Grave Dealings

by R. R. Virdi

  Daniel’s apartment looked like he’d left his windows open during a tornado. A bleak, gray velour sofa lay on its back in the middle of the room. A cheap lamp sat next to it, the cord ripped from a nearby socket. Its shade lay flattened under a small stand. A variety of art-related books littered the place.

  I let out a low whistle as I flung the door shut. The television was barely hanging on the wall from its mount; only one of the brackets remained intact at a corner. I stepped over various utensils, art supplies, and a broken laptop.

  Something had definitely targeted Daniel here before deciding he needed to work on his breaststroke.

  I moved around with caution, partly out of respect. As I stepped further inside, I shut my eyes and nearly pinched my nose shut. Someone had gone overboard with the pine freshener. It was thick enough to gag a person. I could almost taste it.

  I pulled the shirt collar over my nose as I moved towards the open kitchen in the far corner. Nothing stood out enough to jog my knowledge of the paranormal. The disarray looked like a burglary gone wrong rather than anything involving a monster. I scanned the room one last time before moving on.

  The small bathroom on the other side appeared untouched. Two doors remained. One ahead, and one to my right. Both were shut.

  If anything was lurking around his place, those would be the last places for them to hide. Opening the wrong door would signal them and lead me into a world of trouble.

  Everything you do leads to trouble. I frowned. It was true however.

  I held my breath and placed a hand on the doorknob to my right. Please let room number one be free of nasties. In one swift movement, I turned the knob, leaned in with my shoulder and barreled through. I stopped as suddenly as I’d started. My arms went to my side, spinning like pinwheels to help keep me from tumbling over.

  The room was fashioned into an artist’s workspace. Supplies littered the floor in groupings that made no sense to me. An easel to the far right boasted an unfinished drawing done in charcoal pencil. Streetlights filtered through the window and cast an eerie amber glow over the work. My fingers trailed over the webbing of a short hammock strung across the left wall.

  A closed portfolio, larger than any suitcase I’d ever seen, sat under the hammock. A simple table stood crammed against the far wall. Countless other supplies littered its surface, ranging from pencils to brushes and pastels. Despite the mess, the room seemed like nobody but Daniel had ransacked it.

  I ignored the mess and approached the easel. The closer I looked at it, the stranger the image appeared. It was a disorienting blur of shapes. An unfinished man tightly held a woman of fierce beauty. Hair fell past her shoulders, and she had full lips. Like the man, the rest of her detail was lacking. A figure hung around the corner of a street that vaguely resembled the road outside. The stranger had a shock of frizzy, thick hair that stood out as the most prominent detail.

  My eyes trailed over the piece, fixating on the image above the people. It dominated the remaining space. A pair of orbs—the only color on the canvas—contrasted the monochromatic work. Violent red anything is never a good sign. There was no face to frame what looked like eyes, and a series of lines spread out from them. They connected at the edges and littered the inside of the odd, jagged shapes on either end. It looked like spines and a membrane.

  I blinked and bit my lip. I couldn’t recall any creature with those traits. My heart sped up as I stepped closer. It was probably taboo, but I reached for the corner and tugged on the piece. It fought back, flexing and folding as I pulled on it. I gave it another yank, and the sound of tearing paper filled my ears. The drawing pad was blank underneath.

  I flipped open the journal containing my collection of mythological lore and folded the piece of art into it. This likely wasn’t the only piece of art on the pad. I followed the hunch and slipped an index finger under the paper folded over the top of the easel. With a simple flick, I sent the next work tumbling towards me.

  “Well, damn.” Something was clearly nipping at Daniel’s heels before he passed. It was detailed work of something that looked like an old-fashioned drawing of a devil crossed with a bat. I blinked, not knowing what to make of it. The next page left me just as clueless. A work of all black streaked with gray lines. It looked like massive wings. A pair of white eyes hovered between them. It was a stylized piece, whatever it was.

  Great, looks like Daniel was haunted by freakin’ Batman.

