The Quick and the Dead

by D. B. Sieders

  “Tetanus booster. Didn’t know how long it’d been since you had one. Before that, Hep B.” When she gave him a look of confusion, he continued, “Chet said you bit some guy in the parking lot.”

  “That’s your biggest concern? Tetanus and Hepatitis?”

  He shrugged, “It’s the best I can do. If you got HIV from him, you’re shit outta luck.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Vivian that she might have to worry about such ordinary issues as blood borne diseases.

  Briggs just stood and watched her with a smug grin on his face. His eyes were sharp, though, and they seemed busy sizing her up. She returned the favor and let her eyes roam over him. Returning her gaze to his face, his dimples caught her attention once more. They would have seemed out of place on such an imposing man, but he’d dropped the scowl and wore a look of wry amusement.

  She forced herself to quit staring. White women and black men did often mix in the new South, but prejudice still ran deep, and she knew her daddy would be rolling over in his grave at the thought of her ogling Briggs. As quickly as that thought popped into her addled brain, she set it aside. Her first thought was a product of her upbringing. The second thought, which was a reflection of her character, told her this wasn’t a man to be crossed, but he was also a man of his word and one to be trusted. Hours of online communication combined with instincts she now trusted served her well.

  She pushed the spark of interest aside out of loyalty. She supposed she was officially with the reaper, which brought her focus back to more immediate concerns.

  And a few questions.

  “Why didn’t you show up tonight? And what did Chester mean when he told me I’d ‘passed the test and then some?’”

  “He meant just what he said. You passed the audition.” His face remained as bland as his tone, as if they were discussing the weather instead of a near-brush with death.

  Anger brewing, she spat out her reply. “Audition?”

  “You didn’t think we’d just let you waltz right in without knowing what you could do, would do, and more importantly, would not do with your spirit powers, did you? I’ve worked too hard to recruit and protect my people to trust just anyone.”

  White-hot rage filled her, so intense that it was almost cold. The reaper’s influence? Possibly, since half of her anger was on his behalf. Briggs had put them in danger, deliberately sent them into enemy territory to be ambushed. That was as twisted as any trap ever set for her by guardian or reaper spirits, the common enemy they were supposed to be fighting. Allies didn’t do that. Allies fought beside you, had your back, and kept you safe—Briggs was supposed to be her ally.

  When she spoke, her soft, low voice made up for lack of volume with a rumbling growl. “You invited me here, under your protection, and I agreed to serve as an ally. But instead of meeting us and offering safe passage to your base, you sent us into that redneck hellhole filled with humans who had no idea what kind of danger they’d face if our cover was blown. Granted, it would be no great loss to humanity, but we could have been killed. Lazarus almost was killed.”

  She emphasized the last by allowing the spirit light to spark from her finger tips and glow beneath her skin. “Lazarus is under my protection. You don’t want to test him, or me.”

  He met her threat with a neutral, almost bored expression. “I had to make sure you wouldn’t go and do something monumentally stupid like cast spirit light in front of civilians.”

  “And if we had?”

  “Y’all would’ve been on your own.”

  Vivian fought the overwhelming urge to shoot a blast through Briggs’ head. Instead she slapped him hard across the face. To her surprise, he didn’t make any move to defend himself or to strike her back. He just stood his ground and stared at her. The second blow, however, he blocked by grabbing her wrist.

  “I understand you’re pissed off, and I’ll give you one pass. One. The people here are under my protection. I don’t bring strangers in lightly. You don’t want to test me, either.”

  She wriggled free and tried to clamp down on her temper. Judging from his grip, the man had allowed her to free herself. He didn’t have to let her go. Rage still boiled the blood in her veins, but she held onto it and let his words sink in. She and Darkmore had been running from the spirit world for a while. Briggs had been on the run longer, and he likely had a lot of living soul brokers with him. Good leaders took care of their people, they protected as well as ruled. She didn’t agree with his methods, but she understood.

