’t get loose, she let out a sound of frustration.
“Damn, you’re even stronger than Carson thought.”
Presley stiffened at the man’s voice. She lifted her hea
d, trying to get a look at him, but couldn’t see anyone. Heart pounding, she craned her neck to see behind her and caught sight of movement. A moment later, Russell Martin came into view. Hair so dark it was almost black, he had pale skin and soulless looking eyes. Lying there with him leaning over her was eerily reminiscent of that night in her apartment. But back then, he’d been a paramedic there to save her life. Now, she feared he was there to take it.
“That dose of chloroform should have knocked your pretty ass out for at least an hour,” he said as he walked around to stand beside her. “No real surprise there. You are one tough girl. I should know that better than anyone. I thought you were a goner the first time I saw you lying there on the floor of your apartment bleeding out, but you wouldn’t die. It didn’t help the damn rookie I was riding with that night jumped in to play the hero and bring you back from the dead. Though as tough as you are, you probably would have clawed your way out of Darkness all on your own.”
The reminder that she'd been dead twice already made her feel queasy and Presley whimpered against the gag in her mouth.
Martin smirked. “I’m actually glad the chloroform wore off. I can do what I have to do to you just as well with you awake anyway, and it’ll be even more fun to see the look in your eyes while I do it.”
He laughed like what he’d said was amusing. Presley would have spit at him if she could, but with the rag in her mouth, she could only settle for growling at him instead.
Martin moved out of her sight to putter with something on the counter along the wall. While his back was turned, she tugged at her bonds again, trying to loosen them, but it was useless.
“Carson is obsessed with carving you to pieces, you know,” Martin said conversationally as he walked over to stand beside her again. “I’m going to make that happen for him.”
Presley felt sick at the thought of what he and his serial-killing friend were going to do to her. She yanked desperately at the ties binding her wrists again as Martin bent over her.