A Shiver of Shadows

by Hunter J. Skye

  “What the hell, Mel?”

  “Josh, I’m okay. I will explain everything, but right now, I need to speak to Grayford, and…I guess I need someone to mail me my passport.” I was getting off track. “Just listen. Please check on Grayford. He may be hurt.”

  “I…I…okay.” I heard the reassuring sound of keys and a door slamming. “But you need to tell me what happened.”

  I heard his truck door open, then close, then the engine rumble to life.

  “I was at the new house when…oh God, the new house. Josh, if Grayford isn’t at my apartment, go to the cottage and see if he’s there. Someone attacked us there, and he was blown off his feet.”

  “You were attacked and taken out of the country? Mel, this is not okay.”

  “I know, but that’s not the worst of it.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “There’s another active hell gate.”

  More silence. Then I heard a car horn and Josh cursing.

  “Son of a—” The screech of metal blocked out his voice.

  “Josh?”

  “Mel, I’ll get to Grayford and I’ll call you back at this number.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No! Yes. Fender bender. I’ll find Grayford. You…stay away from hell gates.”

  “Okay.”

  “No hell gates.”

  “Okay!”

  He hung up on me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Angels like eggplants?

  Melisande

  This time I picked something larger than a loveseat to doze on while I waited for Grayford or Josh to call. When Prim’s cell finally rang, I sat up on the sofa so quickly, I fell off it. Everything looked different. The early light of morning no longer streamed through the windows. Long, blue shadows stretched along the windowsills.

  Prim checked the phone.

  “It’s for me.” She tilted it toward me. Someone named Sojourner. She pressed the leave a message command. “I’ll take that later.”

  “How long was I asleep?” I tried to run my fingers through my hair, but dirt and tangles prevented it.

  “Most of the day.”

  “Damn.” I rubbed my dirty face. At least I’d gotten in some REM cycles.

  “Would you mind if I—”

  “Help yourself. There’s towels and washcloths in the cubby.” Prim gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll find something for you to wear.”

  “Thank you.” It fell short of what I wanted to say. “Really. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said and ducked into her bedroom.

  I stepped into the clean, airy bathroom and closed the door. What if Grayford called while I was in the shower? What if Rasmus showed up and snatched me again? What if Prim wasn’t telling the truth? There were too many what-ifs to contemplate so my tired, paranoid brain shut them down.

  I peeled the grubby clothes from my body and stepped into the warm jet of water. Prim’s shower was just a wall of glass and two planes of sleek gray tile. I stood over the drain and let the sand and dirt run off me while I skimmed through the events that had brought me to this shower stall.

  Without the bracelet on my wrist, I could think more clearly. My mind flew back to my cottage, where Rasmus had first appeared. He’d sounded like he was there on other business. I was so shocked by his sudden manifestation and that sickening heartbeat of his, I’d missed a lot of what he’d said. But he was the first piece of this puzzle. The second piece was that cave and the paintings inside it. Remember what you’ve seen. Rasmus’s dry voice echoed through my thoughts. Just after that, I’d found myself standing on a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean.

  Maybe I’d misread my undead hosts. Other than putting a spell on me, flirting too much, and forcing fashion on me, what harm had they really visited on me? Yes, they hadn’t disclosed the fact that they were vampires, but in all fairness, that was probably a hard thing to work into conversation. Maybe it’s a don’t ask, don’t tell sort of thing. Though the compulsion spell was pretty awful, I was angrier about the drugged champagne. My brain no longer handled autonomic functions well. Things like breathing while sedated were tricky. They could have killed me accidentally.

  Okay, they were jerks.

  I opened a bottle of Prim’s shampoo and poured some in my hand. It smelled like coconut happiness. I worked it through my hair, then followed with a satiny dollop of vanilla conditioner.

  What was more alarming was that they were jerks with an open hell gate.

