The Quick and the Dead

by D. B. Sieders

  Jeanne looked up at her with big blue eyes and for a moment appeared even younger. Those eyes held pleading. “Vivian, Marguerite is more than my mentor. She’s my lover.”

  She stared at Jeanne for a full thirty seconds before laughing. She couldn’t help it. At least half was due to relief. No bad news, no new threats, and no imminent danger—the adrenaline that had been spiking in her veins for the past several weeks needed an outlet.

  When she regained her composure—mostly—she said, “That’s what this is all about? Seriously?”

  “Stop making fun,” Jeanne said, looking sullen. “Do you have any idea how hard that was for me?”

  She tried, but she just couldn’t stop herself. Every time she caught her breath, she’d take one look at the young guardian and lose it again. Jeanne made like she was preparing to vanish, so Vivian grabbed her and gave her a good-natured pat on the back.

  “Don’t be like that. I’m not making fun. I’m just relieved.”

  “Why?” Jeanne asked, suspiciously.

  “What do you mean why? I thought you were going to lay some more seriously messed up spirit crap on me, or tell me someone else I love died, or give me more bad news.” Some of the tension drained from her body along with the laugher. God, that was the first real laugh she’d had since leaving Nashville.

  Jeanne offered a shy smile, apparently pleased with Vivian’s answer, or her reaction. “Well, I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

  “Why was it so hard to tell me? Did you think I’d be mad or something?” As far as she was aware, she’d never said or done anything that could have been construed as homophobia. Maybe this was baggage from Jeanne’s mortal life. The world was changing, but plenty of folks clung to deeply held prejudices that were hard to let go, especially when challenged in the form of a friend or family member.

  Jeanne shrugged, casting her gaze to the ground. It wasn’t like her. The Jeanne she knew was a fighter. “I’d hoped not. I mean, I never had the chance to, you know, come out, while I was alive. Maggie’s been after me to tell someone I know in the mortal realm so I’d, you know, have closure.”

  Yup. Mortal life baggage it was.

  Vivian was touched that Jeanne had chosen to tell her, even though she’d hardly had any other choice. Vivian was the only mortal Jeanne communed with, as far as Vivian was aware of at least. Still, Vivian accepted it for the gift of trust and friendship it was.

  Since Jeanne probably expected a measure of irascibility from her anyway, Vivian decided she might as well play her part while offering reassurance. “Let me ’splain something to you, Lucy. I went from having a guardian hit man chasing me to having the entire freakin’ guardian council on my ass. My whole life has been erased, I’m on the run, and I’ve got to take care of and put up with yon reaper. Your gayness is the very least of my concerns.”

  Jeanne gave her a sheepish grin. At least Vivian had got her laughing.

  “Look, I don’t care who you sleep with, or ‘commune with’ or whatever you call it. You love who you love, right?”

  “Right,” Jeanne answered. She was crying. Vivian had never seen her cry.

  “Hey,” Vivian said, chest squeezing tight with concern. At least it wasn’t fear for safety this time. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the guardian spirit into her arms. Awkward, but she figured she should at least try to offer some comfort. It was what she did for the living, after all.

  What she’d done, she corrected. She was a rebel, now. Presumably that meant fighting, but perhaps her empathetic connection with humans, the ability to absorb their burdens, would help the rebellion leader. Was that what Jeanne had meant when she suggested Vivian offer him support?

  Now wasn’t the time for more questions, though. She turned her focus back on Jeanne. “It’s fine. Who am I to judge? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t participated in a little human-on-guardian action. That’s about as unnatural as you can get, aside from cross-species.”

  Not that she thought of her time with Zeke as unnatural. He’d been her protector, friend, lover, and shelter from the storm that had become her life. Their time together had been brief, but she’d loved him fiercely. And she’d let him go, doing what she thought was best.

  Then he’d come back, but things between them weren’t right. They hadn’t had time to make them right before she left—yet another regret. He said he’d fight for her. Would he wait for her?

  And then there was Darkmore.

  Driven by some strange compulsion at the thought, she added “And…I’m seriously considering giving it a go with a reaper.”

  She could’ve played if off as a joke, at least before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Holy shit. Why had she said that?

  Because it’s true.

  Jeanne laughed and let go of Vivian so she could dry her eyes. “I’m surprised you haven’t already. You are quite a rebel.”

  Vivian had expected an admonition, not a joke. “Thanks for not judging me, either.”

  Zeke would judge, but then again, he’d “reconnected” with his living wife while hiding from Vivian. He was hardly in a position to judge.

  “I’m not like the council,” Jeanne replied. There was something in her voice that gave Vivian pause. The council would definitely have a problem with a guardian or soul broker they considered one of “theirs” fraternizing with a reaper. She’d learned the hard way that they also had a problem with guardians fraternizing with the living. But guardians with guardians? Seriously?

  Unless…

  “What? They have a problem with folks like you? They have a problem with your relationship with Marguerite?” Vivian couldn’t quite bring herself to call Jeanne’s partner “Maggie.”

  “They have a problem with a lot of things.” Changing the subject, Jeanne said, “Go on and get back on the road. You should be able to find a nice hotel along the way. One with room service. And a shower.”

