She looked him up and down. “They don’t seem too friendly. You seem to have that effect wherever we go.”
Darkmore looked around with his normal nonchalance. Then he turned back to her, cocked his head, and replied, “True. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves before the rumors start flying.”
Before she could stop him, Darkmore sauntered over to a group of male settler types, one of whom stepped forward and gave him a wary eye. She marveled at the clarity of the spirit’s manifestation, not to mention his stature, or rather, lack thereof. People really were shorter back then. His features were clear and visible down to the gritty black stubble on his chin and the dirt under his nails. People of that era apparently didn’t bathe much either. He puffed out his chest, straightened his hat, one of those black colonial numbers that reminded her of Captain Jack Sparrow, and faced down Darkmore.
“State yer business, fiend,” he said. Some of the other male apparitions in his company located their courage and flanked him.
Ballsy move for dead guys who couldn’t even manifest their lower halves.
She stifled a giggle that would have been wholly inappropriate for the moment. God, what was wrong with her? Likely stress. She’d have to find a better way of coping.
Darkmore stood his ground but maintained a respectful distance. He even removed his hat. “Good afternoon, my brethren. I am called Lazarus Darkmore,” he offered, making a low bow and gesturing to Vivian as he spoke. “My companion and I are merely passing through your territory. We mean you no harm, I assure you.”
“I doubt that, sirrah. I’ve never known a spirit of your kind to come seeking room and board, nor to be traveling with a quick wench at that.”
“Hey, who you calling a wench—”
Before she could finish, Darkmore had invaded the spirit’s space. He actually held onto the spirit’s arm, which shocked Vivian. Apparently being mortal hadn’t rendered the reaper entirely helpless. He still had some of his powers.
“Mr. McClung, I would ask that you show my traveling companion, Mistress Bedford, the respect befitting a lady. Surely you remember how. Even after the passing centuries you remember your lady, don’t you?”
The spirit of Mr. McClung trembled, and his eyes grew wide. “Do not speak of her, ye devil!”
“Beloved Rachel, treasured wife and mother, lost to the fever as so many were in those days. You were both so young and she bewitched you with her innocence.” Darkmore spoke low, almost purring to the man, bringing him back to his darkest hour and savoring his pain. Reapers thrived on suffering.
Vivian looked away, all too familiar with the Reaper’s methods and the havoc he wreaked on his victims.
“Of course you remarried, but you were cold and remote to Rebecca, weren’t you? She could never replace your Rachel, and you made her suffer for it.”
“Stop!” McClung pleaded.
“Oh, you sought solace in all manner of vices, but no drink, gambling boon, or harlot’s body could fill the void, could it? Had you been a better husband in the first place, had you protected her and kept her away from the bearers of the foul contagion, she might have lived. You often wonder, don’t you?”
Vivian mustered her courage and prepared to intervene, but Darkmore released the spirit. Naturally, the reaper took a moment to draw out his pain in the form of light energy before he backed off fully.
He wasn’t the sort to miss a good meal.
“Now then, shall we try this again?”
“P-pleased to make yer acquaintance, Ms. Bedford, Mr. Darkmore,” McClung muttered. The other spirits, all of whom had stepped back, made small bows and nods.
Unsure what proper etiquette had been back in McClung’s day, Vivian settled on a friendly nod. “Nice to meet y’all, too. Have you had any trouble with guardians or reapers lately?”
McClung’s gaze shifted to another male settler spirit. He stepped forward and removed his hat, speaking softly and with his gaze on the ground. “Yes, ma’am. They’ve been coming through our lands for a fortnight, recruiting.”
“I see,” Vivian said. No wonder these spirits were on edge. “Let me assure you that Darkmore and I aren’t with them. In fact, we’re headed to Jackson to join some other folks who’d like to keep things the way they are in this realm and the spirit world.”