  If Briggs accepted them, he’d protect her and Darkmore from any threat with the same ruthlessness.

  “Fine. I get it. We’re in now? We’re good?”

  He nodded. She spun on her heel and went to check on Darkmore, finding him in bed very much as she and Chester had left him around an hour before. Chester had left the small lamp on the nightstand lit. Bruises had bloomed on the reaper’s swollen face, and she silently cursed herself for not attending to him sooner. Pulling back the covers, she unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his chest, hissing at the evidence of his beating. More worrisome was the damage she couldn’t see. Not sure if she’d fully healed his internal injuries back at the bar, she took a deep breath, focused her energy, and bent over him so she could deliver the healing rays.

  “No,” Darkmore rasped, turning away from her and groaning.

  “Stop squirming and let me finish healing you,” she chided, her tone gentle.

  “I don’t want you to finish healing me.”

  That stumped her, and her next words came in a not-so-gentle tone. “What? Why not?”

  “Because the greatest wisdom comes from suffering.”

  Unbelievable bastard. Heaving a deep sigh, she said, “That’s cute. You can stitch that on a pillow for me after I fix your hands.”

  With great effort, the reaper pushed himself up to sit, groaning as he turned to face her. Her last comment had failed to amuse him. His icy eyes bored into her and she reminded herself that, injured or not, he was still a reaper and could inflict any number of torments upon her body, mind, or soul.

  Then again, reaper or not, he was being a stubborn jackass.

  “Seriously, what gives?”

  He heaved a sigh and groaned again. When he spoke, his voice sounded harsh and strained. Vivian wondered if he was fighting pain or anger. “Are you at all familiar with Eastern philosophy?”

  “Not really.”

  “One ancient branch, which happens to still be quite popular in the modern era, holds that humans derive wisdom from three sources: personal study, personal experience, and personal suffering. The last is the greatest form of enlightenment. I ought to know, as I have inflicted immeasurable suffering throughout the ages in an effort to educate my charges.”

  She wanted to yell, to scream and rage and hit him with the lamp. Yeah, that would teach him to interfere with her “healing” touch. Instead, she cocked her head to the side and said, “That’s an interesting way to look at it. Your point?”

  “My point, Vivian, is that I’ve been a fool.”

  She stared at him, jaw hanging. First off, the volume of his declaration surprised her, as did his tone. The reaper rarely raised his voice or lost his cool. Second, he had always carried with him an air of supreme confidence and omniscience that she found extremely irritating most of the time.

  At this moment, she found the loss of said confidence quite alarming.

  “I thought I had experienced enough suffering in my many mortal lives to understand all facets of the darkness you humans carry in your souls. I have endured everything, Vivian,” he said, his gaze open and raw, filled with things no soul should know, let alone share. “Every manner of disease, injury, loss, violation, and cruelty humanity can inflict on its own has been mine to live. And yet, I’ve never once feared for the fate of my spirit.”

  Perhaps prompted by her look of confusion, he continued, “I knew what awaited me on the other side, you see. No matter the pain or terror, it could be easily endured
with the understanding that it was, in fact, temporary. I would carry my lessons with me upon the end of each incarnation and apply them in my own realm. But now…”

  “You’ve never faced death?” she whispered as realization dawned. Her chest went tight, and she had to look away and blink back unshed tears. “Really faced it? Not even in your first mortal life?”

  He closed his eyes and turned away. “That experience was another matter entirely.”

  His tone and the anguish in his voice prompted her to drop the subject, at least for the moment. Instead, she let his admission sink in. She hadn’t often contemplated her own mortality, at least before becoming involved with the spirit realms. It was something she took for granted. We’re born, we live, and we die. We can die anytime. People of faith took comfort in their firm belief in eternal paradise, but no one really knew for certain what awaited in the great beyond. Trying to imagine going from a position of invincibility to one of utter uncertainty made her head spin. Even Jesus had known he’d get to go back home to Papa while he was hanging on the cross, according to the Biblical accounts. What if he hadn’t?