  “Third time’s the charm.” I reached out and flipped over the next sheet. Hideous was an understatement. The thing looked like a cross between a gibbon and a bat. A claw-like hand covered in fur reached out from the page to give the illusion it would grab me. I shook my head then paused. Something caught my eye within the work. There were lines—faint—within the monster.

  Another face. One with a shock of thick, frizzy hair. I squinted and leaned closer, making out a speckle of dots on either side. The rest of drawing was difficult to make out.

  None of this made any sense. I tore the other sheets free and stuffed them into my journal. I’d go over them later.

  I backpedaled until I reached the door, turning and giving the room one last look. There wasn’t anything else to take away from it. No one said my cases were easy. I sighed and shut the door. Only Daniel’s bedroom remained.

  I covered the distance in a couple of long strides. The door was cracked open just enough for me to slip my pinky into the space. I gave it a gentle push. Daniel’s bedroom was a stark contrast to the rest of his home. Simple, orderly, and clean. Every mother’s dream.

  My eyes trailed over the room from left to right. The dresser and small television were coated in a thin layer of dust. More artwork dotted the walls. They were professional and held within slender, black frames. A warm heat, like fresh-out-of-the-laundry clothes, flared in my chest. Daniel favored those pieces. One caught my eye.

  It was rough in comparison, but not bad by any means. A man and woman with their backs turned to the viewer. They held hands over what looked like the roof of Daniel’s apartment. The scenery seemed a tad too fantastical, from the pink and vermilion-tinged sky, to the white clouds that seemed to carry a hint of turquoise. It was almost too colorful.

  A lance of pain shot through my skull. A streak of light followed, and my vision blurred. Something tugged at my heart at seeing that piece, like it was strung with invisible weights threatening to pull it to the floor. The back of my throat dried. Whoever it belonged to must have been close to Daniel. I felt like I’d been hit by an emotional freight truck. I shook my head clear and separated Daniel’s thoughts and feelings from my own.

  Focusing on the case was my best bet to keep my borrowed head in check. I shut my eyes and inhaled. Something tickled my nostrils. I blinked and took a step back. The smell was of burnt oranges. I looked at the floor and a hint of Daniel’s face stared back at me in reflection. It was some wood polish to give off that shine and odor. I cleared my throat and pushed the smell from my mind. My attention turned to the bed.

  It was the only thing out of order. The sheets looked like he had suffered through one hell of a nightmare under them. I stepped closer and gravitated towards sections of the sheets that were darker than the others. Burnt citrus wasn’t the only odor in the room. Sweat—barely noticeable, but it was there. I shut my eyes tight and balled my fists. Things weren’t adding up.

  The drawings pointed to a slew of different figures; some looked like combinations of animals. Daniel’s home had been ransacked. That was a clear sign of...something. He ended up in a fatal underwater routine. Something kept him from his eight hours of beauty sleep. And he had poor taste in floor polish.

  My fist tightened until my knuckles ached. I took another series of breaths. “Calm down. Take it slow. Take it all in.” I repeated the mantra until the muscles in my hand loosened. My gaze fell over the nightstand.

  I made my way over to it and fumbled under the lampshade for the switch. Weak light flickered into life and gave me a better
view. I pulled open the first drawer. It was like looking inside a recycling bin filled with paper. Various letters and envelopes lay atop one another without any organization. I sifted through them. A few of them smelled like cheap perfume, the sort that was more of a chemical assault than anything pleasing. I ignored them.

  Most of the papers were notices of late payments. I thumbed through them until they were replaced by utility bills and statements. His art gallery’s income had taken a sudden turn-around to do well.

  I had seen shifts of fortune like this before. Someone’s luck and finances going from dismal to successful, like a wish come true. Only, that wish had a price.

  They always do.

  I rummaged through the letters until I found one with the information I needed. The address was another long walk away. I frowned. If this kept up, my timeline would dwindle to nothing simply from walking.

  Note to self: Ask Church for a car. If Daddy doesn’t buy you one for your birthday, steal one.

  I blinked.

  Keys, you idiot!

