She couldn’t breathe. She had to get out. She had to make sure they didn’t find the reaper.
The light hovered beside her and she had to squint, but she covered by leaning her head back and rubbing her hands over her tear-filled eyes. If she squinted or blinked or flinched, it would know. Most normal humans couldn’t perceive entities or energies from the spirit realm. If she kept calm and didn’t acknowledge its presence, the light might mistake her for an ordinary human and leave her be.
Checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, she wiped her eyes and tried to make her expression reflect sadness rather than terror. She’d had a year to practice acting like she couldn’t see spirits in the presence of the living. Time to put those skills to the test.
Heaving a deep breath, she turned off the ignition, opened the driver’s side door, and used every ounce of restraint she possessed to exit the vehicle slowly. She shut the driver’s side door and locked the car. Then she took one step and a breath.
The light followed.
Vivian took another step, stumbling a bit out of fear. A whimper almost escaped her throat as panic seized her muscles. She stooped down and rubbed her ankle.
Breathe. Focus. Get up!
She registered a chill in the air again, in spite of the light’s proximity.
Vivian got up and started walking again. With any luck, the guardian would get bored soon and move on.
Of course, guardians had plenty of time to grow patience.
The temperature dropped enough to make her shiver. That and the fading light gave her enough impetus to keep going. Slow and steady steps carried her about halfway back to camp. She hoped. When she rounded the bend, the glowing light of the fire confirmed it.
The other light had gone.
The chill crept closer.
She caught a movement, something lurking just outside the light cast by their campfire. Her pulse, which had barely slowed from her encounter with the guardian sentinel, started racing again. She needed to keep walking, but her feet refused to cooperate. Cold sweat broke out on her body when she noticed the orb of light again. It hovered at a more comfortable distance but refused to leave.
Walk, walk, you can do this, you just have to walk.
She remained frozen to the spot and the orb inched closer. The shape lurking in the shadows moved closer, too. It moved with a familiar, sleek grace. She could no longer convince herself that she’d imagined it. They were closing in, the light and the shadow.
She bolted.
Vivian felt rather than saw the orb closing in on her, though whatever moved in the shadows remained out of her sight. Strong arms gripped her, and she screamed and thrashed. If she was under attack, she was at least determined to fight back. Just before she was able to muster the first sparks of spirit energy, his voice stopped her.
“It’s all right,” Darkmore whispered, his voice low and gentle. “Calm down. It’s just me. I didn’t mean to scare you, honey.”
Honey?
He loosened his grip and held her at arm’s length. He appeared to be examining her. What the hell? Surely he’d seen the guardian, or at least felt its presence. Confusion filled her along with adrenaline, robbing her of the ability to speak or think.
“You gave me quite a fright, running off like that, especially after an argument. Here,” Darkmore said as he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the fire and get you fed. You’ll catch your death out here.”
The reaper wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pushed her head against his chest. Then he started to walk back toward the fire, dragging her along with him. After they’d walked a few paces, he whispered into her ear.
“Don’t speak, just follow my lead.” She doubted she could speak even if she wanted to. Her panic began to subside into numb weariness as the heat from the guardian sentinel faded. That had been a close call. Too close. Darkmore had kept his wits, thank goodness.
She certainly hadn’t.
He sat her down in front of the fire and then grabbed her plate, offering it to her. She could only stare. Moving closer, he broke off a bit of hotdog, and held it to her lips.
“The guardian is moving on, but he isn’t gone yet. Be a good girl and eat your dinner so he won’t become suspicious again.”
She accepted the hotdog, chewing slowly and trying hard to swallow. Her raw, dry throat made it difficult, as did the cold night air. Darkmore held a bottle of water to her lips and encouraged her to drink.
“You only have to hold yourself together for a little while longer. He’s almost out of sight,” Darkmore reassured.
“What about the other spirit?” Vivian whispered with a rasp.
“There is nothing else out there for you to fear. Are you ready to sleep?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
He offered her a small smile, stood, and helped her to her feet. After leading her to their tent, he helped her settle into one of the sleeping bags. He’d even placed the cushioning pad beneath it. After fussing over her pillow, he held the sleeping bag open for her to crawl inside before tucking her in.
When he started to leave, she grabbed his hand, taking more comfort in the contact than she had a right to savor. She hated displaying fear or weakness, but she really didn’t want him to go.
He squeezed her hand lightly but didn’t let go. “I’m going to add a few more logs to the fire and clean up a bit. It won’t take long. I’ll come back.”
Feeling foolish, she nodded, releasing his hand. After he left, she focused on finding her inner calm and listened to the sounds of night all around and of Darkmore settling their campsite for the night. She suspected he was making extra noises for her benefit.
He stepped back into the tent after about thirty minutes, zipping the flap after he entered. After a few moments, he climbed into his own sleeping bag. He’d probably sleep like the dead. She wished she had that skill.