  She’d entered the reaper’s room with every intention of healing him. She had half a mind to pack up and leave after Briggs’ little stunt. But now she questioned the wisdom of that decision. Here, they would be protected, or at least among those like them. Extra eyes, ears, and spirit power couldn’t hurt. Out there, he’d be as vulnerable as any human, perhaps more so.

  “Lazarus, I—”

  “I do not want your pity, Vivian, nor do I wish to burden you. Tonight’s fiasco was my doing. I broke my own rule when I turned and struck Milford. I made it personal. And now I must face the consequences.”

  “So you can punish yourself?”

  “So, I will remember next time,” he answered, laughing bitterly. “As I believe I once told you, life is often painful, but it does teach us a thing or two. It would appear to be my time to practice what I preach.”

  Her first reaction would have been to scoff, or possibly rant and rail at the reaper, who had never seemed more human. A stubborn, human man hell-bent on proving how tough he was by wallowing in the misery of his own making was both exasperating and infuriating. But…he was hers, at least for now. Ranting at him wouldn’t do any good. Human he may seem, but he was a reaper, an ancient creature of myth, legend, and more than the occasional nightmare. Mortal men didn’t often heed advice offered by their women, and being much older, arguably wiser, and more experienced than she, Darkmore was unlikely to listen to her if she wasn’t very careful and thoughtful in her approach.

  She intrigued him, and part of that appeal came from her unexpected nature. Very little surprised Darkmore, one of the consequences of a long, long existence. But she had, she did, and if she was clever, she could do it again.

  He intrigued her as well, and challenged her always. If she wanted to help him, she’d have to meet the challenge on his terms and bend them to suit her own.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, after taking a few moments to make some tough decisions.

  “I did not intend to cause you discomfort, Vivian. You don’t have to leave.”

  That was interesting. An almost apology, and invitation to stay, a subtle request that she stay, as if she would abandon him?

  “I have no intention of leaving,” she said, which was true. “I just need to have a little chat with Briggs.”

  He nodded and then slowly lowered himself back to rest on the bed. Vivian left the room and closed the door behind her. When she returned to the small living room, Briggs stood up from the couch. He looked at her with something akin to awe, which was not what she’d expected from the tough-as-nails leader of the mortal soul broker rebellion.

  “Been eavesdropping?”

  “It’s my house,” he said with a small shrug. “Your friend in there, he’s a reaper?”

  It was a question. Darkmore had always been an enigma. In his current state, he’d be even more mysterious to those in their world. She didn’t want to reveal his weaknesses to Briggs. Not yet. But she owed him honesty.

  “Yeah.”

  “But he’s mortal. How’d that happen?”

  She sighed, suddenly very, very tired. “I healed him after my little spat with the rogue guardian, the one I told you about during our chats. The reaper saved me, and I thought I was saving him. I guess it worked a little too well.”

  “Will it work on any spirit? Can you do it again?”

  It wasn’t what she’d expected. He wasn’t angry with her for bringing a reaper into their midst, nor did he seem particularly interested in using Darkmore’s powers. True, reapers weren’t known for being cooperative, but they were powerful, much more powerful than she was, and much more useful in a battle with guardian spirits.

  Or so she believed.

  Vivian could almost hear the gears turning inside his head, and it got her thinking, too. With spirit firepower, healing powers, and the ability to trap potential enemies in a mortal form, she was a valuable asset in her own right. From what she’d learned, not all living soul brokers had her gift of healing, and she suspected no others had the ability to render mortal powerful spirits capable of forming temporary corporeal forms. Captured spirits could be questioned in the same manner as any vulnerable mortal, and she suspected Briggs would have no qualms about using extreme and creative interrogation methods.

  Vivian could be used as a formidable weapon, which made her suddenly more interesting. Apparently, Waylon Briggs took a rather Machiavellian approach to leadership.