  I couldn’t believe I was thinking this after having gone through so much to get away from them, but what would have happened if I’d just stayed? Everything Mephos had said made it sound like I was basically a consultant. They had a hell gate that needed some fine-tuning, and they just wanted my opinion. They’d even promised me a first-class ticket home.

  The smallest problem with that was I didn’t have my passport or any identification. How was I supposed to board a plane? The biggest problem was they were vampires. After I rendered my services, what would stop them from removing the blood from my body in a hasty manner?

  Something hissed at the bottom of the shower. I looked down to see icy chains slithering like eels in the pooling water. Lacy fractals of frost crept up the glass shower wall right next to the hot stream of water. I turned the water off before the clash of hot and cold could crack the tempered glass.

  No one would drain my blood.

  Power coiled inside me. It radiated outward, crusting the shower floor with ice.

  The bracelet was gone, and my will to fight was back. I’d find the biggest, baddest ghosts Barcelona had, and I’d turn this shit around.

  I broke the ice and stepped out of the shower in a cloud of fog. The sublimating vapor wrapped around me like a lover.

  Time to tour the cemetery.

  ****

  Prim’s clothes were still fancier than anything I owned in America, but they were comfortable and helped me blend in. I walked a little taller in the fitted white denim shorts and black leather belt. The dove gray ankle-strap sandals were the prettiest shoes I’d ever seen, and the flouncy white top was cool and casual. As we walked the city streets in the late day light, I noticed how easy it was to pick out the tourists, particularly the Americans. Next to the stylish Spaniards, the poor Americans looked like they were in their pajamas. No wonder the pickpockets buzzed around them like gnats. Their neon T-shirts, with slogans and logos sprawled across them, served as beacons in the crowds of sightseers.

  Prim plotted a course away from the bigger tourist spots, and we slipped through the early evening masses undetected.

  One curving, crowded street blended into the next until suddenly a giant plaza opened before us. This market was very different from the Thieves Market. An enormous open-air vending space crowded under a large, tented roof. The tiny shops spilled out around the edges to blend with the café tables of the surrounding restaurants. The aromas were intoxicating. The strident voices of the vendors sang over the jangling crowd. It was a controlled riot of colors and delicacies and smiling, hugging, gesturing life. The Catalan people were as beautiful as their city. Their eyes were balconies rimmed with wrought-iron lashes, and their mouths were markets yawning and harking with immediacy.

  Prim led me down aisles with every fresh fruit and vegetable known to man. Seafood, meats, dried goods, hanging herbs, and wheels of cheese, anything the heart desired was there in raw form or artfully prepared for instantaneous enjoyment. I stopped at the baked goods and salivated over the braided, fruit-filled pastries.

  “Hola. Dos, por favor.” Prim pointed and handed the man behind the counter some money. He slipped two spiral buns with thick white frosting into a paper dish and handed them to her. “Gracias,” she thanked him. My eyes felt as big as the bun she handed me.

  “Trust me,” was all she said. I bit into the doughy dessert and was rewarded with a buttery sweet, light and fluffy, melt in your mouth, transcendent experience. She laughed at my frosted wh
ite smile.

  The sun slipped behind the buildings, and we set out again. Before we left the market, Prim stopped us at a small vegetable stand.

  “Pick one.” She pointed one hand at a beautiful collection of bright green apples and another at a basket of fat purple eggplants.

  “Is this a snack for the road?”

  “No. It’s an offering for the guardian of the underground.”

  I gave her a questioning look.

  “If you want to gain access to the catacombs, you must present the Angel with a gift.”

  “And angels like eggplants?”

  “It is a respectful gift for the spirits of several cultures, and the cemetery we are going to has many cultures represented there.” She shrugged. “Apples are good too. Everybody likes apples.”

  I picked a shiny green apple with its dark green leaves still attached. It was warm and fragrant and looked fresh from the field. Prim made a point of passing me the coins first so that I could hand them to the cart owner.

  “Now it is your gift to give.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Prim asked again as she hailed us a cab.

  “Yes. I need time to figure out what I’m going to do, but I can’t be unprotected. Rasmus could come for me at any moment. I need a weapon.”