She rolled over and prepared herself for the long night ahead. Too tired to cry anymore, but too wound up for sleep to claim her, she couldn’t even muster a proper sigh of exasperation. It threw her off balance when she Darkmore’s sleeping bag covered body curled up against her back.
A fresh wave of panic seized her. How far did he want to take this charade? She could admit to herself that she found him attractive, and there was at least one occasion when she’d come close to succumbing to that attraction. Shortly thereafter, she’d received a brutal and terrifying reminder of what he was. She might be able to look past his darkness, his hunger for suffering, his lust for pain, while in mortal form—someday. After the events of the night and with the prospect of a potential audience, however, she was decidedly not in the mood.
“Relax, my dear,” he said, rumbling near her ear. “Though I suspect you’d enjoy a rut in the great outdoors, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“So says the grim reaper,” she replied with a snort. The sarcasm did little to hide the tremor in her voice, but her fear had to be obvious. Heart racing, body stiff, nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists—everything about her current state screamed fear.
He laughed, but he didn’t move.
“Well, if you aren’t in the market for a good ‘rut,’ what is it that you want?” she asked.
“For you to relax and get a good night’s sleep. We both need to be rested and strong for the journey ahead.” He moved closer and turned her body to face his. She was about to protest when he brought his mouth close to hers. His index finger on her lips stilled him.
“Let me,” he whispered. “I’ll be full, and you’ll be calm.”
Realization dawned and she relaxed a bit. He wasn’t seeking affection or something more carnal, then. Not exactly. He was offering to take her fears, sorrows, and burdens. This was how he collected spirit energy from her. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it didn’t make the exchange less intimate.
Or less dangerous. Spirit energy was powerful and left a signature for those who knew how to d
etect it. Even garden-variety ghosts, lost and lonely spirits, could detect the energy that fueled the more powerful of their kind. If the sentinel guardian was still close, it would be able to detect their energy exchange, too.
“We can’t risk using our spirit energy, Darkmore,” she pleaded. “They can track us.”
“And I,” he said, closing the gap between their mouths. “Am very good at covering my tracks.”
He placed his mouth on hers and drew out her terror in wisps of red light. He’d done so before, as part of their original bargain of trading the burdens she collected from the living in exchange for his protection. The trade worked well for both of them, since she didn’t like carrying around all of that human suffering, whereas he found it delicious.
Of course, most of those exchanges occurred in the light of day rather than in a shared sleeping space with their bodies curled close together.
Apparently Darkmore felt it too, since she detected his arousal pressed against her. It was mostly likely involuntary. He hadn’t been a truly mortal man for a long time and, if she was being honest, the sensations she experienced were far from unpleasant. Maybe she didn’t mind that so much either, and the thought disturbed her more than her earlier encounter with the sentinel guardian.
Before she could panic, Darkmore released her. He turned her back around so that her back now faced him and he snuggled close.
“Thank you, Vivian. That was…satisfying.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. She wasn’t as angry with him as she was with herself. Her response to him had frightened her.
“Shh, I’m spooning you. Sleep. No harm will come to you. I’m here.”
In spite of her lingering fears and disturbing thoughts, she succumbed to the peace he’d given her and, eventually, to sleep.
Chapter Four
She slept remarkably well considering her close encounter of the deceased and dangerous kind, not to mention her encounter with the softer, protective side of the reaper. Even more remarkable, she woke before Darkmore. She took a moment to watch him sleep, awed by the novelty of the experience. She’d wondered more than once if guardians, reapers, or other dwellers of the spirit world ever slept. She’d only seen Zeke, her former spirit lover, asleep once. He’d been in corporeal form and more at peace than she’d ever known him to be.
That had been the day she’d let him go.
Or so she’d thought at the time. God, she missed him.
She pushed the stray thought aside lest the memories and her unresolved feelings about him overwhelm her.
Those feelings may never be resolved, since she was unlikely to see him again anytime soon—if ever.
Darkmore didn’t snore, didn’t toss or turn, and she barely detected the rise and fall of his chest. Figures. Only he could manage to sleep like a babe even in the middle of their flight from the spirit establishment. If the reaper feared anything, he hid it well.
She stepped out of the tent and into the chill of the morning. It took some time and a few false starts, but she worked out how to operate the portable propane stove so she could set about the most important task of the morning: making coffee. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d had the foresight to pack plenty of instant coffee packets, settling on mocha for her first cup.
It didn’t take long for the water to boil, and as soon as she’d mixed the packet of tasty goodness into her thermos, she decided to take a little stroll. If the guardian sentinels were still around, she needed to do a better job playing ordinary human. Even if they weren’t, she needed to clear her head and stretch her legs. With any luck, they’d be able to make it to Mississippi today without further delays, which meant at least five hours in the car. Her legs and back ached just thinking about it. Thinking about her next awkward conversation with Darkmore made her head ache.
One look at the brilliant blue sky, with clarity only a crisp autumn day could muster, and she stopped questioning the wisdom of her decision and started walking.