  Well, she could play princess to his Medici prince.

  Adopting a neutral tone, she answered his question. “I probably could do it again if circumstances dictated, and if properly motivated.”

  He gave her a bland stare. “Room, board, and safety aren’t enough for you?”

  She laughed, letting bitterness and resentment seep through. “I think I have more than enough reasons to question my safety after your little stunt at the bar tonight. I can pay my own way, and if I contribute to your little rebellion then I believe I should expect something in return.”

  He laughed then. “Seems I’ve gotten myself a little mercenary. What exactly do you propose?”

  Time to bargain, then. There were many things she wanted. Most of those things were things Briggs couldn’t give her. But she had a mistake to correct and a debt to repay. If she had to sacrifice freedom and allegiances and put her life and soul on the line, she needed to at least make sure her debt was settled.

  “I’ll lend my spirit powers, including those that heal and can render spirits mortal, to your cause. In return, I want you to help me find a way to return the reaper to his former state.”

  His gaze widened a fraction of an inch, the only visible sign of his surprise. “What makes you think I have that kind of information?”

  Good question, but her instincts told her he was the key to helping restore Darkmore to his original state. She thought back to what Jeanne had told her earlier. Jeanne mentioned contacting spirits involved in Voodoo. Wait, she’d called it something else. Maybe Briggs would be familiar with spirits in the same circle.

  “Know anyone who does Voudon?”

  “I do,” he said, without hesitation. “You think a Houngan can help you?”

  What the hell was a Houngan? No matter, she’d bluff now and look it up later. “I’m told someone like that might.”

  He grinned, which gave her pause. She hoped she hadn’t fallen into a trap, since he seemed to be more pleased with negotiations than she’d expected. “Tell you what, Miss Tennessee. Let’s see what you can do in training tomorrow and I’ll arrange an introduction. You’ll have to get in good with my contact yourself if you want help.”

  “Training?”

  “Yeah, training. You arrived at a good time. Got a new batch of recruits set for testing tomorrow morning. We start early. Chet can give you a wakeup call. We’ll talk more after. Wear something warm.” Brigg
s picked up his medical bag and made to leave.

  “Leave that here, if you don’t mind. I’ve got some doctoring to do.”

  Briggs gave her funny look, but then nodded and walked to the front door. Vivian walked with him. In spite of her misgivings, he had offered them shelter and a safe haven. She vowed to at least be civil to the man until she decided whether or not she liked him.

  “There’s food in the fridge. You want anything else, Chet can direct you toward town. Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

  “Good night to you, too,” she quipped.

  Instead of taking offense to her attitude, Briggs offered her a wry smile. “I don’t coddle, and I don’t have time for Southern charm these days, but I’ll treat you fair and keep you safe if you do your part.”

  She nodded, waiting until he’d made it across the parking lot before shutting and locking the door. Though tempted to go straight back to the reaper, she had enough caregiver experience to take the flight attendant approach: put the oxygen mask on yourself first before assisting others. Brigg’s hadn’t lied. The refrigerator and pantry were stocked with essentials. She made herself a ham and cheese sandwich and poured a tall glass of milk to wash it down. While she ate, she warmed up some soup for Darkmore.

  While the soup cooled, she grabbed the medical bag and then made a trip to the bathroom, from which she retrieved a washcloth and soap, and filled a shallow bowl with tepid water. Vivian carried these items back to the bedroom, where she found the reaper dozing. Nudging him gently on the shoulder, she roused him and helped him to a sitting position, propping his back with a couple of pillows.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” It remained unbuttoned from her earlier examination. He arched his brow at her, but did as she asked. She wet the washcloth, dabbed it lightly with soap, and then sat next to Darkmore on the bed. When she tried to bring it to his face, the reaper turned away.

  “Hold still,” she chided. “You want this to get infected?”

  “I already told you to not to interfere. Do you ever listen?”