The spirit nodded and stepped back. McClung looked at her with an unreadable expression but didn’t speak. Vivian sighed. She was weary, on edge, and not at all in the mood for a standoff.
“We do not intend to overstay our welcome, nor do we plan to interfere with your personal affairs,” Darkmore said, courtesy personified. “All we ask is that you extend us the same courtesy. And, of course, alert us if you detect any guardians or reapers in the area for the duration of our visit.”
McClung stood his ground and stared at the reaper. Vivian was duly impressed. She’d fainted after her first encounter with Darkmore. After a moment, McClung turned back to the same spirit who’d informed them of guardian and reaper invasions and said, “Angus, fetch the woman.”
Angus disappeared, leaving Vivian and Darkmore standing in silence with the male spirits. Vivian stifled a yawn and resisted the urge to stretch. That would probably set McClung on another tirade about unseemly wenches, which would do no one any good.
Angus reappeared, along with the spirit of striking woman with flame red hair and pale skin straight out of a Celtic fairy tale. The other ghosts moved away from her, averting their spectral gazes. This spirit manifested in vivid detail, a startling contrast to the faded, almost colorless appearance of her fellow ghosts. Vivian stared into her sparkling green eyes, and she sensed more power in this particular spirit than a garden variety lost and lonely manifestation.
“Miss Bedford, Mr. Darkmore, this is Maeve. She has agreed to protect you.”
Uh huh, more like keep an eye on us. But a spirit like her would also be a good lookout.
Darkmore bowed low and said in his smoothest voice, “It is an honor, Mistress Maeve.”
It struck her as odd, but then again, so did most things about the reaper. For all they’d worked together, Darkmore remained an enigma. Remembering her manners, Vivian added, “Thank you so much for your guidance, ma’am.”
Maeve nodded to them both and then disappeared.
“I guess she’ll be keeping a low profile,” Vivian said.
Darkmore shot Vivian a warning look and then turned back to McClung. “I thank you, Mr. McClung, for your hospitality and accommodation. We will endeavor to be worthy guests and trouble you no longer than is necessary. Good day, sir.” He tipped his hat, took Vivian gently yet insistently by the arm, and guided her away from the spirits. Once out of earshot, Darkmore took the opportunity to scold Vivian. “Do try to restrict your commentary on the manner in which the spirits we encounter choose to aid us. They can be of help or a hindrance. I’d rather they help.”
“Well, she just up and left. Besides, why are they so hostile? Jeanne told me we’d be welcomed.” Jeanne was one of the good guardians. It had been Jeanne who’d put her in touch with another living soul broker—the man whose rebellion they were traveling to join. Before then, Vivian hadn’t realized there were others like her, living soul brokers helping—or being exploited by—guardian spirits. Her own guardian spirit had exploited her, but he’d also protected her from the Archangels on the guardian council as long as he could.
Wherever Ezra was, or more likely wherever the guardian council had imprisoned him, she hoped he was okay.
“Your friend Jeanne is a young guardian, green and full of optimism. She most likely underestimated the extent to which the guardian council has infiltrated and antagonized free spirit communities. They are right to be mistrustful.”
“Jeanne was supposed to give them a heads up. Besides, Uphir said these spirits would be sympathetic to us.”
“Perhaps Jeanne was unable. And, from Uphir’s perspective, this was a king’s welcome. At any rate, for the sake of our continued safety, l
et’s assume we’re more or less on our own in hostile country.”
“Fine. I’m sure your little buddies have been extending their influence, too, judging from the reaction you got,” she snapped, regretting it immediately. She shouldn’t kick the reaper while he was down.
“Naturally. We reapers have to keep pace with the competition.”
Vivian wondered if he intended to do a little recruiting for his kind along the way but decided not to ask.
She doubted she’d like the answer.