A small flock of Monarch butterflies fluttered nearby, and she took slow and silent steps toward them. They busied themselves gorging on the nectar of fall flowers, some of which still glimmered with the early morning dew. She watched as one uncurled its tongue and slid it gently into the center of an awaiting flower. Naturally, her first thought came straight out of the gutter, but she also found a measure of peace while watching the slow beat of their amber and black wings. They hatch, they feed, and they grow. They transform, they emerge, and they feed some more. They mate, they lay their eggs, and they die.
Would that human life was so simple, not to mention the afterlife.
“Sleep well?”
At least Darkmore had the decency to make some noise this time so she’d know he was coming. “I did. You?”
“Very well. I must confess, there is a certain satisfaction in a well-earned night’s rest. I’d forgotten that for a time, so I suppose I should thank you for enabling me to experience it again.”
“Right,” Vivian muttered. She’d managed to avoid the uncomfortable conversation they needed to have, but they sly reaper had turned small talk into a trap.
“Come, sit with me for a while,” he said.
“I still don’t want to talk about this.”
He offered her a small, patient smile. “You’ll feel better once we do. I’ll make you another cup of coffee.”
She stood and stared at the ground.
“I’ll make breakfast, too.”
“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Bacon or sausage?”
She sighed. No help for it. “Sausage. Throw in some eggs and I’m there.”
Vivian walked back to their campsite with Darkmore, glad for his company in spite of lingering fear and guilt. Conventional wisdom held that she shouldn’t like him, shouldn’t trust him, and most certainly shouldn’t feel responsible for keeping him safe. By all rights she should be terrified, and she knew all too well the terror of which he was capable of making her feel.
He curled up with you and helped you sleep, and now he’s making you breakfast. Just go with it.
While cursing her inner voice, something else occurred to her. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, do you how to cook with modern camping gear?”
It was a valid question. The reaper had, after all, lived his first life well before Christ, or the common era, as was often substituted for the Biblical time scale reference. He gave her a bemused look as he managed to turn on the propane stove. On his first try.
Vivian decided to multitask, figuring it would make the conversation easier. She set about packing up their blankets and sleeping bags while she spoke. “So you were right last night. I admit it. I didn’t bargain on taking care of both of us and it bothers me, but not for the reason you probably think.”
She waited for his response. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I do have an aversion to caring for the helpless on account of Mae and I’ll own that. You know it as well as I do.”
And he did. When they’d first met, when the reaper had first targeted her, he’d used his powers to see into the darkest parts of her soul, using what he found there to try and claim her. He’d wanted Mae. Vivian’s disabled sister was a powerful reservoir of untapped spirit energy. It made her a prize coveted by both guardian and reaper spirits.
Only most of them were incapable of tapping into the living as an energy source. Vivian could, a side effect of her status as a living soul broker. To get to Mae, the reaper needed Vivian.
Exploiting all of the unspeakable resentments she harbored at being her sister’s sole caregiver, Darkmore had nearly claimed her. Then again, Vivian’s guardian spirit, one of the few souls she thought she could trust, had wanted Mae, too. The fate of Vivian’s soul had been secondary to his goal.
Darkmore had wanted Vivian.
First for her power as a living soul broker, b
ut later, he’d wanted her for…her. It didn’t change what he was or what he’d done. He was a predator, a reaper of souls subjected to torment and terror in his dark realm.
“You’re right,” Darkmore said, his gaze darkening with the memory and the pleasure he’d taken in her pain. “I know.”
He claimed and tortured souls. It was his purpose, his nature, and he relished his work. But the souls he claimed were wicked. If the reaper darkened your door, you’d done something in life to bring him there. And guardian spirits were anything but angelic, their lust for power and spirit energy at odds with their duty to ferry righteous souls to a better plane of existence. Her guardian spirit Ezra had traded her soul’s safe passage for a chance to settle an old grudge with the reaper. It was how she’d become a living soul broker, trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
There was plenty of moral ambiguity to go around on both sides.
“But you aren’t helpless,” Vivian continued, averting her gaze. “Mortal or not, you still have some of your powers, your wits, and a gigantic set of brass balls.”
She heard him snort, so she knew he was still listening. “What bugs me is that I did this to you. You went out of your way to keep me safe and I returned the favor by trapping you in your mortal body. I hate that.”
“I see,” he said. After a moment, he added, “Why do you hate it so much? You didn’t intend to trap me. Plus, as you reminded me in your rather colorful way, I possessed you against your will, which ultimately led to my injury at the hands of your guardian attacker.”
Vivian rolled her eyes. Having a debate with the reaper was exasperating at best, infuriating at worst. He could never agree with her, and even when he did, he found a way to twist things around until he left her angry, confused, and, loathe as she was to admit it, hurt.
“Do control your temper. I have an obligation to play Devil’s advocate, you know.”
“Bad puns aside, you’re right. You did help get yourself in this situation, but I asked for your protection. Wallace shot that blast through you that was meant for me, so you saved me. Again. And what did I do? I royally screwed up the healing and left you stuck in your mortal form.”
The Quick and the Dead Page 4