  I pressed my hips against the drawer and shoved it shut. The act of thinking about Daniel’s belongings triggered another flash. A painless one, thankfully.

  I followed the vision and sank to my knees. My index finger hooked around the handle, and I pulled on the lowest drawer. It opened. I found a wallet made from black faux leather and one of those overly expensive smartphones. A ring of keys sat next to the wallet. Bright colors caught my eye. Each of the keys had a thumbnail-sized strip of electrical tape stuck to it. A stack of art-related magazines served as a bed for the items on top.

  I pursed my lips as I snatched the items. The tape was a good way to keep track of what key did what. I flipped the wallet open, sliding his license into a flap. The cell phone was a good place to dig.

  I gave it a sideways look. Technology and I don’t always get along. I pressed my thumb to the only visible button. The screen flared to life and prompted me for a password.

  “Fuck.” Somehow, I didn’t think Daniel’s phone would unlock from profanity. I shut my eyes and tried to clear my mind.

  The subconscious is an amazing thing. Sometimes you simply need to turn everything off and just trust yourself. If only it were that easy.

  I tapped the screen without thought, hoping Daniel’s body memorized the repetitive action of keying it in. No luck. My grip tightened, and I felt the plastic and aluminum shell threaten to warp. I sighed and loosened my hold. One last try couldn’t hurt. My index finger bounced over the screen.

  A warning message appeared, alerting me that if I kept it up, I’d be locked out.

  I glared at the phone and wondered if it would unlock after impacting a brick wall. A growl escaped my throat, and I stuffed the phone into one of my pockets. The wallet followed along with the keys.

  “Man, I hope one of these is to a car.” I clung to them and headed to leave, pausing near the door. A thin coat-rack stood there; a lone windbreaker hung from it. I snatched it up, slipping into it. It had mesh pockets large enough to stow my journals. I did so and left the room.

  There was no point in cleaning up Daniel’s home on the way out. The dead don’t care much for how their place looks. I lowered my head, giving the apartment a final look. “I dunno if you can hear me where you are, Daniel, but I’m going to gank this sucker.” I looked up to the ceiling, hoping my words reached him and stepped out of his apartment. The door thudded shut.

  I headed down the hall and the stairs. The keys jingled as I bounced them in my palm. As I neared the exit of the complex, I grumbled to myself. No memory passed through my noggin of Daniel owning a car. My teeth ground. I opened the door and scanned the street. None of the vehicles lining the curb triggered a thought in my host body.

  “Figures.” My shoulders sank as I sighed. “Guess I’m hoofing it.”

  I recalled the address to his studio. An electric charge went through the muscles in my back causing me to shake. The last time I had visited someone’s workplace in New York, I had ended up in a fight with one heck of a monster.

  I hit the street hard. A single thought crossed my mind as my feet pounded against concrete.

  I really hope there’s no monster lurking around your studio, pal.

  Chapter Four

  The darkness persisted. I had hoped things would brighten up as I trekked to Mr. Kim’s art studio. Monsters have a fondness for skulking around at night. Go figure.

  There was no point in keeping a lookout for my mystery stalker. I knew they were out there. And they knew I knew. I got the feeling they wanted me to know I was being watched.

  I hate being the mouse.

  Instinct is a wonderful thing. We all have it and need to trust it more. Mine has sharpened to something uncanny over my cases. The muscles in my body contracted like I had been dumped in ice water. I let impulse take hold and spun.

  A hand pressed against my chest. The attacker drove me into a wall. The streets of Queens blurred and shook. I tried to clear my shaky vision but was cut short as fingers dug into the meat of my neck.

  “Hurgkh!” My feet left the ground, and my eyesight worsened. I batted at the arm. It was like being suspended from machinery. Nothing budged.

  “I warned you, mortal.”

  It took me a moment to pin the voice. Goody. The douche-trumpet from earlier. “Gleckh?” The grip loosened, and I sucked in as many ragged breaths as I could. I glared into the Night Runner’s yellow eyes. “And I told you, what the fuck, man?”