Chapter Three
After struggling for nearly forty-five minutes to gather kindling and wood, not to mention racking her brain on fire safety protocol from memories of her days as a girl scout, Vivian managed to get the campfire going. Busy was good, though. So was silence. Darkmore possessed the ability to sit, stand, or work for hours in silence. Too bad most humans couldn’t do that. He’d made himself useful by unpacking and assembling their tent, unfurling their sleeping bags, and dragging their clothing and supplies out of the car and to the campsite. She settled on spearing a couple of hotdogs with skewers and securing them neatly in the vee of a tree branch she’d rigged for support. She fiddled with how to arrange them so they’d sit close enough to the fire to cook, but not so far into the flames as to char. Satisfied with her work, she settled herself into a lawn chair that Darkmore had unfolded for her and tossed him a cheese stick.
“Thank you,” he said.
“No problem.”
Vivian settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not too long, otherwise you’ll fall asleep. She breathed in the cool night air and made a mental note to grab some extra blankets. Autumn’s debut meant the possibility of frost. She could cure cuts, bruises, sprains, and some pretty severe internal injuries, she wasn’t sure if her spirit healing powers could ward off pneumonia.
Then again, she’d brought back a dead reaper, so the odds were pretty good, right?
She opened her eyes and took a moment to savor the stars. On a clear night, thousands were visible, especially out in the country without the glare of streetlights getting in the way. She spied the three stars making up Orion’s belt, one of the few constellations she could recognize.
“So, was he real?” she asked. The silence had become uncomfortable again, so she risked engaging the reaper in conversation, one that didn’t involve their current perilous circumstances.
One that didn’t involve what she’d done to him.
“Excuse me?”
“Orion,” she said, pointing up at the night sky. “The hunter? I was just wondering if he was real, and if you…knew him?” Darkmore had once professed to being familiar with the goddess Athena, so why not?
Darkmore smiled. “Some myths are simply myths, Vivian.”
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. Needing a distraction, cheeks flaming embarrassment at her stupid question, Vivian got up, dusting off her jeans. “I’ll throw something together for dinner.”
She grabbed the skewers, using her shirtsleeve to protect her fingers from the hot metal, and set about dressing the hot dogs. She pulled some fixings out of the cooler and wished for the first time that she’d remembered to grab onions and chili. At least they had ketchup, mustard, and relish. Vivian slathered a heaping helping on top of each dog-filled bun and added some chips and apple slices to the plates. She then handed one plate to Darkmore along with a beer.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s no trouble.”
“But it is.”
That floored her. The reaper had a way of doing that. It used to be his favorite pastime.
Apparently, it still was.
He heaved a sigh when she didn’t answer. “This is trouble for you, not to mention troubling.”
“Well excuse me for trying to be polite,” she snapped. It wasn’t fair. But the tension of the past weeks needed a place to go. Darkmore made a convenient target.
“Be honest, Vivian, if not with me then at least be honest with yourself.”
“What do you want me to say? Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Don’t answer that. Let’s just eat, okay? I’m tired and I don’t feel like a fight.”
“It is only natural to feel angry based on your experience. Being saddled with me in this state wasn’t something you bargained for, was it?”
“No, you’re right. It wasn’t. Satisfied now?”
I so do not want to have this conversation.
He held her gaze and spoke with a clear, steady voice. “No. Admit it. You resent having to care for me, or at least feeling like you must care for me because guilt and your sense of honor demand it.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, then said, “Why are you hell-bent on dragging all of this out now? McClung’s suffering didn’t satisfy you?”
She put her plate down on her chair none-too-gently and started fussing over the campsite. Ducking into their tent, she fluffed the pillows and smoothed their sleeping bags. That task complete, she emerged from the tent, grabbed a stick, and stoked the fire. She looked around for something else, anything else, to do. It was the only way she could keep avoiding the issue the reaper had so eloquently described. Even in mortal form, he possessed power to see into her heart and soul, unearthing dark resentments and buried feelings she’d rather ignore.
Darkmore sat in silence, watching her.