  “And there are no ghosts in the city that will do?”

  “There are plenty of ghosts here, but they are mostly noninteractive. I could probably collect enough to create a shield, but I really need an aggressive entity.”

  Prim gave me a wary look.

  “What?”

  When a Doomsayer gives you a circumspect glance, it might be time to reevaluate your life.

  “Nothing.” She grinned, then her playful expression changed. Prim turned back in the direction we had just come. The sun had already set in the hills to the west, but its glowing colors still lit the clouds over the city. The warm blush of orange and violet reminded me of Prim’s wings and the portent she’d given Los Ladrones.

  One will bargain. One will lie. One will die.

  I wanted to ask Prim if the “old enemies that would walk the Bishop’s Way” were the vampires who were looking for me, but I already knew the answer.

  “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

  “Like the vibe you got last night on the beach when we met?”

  “Worse.” A string of taxis slid to a stop in front of us, and Prim yanked the door open on the nearest one. “We need to move fast. Get in.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A ziggurat of the dead

  Melisande

  The driver took us south along a road that edged the water. Bits and pieces of the Mediterranean peeked between cranes and shipyards. Barcelona’s prime oceanfront real estate wasn’t all sparkling beaches and bronzed bodies as Mephos had described. It was mostly an industrial landscape. I could tell we were getting close to the cemetery. After what seemed like an eternity, the driver peeled off the main street onto an exit dedicated to the graveyard, and death washed over me.

  Prim paid for the ride, and we stepped out of the car. The cemetery rose before us like a ziggurat of the dead. Stories and stories of tombs were carved into the hillside like a morbid honeycomb.

  “Here we are.” Prim waved her arms dramatically in the fading light. “Cementiri de Montjuïc —The Jewish Mountain. I’m pretty sure this is where Barcelona keeps its best ghosts.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. The rocky slopes shivered with soul streams, more than I could count, more than I could comprehend. The necropolis called to me from its dusky shadows. A whirlwind of wailing reached my ears. I turned to the clutch of tourists beside us, but they seemed unaware of the otherworldly voices. I wanted to tell Seth to hit the electronic voice recorder, but he was half a world away. With all of these electromagnetic fields, Josh and Matt’s readings would have been off the chart. Gabe would have stayed in the taxi.

  We started ahead slowly, but just inside the front entrance my feet began to slide forward. A nervous look overtook Prim’s face, and she peered around us. A cluster of visitors wandered past. If I didn’t get hold of this pulling, someone would see. My stomach tingled. That usually happened just before my feet left the ground, but I hadn’t harnessed a single soul yet. It felt as though the graveyard itself was tugging me to its buried heart.

  “Mel. Lock it down,” Prim murmured as a couple drifted toward the exit.

  “I’m trying.” It wasn’t a lie, but the full truth was that it felt good to be this close to the dead again. My brain was slipping toward Stage One sleep, and I didn’t want to fight it.

  “Over here.” Prim nudged me to the left, and I followed her through a set of trees and into a labyrinth of mausoleums. Long, curving walkways snaked down rows of monoliths and towering funerary sculptures. Angels guarded over almost every tomb. Some knelt in eternal prayer. Others prepared to take flight and bear the souls of the dearly departed up to heaven. Some watched with eyes too filled with awareness to be made of stone.

  We cut across a row of tombs topped with skeletons carved inside flowing marble robes. Their empty eye sockets pointed toward the scudding clouds.

  “It’s just down there.” Prim pointed and then skidded to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her hand lifted to silence me. A legion of ghostly spiders marched up my arms as she turned slowly toward me.

  “They’re here,” she breathed. Her voice was almost too soft to hear over the moans and random wails all around me.

  “Can we…can we hide?”

  Prim locked eyes on me and shook her head.

  “It’s too late.”

  “No.”

  “Do you see the angel over my shoulder? The one holding the book?”

  “Yes.”

  “Run to it and place your apple on the open pages. If she accepts your offering, the door will open.”