  The creature blinked. “There is only one place to represent her interests. Step down. That place belongs to me.” A dangerous light gleamed in his eyes. He shifted his grip. His hand cupped my lower jaw, sending a fire through my bones and teeth. The vertebrae in my neck screamed as he lifted me higher.

  I sputtered something incoherent.

  He squinted and lowered me. His grip moved to the front of my clothing, rumpling the shirt. “What did you say?”

  I grinned and looked down at Daniel’s ruined shirt collar. “I just put this on.”

  The Night Runner’s eyes widened.

  My head snapped forwards. There was a wet crunch like someone striking a piece of fruit with a baseball bat.

  The Night Runner recoiled. He blinked several times, and his hand hovered a fraction from his nose. He didn’t seem keen on touching it. Blood trickled and congealed with mucus along his upper lip. His hand shook.

  I couldn’t tell if it was with anger or the pain. Hopefully both.

  The Night Runner’s eyes ballooned. “You broke my nose?”

  My grin widened. “Keep it up, and I’ll break more than...” I trailed off as the creature reached to its side.

  Something scraped like glass against stone. A curved blade fashioned from a clear, crystalline material came into view. It was the length of the average man’s hand. The weapon didn’t give him much of a reach advantage. It wouldn’t need to. The blade looked sharp enough to serve up a side of Fillet-O-Graves.

  I wasn’t keen on that dish. I gulped and raised my hands in an effort to calm him down. “Okay, things seem to have escalated. You jumped me from behind in the dark. You wrapped your hands around my throat. I broke your nose. It got really kinky-violent fast. Maybe we need a safe word? Or, we could film this next time and send it out—make some dough?”

  The Night Runner’s eyes flattened into slits. “You are the most infuriating being I have ever come across.”

  I blinked and gave him an oblique stare. “Are you...coming onto me?”

  The Ashen Elf threw his head back and let out a roar that was sure to rouse people in the nearby buildings. He charged, sending the blade through a dizzying flourish.

  I bristled as cold adrenaline wracked my heart. My back was up against a wall—literally. The tip of the blade hurtled towards my left eye. I dropped to my knees and reached out with my arms. Brick crumbled as the blade passed through without any signs of the weapon weakening.

  Holy shit. I made a mental note not to
let that thing nick any part of me.

  My arms closed around the back of the Night Runner’s legs. I pulled.

  His momentum, coupled with my maneuver, drove him into the wall. He released a pained cry over a familiar sounding squelch.

  Kissing a wall like that couldn’t have been good for his damaged nose. I didn’t get a second to enjoy it. My muscles tensed and I pushed off my heels. I tumbled to the side as the elf’s knee struck the wall. Another shower of bricks rained to the ground. I blinked and rubbed a hand to the side of my head. That could have been my skull.

  The Night Runner wasted no time. He pulled his leg back and stormed over to me.

  I need to stop fighting out of my weight class. I don’t have many advantages against the supernatural. I’m stronger than the average person, and I don’t tire as easily. That doesn’t count for much against things that can bench press a Smart car. Other than that, all I have is my supernatural ability to recover from injuries within a frighteningly short time. I’m a paranormal punching bag. One that can fight back, courtesy of the skills I’ve remembered from all the bodies I’ve inhabited.

  My feet kicked against the ground as I scuttled my ass away from the elf. I placed my palms on the sidewalk and pushed. The action sent me halfway to my feet as I fought to balance myself.

  The Night Runner double-stepped forwards and twisted. His left hand arced out. The knife carried a glint of the streetlamp’s light along its edge.

  I stepped into the blow and bent my arms up at a ninety-degree angle. The inside of his forearm crashed against both of mine. I winced as the force shot through my arms. My muscles quivered as I held the block. I held my ground and gritted through the pain.

  The Night Runner snarled and reached out with his other hand.

  I spread my arms wide, twisting to snake them around the one he’d used to strike me. My right forearm buried itself in the crook of his elbow. I used my other hand to grab the base of his wrist and wrench.