“I’m going to check the car and make sure we got everything,” she muttered. “May I please have the car keys?” she said, heaving a deep sigh and avoiding his gaze.
He handed them over without a word and she scurried back to the car, tail between her legs like a scolded dog. She felt his eyes on her back until she rounded the bend in the gravel road that led back to the parking lot. Vivian jogged the rest of the way, longing for the warmth of the car almost as much as she longed to get away from her charge.
Almost.
She climbed into the car and turned the ignition, shivering as the blast of cold hit her at full force. Cursing herself for leaving her beer behind, she rubbed her hands together and waited for the heat to kick in. Fuck Lazarus Darkmore and his fucking perception. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? He knew her history, of course, and had used it against her when they first met. At that time, she’d been in the midst of caring for her sister Mae. Total care. Mae’s many disabilities and illnesses left her completely helpless. The role of caregiver had taken its toll and Darkmore had relished her pain. Now, it seemed, he was determined to force her to confront the uncomfortable parallels that her responsibility for him presented. Should he die in his current mortal form, he’d be fodder for reapers, demons, or worse. Guardians.
Maybe he wanted to feed from her suffering, assuming he could still do so in human form. Wasn’t that a cheerful thought? Then again, a meal was the least she owed him, and it wasn’t so different than what she’d been doing before, allowing him to take in the burdens she carried and use the spirit energy. When the burdens had belonged to others, giving them to the reaper had been a relief. Not so when he took in burdens that were all her own.
When the reaper fed from the darkness in her own soul, she had to relive the pain of the burdens she carried.
She fought the hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks and wished for her cell phone. Who would I call? Aside from her friend Kay, none of those who’d known and loved her remembered that she existed. No one alive, anyway. It was for their own safety as well as hers. Running and rebelling meant severing all ties. She had no way of reaching out to the Padre, better known as Lloyd Montgomery. In life, he’d been a Catholic priest and unlikely ally turned friend to Vivian. A dear friend. His death had hit her hard. Now, in his new role as a guardian, he was working on the inside to subvert the system while she was off to join the rebels. She wished she could talk to him.
God, she wished she could talk to Zeke. They’d parted on…not bad terms, but uncertain terms. He said he still loved her, and she believed him, but so much had passed between them. And she had to leave him—ag
ain—before they could reconcile.
The tears fell then, as they often did when Zeke was on her mind. Guardian spirit, friend, lover, protector, he’d been many things to her. And she’d let him go, trading her soul and service to the guardians so he could claim a spot in paradise,
That hadn’t worked out.
She wiped her tears and put Zeke out of her mind. Too bad they couldn’t stay in a hotel. TV would give her a welcome break, though knowing her crap luck she’d get stuck watching a marathon of some horrible reality show. She spotted something out of the corner of her eye, bright and moving fast. What the hell?
Shaking her head, her gaze darted in the direction she thought whatever she’d seen had moved.
The glowing orb hovering outside the front window stopped her thoughts.
It almost stopped her heart.
Reflex mixed with shock enabled her to place her head in her hands and lean over the steering wheel, but not so fast as to let the hovering spirit know she’d spotted it.
She hoped.
She didn’t have to fake the sobbing and near-hyperventilation.
Breathe in, breathe out. Just breathe, stay focused, and don’t look up. Don’t look up. She sensed the presence just outside the car, which was good. It hadn’t come inside. It didn’t cast any shadows inside the vehicle, making it impossible for her to track by sight. She fought the urge to bolt from the vehicle.
The temperature rose inside the car.
Vivian trembled, wondering how long she would have to sit in the car before it would be safe to open the door and walk away. She couldn’t run. It would know that she knew and saw. The blazing hot thing outside her car was a guardian, or something the guardian spirits were using to track her. Had to be. The guardians ran hot. It was their tell, the only warning she’d have that they were near. They would find her. They would find Darkmore.
The Quick and the Dead Page 3