  “Thanks,” Vivian said with mock indignation. “I’ll do that.”

  Jeanne hesitated for a moment, and then planted a kiss on Vivian’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Then she disappeared.

  Vivian leaned against the tree and let Jeanne’s words sink in. She could breathe easier, at least for the moment, it seemed. With the guardians off their trail, they no longer had to hurry. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to hurry into the unknown now that their safety no longer depended upon it. She reflected on all she’d lost and fought the bitterness she’d kept at bay since they began their journey.

  “No, I won’t think about all that right now,” she said aloud. Instead, she decided to focus on their more immediate needs. She rose, dusted off her grimy jeans, and marched off to find Darkmore.

  Chapter Six

  “May I ask where we are going in such a hurry?”

  Darkmore had played along when Vivian ran back to fetch him and their belongings. She’d packed up the car at lightning speed, cursed her fingers for failing to type faster while programming the GPS, and sped out of the Welcome Center’s parking lot with enough speed to leave skid marks. All the while, the reaper maintained his calm and followed along.

  “Jeanne says the guardians are off our trail.”

  The reaper didn’t seem surprised. He had probably known before Jeanne clued her in. “That is welcome news. If that’s the case, why the rush?”

  Taking a deep breath and deliberately relaxing her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, she said, “I want a shower. A long one. And I want a really good meal, a soft bed, and…”

  She didn’t have to look at Darkmore to know he was smiling. Smug bastard. At least he didn’t push her to finish her thought.

  They’d kept to the Natchez Trace Parkway as long as possible, and its sweeping vistas of red, gold, and orange fall foliage. The sharp contrast between the dull grays and bland landscape flanked by the interstate was jarring by contrast. They’d make better time but leaving the shelter of forest and pasture for the openness of civiliza
tion left her uneasy. She didn’t like being so exposed and couldn’t help checking her rearview mirror.

  After twenty miles of uncomfortable silence, Darkmore spoke. “So we are seeking more comfortable accommodations?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about that one?”

  Darkmore’s finger pointed to the boxy hotel looming in the distance, presumably located just off the next exit. Bland and boring, it looked like every other cheap chain accommodation they’d passed during the last several hours. Bone deep weariness tempted her to stop, but after weeks on the run and the greater part of two years living in fear of the spirit world, she craved respite. A bit of rest and a moment of peace before they faced the looming battle that awaited them—if she could have that, she could face what was to come.

  Though he would never admit it, she suspected the reaper needed a respite as well. It had to be terrifying for a creature as ancient and powerful as Darkmore to be trapped in a mortal body, his essence contained within such a fragile vessel, subject to all of the discomforts that came with a body that was slowly dying. He hid it well, but she hadn’t missed the way his joints had popped and cracked at their last stop, the way he’d limped a bit while human limbs adjusted to motion after a few hours of sitting in cramped quarters, how he shivered in the cold. That had hit her like an arrow through the heart. Cold was his nature. His presence had soothed her during Southern summer heat waves during his frequent visits, like a welcome breeze or a crisp mountain stream.

  It pained her to know that she’d taken that from him.

  He needed warmth, sustenance, and rest as much as she did, and not in the sterile, impersonal space.

  “Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “If we’re going to stop for a few days, we’re going to do it in style. At least, as much style as you can get in Boonieville Mississippi.”

  “A few days.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t sound surprised, exactly. Just thoughtful.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. She hadn’t budgeted for it, as her original plan had been to get to Mississippi and find the afterlife management rebels as soon as possible. But God, she really needed a break. “Um, maybe. I’ll have to check the finances, but I think we can afford it.”

  “You needn’t worry about payment, Vivian.”

  She chanced a glance at the reaper. She couldn’t read his face, so she turned her gaze back to the road ahead. “No, I’m not completely unprepared, you know. I do work in finance—scratch that, I did work in finance.”

  Something else she’d given up because she’d crossed the guardians.

  “At any rate,” she continued, “I like to be prepared. I figured I might have to disappear someday, or go on some sort of secret guardian mission-type trip, or get away. I planned ahead.”

  “And you think I did not?”

  She jerked in surprise, though she shouldn’t have. A creature as old and as clever as the reaper hadn’t survived this long without planning. Of course he’d have resources. She’d be willing to bet he had caches of wealth hidden all over the world, and possibly in a few other realms.

  She checked her rearview mirror. Aside from a couple of sedans and a slow-moving pickup, they had this stretch of interstate to themselves. She changed lanes and pulled onto the shoulder. After she put the car in park, she took a deep breath, turned, and looked at Darkmore.

  “How much we talking about?”

  He smiled then, flashing that shit-eating, smug grin that infuriated and inflamed her all at once.

  “More than enough.”

  “I already told you I don’t like owing you—”

  “It’s only money. In my case, quite inconsequential—at least before my transformation. Now, it is essential for our survival. And our comfort.”

  Vivian thought for a moment, her accountant’s brain crunching numbers almost of its own accord. She’d planned for six months at most. It had been all she could manage during her stint as a part-time soul broker. Who knew how long they’d be on the run? Perhaps she could have squirreled away a bit more, but there had been so little time.