  “Wait. Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve never been here before. I don’t know the way.”

  “You know it better than anyone. Go!”

  Cataplexy stole through my muscles when she shouted. It was too much of a startle. I rocked forward, and she caught me.

  “I can’t. My legs.”

  I looked up at Prim, but her eyes were gone.

  “Go to sleep and let them carry you.” Her voice was hollowing out.

  Fear dropped me to the ground.

  Ssleeep, the memory of Grayford’s voice murmured through my mind, and I was gone.

  ****

  A cold wind carried me from ghost to ghost as they passed me down a spectral line. The last time I’d conjured this many ghosts, I’d been standing in a cemetery with Josh. It had been my first time calling spirits, and it had been completely by accident. I didn’t fight the summoning this time. I welcomed it. I pushed the fear of the moment out of my mind and accepted the souls’ frigid embrace. Their icy hands cooled my skin.

  The stream of ghosts moved me toward a shadowed crux of hulking marble tombs. As my body passed from their arms, their flesh solidified. The mantle of life settled over them. It was a momentary side-effect of physical contact with me. I’d first discovered it on the battlefield at the Seventh Gate. I couldn’t restore flesh and blood to a ghost permanently, but, if I concentrated, I could help spirits manifest in a corporeal form for a few brief minutes.

  A cluster of ornate mausoleums huddled beneath the trees. Kings and queens of death lay still inside those tiny cathedrals, their dusty remains watched over by mournful maidens and chaste cherubs. It looked, to my blurry eyes, like the center of a small village if a town could be made entirely of miniature churches.

  I clutched the apple to my chest, and careful hands delivered me to the guardian in a state of repose. Gently, I reached for the ground with my feet, and spirit hands guided me to a standing position. The hulking angel stood watch just outside an elaborate crypt carved to resemble a Greek tem
ple. Beyond the shadows, Prim’s voice resonated with ruin. A message of massacre, too bloody for me to bear, issued forth from her kneeling form. She was doomsaying as a distraction to buy me a few precious moments. I could feel the command to stop and listen, but cataplexy had the final word. It freed my loose muscles so that I could shamble forward. But what would happen to her after the prophecy was spoken and the listeners were released from their paralytic hold?

  “Protect her,” I ordered, and the ghosts bowed their wispy heads, their skin flushed with life where their hands had touched me. The bloom of flesh and blood traveled up their arms and solidified their chests. Their corporeal state wouldn’t last long, but it would last long enough to provide a shield.

  “Go.”

  I swayed with vertigo as I looked up at the shrouded stone figure. Several sets of carefully carved feathers stretched away from its back to form two colossal wings. Every one of the angel’s muscles were chiseled to convey a pent-up tension as if, at any moment, it might leap into motion and crush me where I stood. Its gender was indistinct beneath its delicate drape, and its hair hung in fat, coiling tongues around its face. The tops of its wings and head were beaten clean by the weather, but long, green streaks of lichen obscured the angel’s face. It reminded me of the Weeping Angel from Cedar Grove Cemetery back home. The Weeping Angel was a favorite with our online audience. The guardian angel, towering over me, held the same lifelike presence, but my angel back home felt nurturing. This one loomed above me in an oppressive way.

  I peered at its harsh features. A pitiless expression weighted its eyes. I blinked at the sudden twitch of movement below its heavy lids. Something moved beneath the marble. A shudder of horror ran through me as I watched those algae-covered eyes come awake. As if stirring from a dream, the sculpture’s sentient gaze focused, then came to rest on me.

  The stone creature studied me for a moment then glanced down at the book. Behind me, Prim’s voice echoed to a stop. Someone growled, and a crash of bodies shook the ground. Fear fought for a foothold in my mind, but I held it at bay.

  With trembling hands, I placed the apple on the book. Its bright green skin clashed with the small, ruby red apple nestled in the book’s crease. Would the angel accept two offerings in one day? If so, was the other supplicant still nearby?