  “Do not trouble yourself. I’ve simply been around longer.”

  She turned back, put the car in drive, and pulled back onto the Interstate after a quick glance over her shoulder. She checked the GPS. They weren’t far.

  “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, though, dinner is definitely on you.”

  “Did you have to screw around with the concierge?” Vivian asked between bites of

  steak. She hadn’t spoken much since their food arrived via room service. Between a long, hot shower, a change of clothing, and her first decent meal in days, she’d been too wrapped up in the blessed act of unwinding.

  He smiled, apparently lost in savoring his own meal. “I may be mortal in form, but I am still a reaper. I require sustenance beyond this fine meal.”

  She swallowed hard. Misery and torment were the reaper’s bread and butter. Often enough, he “sweetened” his victims before feeding from them, touching raw nerves and dredging up their deepest, darkest fears, secrets, and horrors. Not quite the same as harvesting soul energy—he gathered that when he took a departed soul to his dark realm of torment, or when he relieved Vivian of the burdens she collected from the living—it still filled him with a form of existential nourishment and satisfaction. It was his nature, but having once been on the receiving end of his sadistic brand of play, watching him work made her uncomfortable.

  That was probably for the best. She couldn’t afford to get too comfortable with Darkmore. They may be allies, if not quite friends, but it wouldn’t do to forget what he was.

  “Fine, but did you have to include the bellboy, the folks in the elevator, the guy who delivered our food?”

  “Speaking of which, why are we eating in our bedchamber? I would have been more than happy to escort you to a fine dining establishment nearby.”

  She shrugged. “I like room service. I get it whenever I can.”

  Darkmore stopped eating and gave her one of his inquisitive looks.

  “It’s not a very interesting story,” Vivian said. She took another bite. No need to waste a warm, medium rare rib eye on anyone’s account.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  She took a long moment to savor the tender bite of steak, chased by a sip of wine, before answering. “Fine. We always took el cheapo vacations when I was a kid, on those rare occasions when we went anywhere. Dad worked hard. So did mom, but she didn’t get paid to be a caregiver. Money was tight for a long time, especially with Mae. Hell, the conversion for the van alone was over ten grand.” Not to mention Mae’s wheelchair, Mae’s specialized bed and occupational therapy-designed equipment, Mae’s doctor visits, Mae’s meds...

  Vivian stopped her train of thought soon after she stopped speaking. Her sister wasn’t a subject she enjoyed revisiting in the presence of the reaper. Both reaper and guardians had been drawn to Vivian largely because of Mae and her disabilities, since mortal souls trapped in incapacitated states provided vast spirit energy reserves. She still associated her first encounter with the reaper with the terrible night on which she felt the full force of her own anger and resentment at caring for Mae. He’d fed from her deeply that night.

  Oddly enough, she didn’t sense his influence, the pull of his hunger, or any sign that he was savoring her emotional burdens now. Maybe he was being…polite. She’d never known him to miss a meal, though. Then again, he’d just fed from the misery of hotel staff.

  His expression hadn’t changed. He simply nodded, encouraging her to go on. She blew out a breath and then spoke.

  “So once I was out on my own and stayed in my first upscale hotel, I ordered room service because I could. I was at a work conference in Atlanta, my first, so I was excited. I felt like I’d finally made it. I remember the man wheeling in this cart with beautiful, silver-covered dishes. He was dressed just like a maître d’ out of a five-star restaurant, and he uncovered the trays full of steaming food, poured my glas
s of wine, and unfurled my napkin…”

  “You needn’t be embarrassed, Vivian.”

  “What makes you think I am?” she snapped.

  “You don’t seem to be comfortable with this particular topic. Is it because you suppose I find your fondness for this bit of luxury quaint and foolish, or is it because you were thinking of your sister?”

  She sighed. Why couldn’t he just let stuff go? “I don’t really care if you think I’m quaint. I like room service, and I make a point of getting room service at least once whenever I go on a trip. It’s my thing.”

  “Fair enough. And Mae?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mae with you.”

  “Why not?”

  Vivian waited to answer, finishing her last bite of steak and savoring another sip of wine. She’d be damned if he cheated her out of the meal. When she finished, she steeled herself and looked Darkmore straight in his ice blue eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Mae right now because I’m just getting comfortable with you again. If we talk about her, I’ll have to think about what you are and what you did to me when we first met. And then…”

  She trailed off, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. He couldn’t make her talk, and she didn’t owe him an explanation for why she did anything. She shouldn’t have made it personal. Sure, they were allies, and if she’d kept him safe since she turned him mortal, he’d returned the favor a thousand times over. He’d protected her from guardian spirits long before he’d needed her for anything—anything other than the burdens she collected and converted into spirit energy.

  That’s all he needed her for. All he wanted. Those small moments of intimacy they’d shared, that one memorable kiss that had been about more than sharing spirit light, those surely hadn’t meant more to him than staking his claim on a meal ticket.

  He didn’t want her.

  But the reaper was a persistent hunter, and patient. He wouldn’t let it go.