Eighth Grave After Dark

by Darynda Jones

  “Well, funny you should mention them.”

  “Them?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. Studied another envelope in his hands. Glanced over his shoulder.

  “Mr. Alaniz?”

  “Um, your husband’s birth parents.”

  “Did you send the letter?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” His sudden discomfort had me a little worried.

  “And?”

  “They’re here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “Your husband’s birth parents.”

  It took a long moment for his words to sink in. When they did, a shock similar to being taken from a sauna and thrown into a frozen lake slapped across my body, my nerve endings firing all engines as I gaped at him.

  He scratched his head in a nervous gesture. “They … my assistant—”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “—put a return address on the letter you wrote.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And—”

  “No.”

  “Well, yes, she did.”

  “No.” The ground tilted beneath my feet. “Please no.”

  “Ms. Davidson, they threatened to call the FBI—”

  Everything around me blurred, and for the first time in months, I almost passed out. Only no one had hit me or drugged me or run over me with their car. This was au naturel. This was a boiling combination of dread and alarm and stark raving terror.

  “—if I didn’t explain what was happening. How I knew about their son. I knew you wouldn’t want that, so I thought you could explain and—”

  The edges of my vision darkened. He was going to kill me.

  “—work out some kind of schedule.”

  Wait! I was pregnant. With his child, even! He couldn’t kill me. It was illegal most everywhere.

  “You know, maybe you could break it to your husband gently and then introduce them later. Over a bottle of wine.”

  The last thing I remembered before the ground slipped out from under me was how fluffy the world had become. Then everything went dark.

  * * *

  “Let’s get her to my car.”

  I groaned as an arm went around my shoulders. Then another scooped under my legs followed by a labored groan as I became weightless. My lids fluttered open. Mr. Alaniz was hefting me into his arms and, with the help of two other people, began to carry me off.

  I was being abducted!

  No, wait, this was worse. I was being taken over the border. Deep, rich growls thundered around me as he carried me closer to my untimely death.

  “Wait,” I said, trying to blink past the fog. “Wait, Mr. Alaniz, put me down. I’m okay.”

  He lowered himself to one knee. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  The minute he lowered me to the ground, I scrambled back. The hellhounds were inches away from me. They could have lunged at me or grabbed a foot and dragged me across, but they didn’t. They did, however, growl. Their jaws snapped, their teeth clinking together with each gruesome promise.

  I clambered to my feet, then came face-to-face with the woman I assumed was Reyes’s birth mother. She was beautiful. With soft blond hair and gentle gray eyes, she’d aged gracefully despite the stress of living with what had happened. They had never had any other children, their sorrow so great. Or that was my guess.

  “Mrs. Loehr,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart.

  “You know what happened to my son?” she asked, her features suddenly hard, and I could tell she wasn’t sure if she could believe that. If she could allow herself to hope after so many years. “You know what happened to Ryan?”

  That had been his name at birth: Ryan Alexander Loehr. The fact that he had the exact same middle name and that all three of his first names—his birth name, current name, and celestial name, Rey’aziel—started with an R had boggled my mind since I first learned of it.

  I looked over my shoulder toward the convent, the roof barely visible from my vantage. While no one had noticed my absence yet, it wouldn’t be much longer before they did. I turned back. Mr. Loehr. He had dark hair and brown eyes, which could explain away Reyes’s coloring, because he got none of his features from his birth parents. I could only assume he actually did look like Lucifer. He was certainly handsome enough. But I had to stave them off. Even for just a little while.

  “Let me start by saying I am married to the man I believe to be your son.”

  Mrs. Loehr covered her mouth with a small hand, her eyes glistening already.

  “If you will go back to Albuquerque, I promise I will get in touch with you. This is something I’m going to have to break to Reyes slowly.”

  “Reyes?” she said, her voice soft. “His name is Reyes?”

  I didn’t give his last name. I didn’t want them Googling their son and discovering anything before I had a chance to explain.

  “Will you please trust me and not call the FBI until I can tell my husband what I’ve done?”

  “You wrote the letter,” Mr. Loehr said.

  “I did.” I placed my hands on my belly. “I wanted you to know that your son was alive and well. That he was beautiful and wonderful and the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mrs. Loehr said. “Why didn’t he contact us? Why haven’t you told him you found us?”

  I closed my eyes and lowered my head. “He was violently against my contacting you.”

  My statement hurt her. I could feel a sharp pang pulse through her.

  “Not for the reasons you might think.”

  “Then why?” she asked.

  “Because he feels he no longer deserves you.”

  “What?” Her face showed her astonishment.

  I took her hand in mine. “I’m not going to lie to you. He’s had a hard life. A very hard life.”

  She pressed her mouth together to keep from sobbing.

  “He doesn’t want you to know what he’s gone through. He doesn’t want you to feel any more guilt than you already must.”

  She covered her mouth again as Mr. Loehr wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

  “Please believe me, he is not going to be happy when he finds out I contacted you.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes. He won’t do anything drastic. He might, I don’t know, storm out or something else guys like to do, but that’s about it. He dotes on me.”

  “Can we just—?” Mr. Loehr began, but his voice cracked with the weight of emotion roaring through him. It took my breath away.

  “Can we just see a picture of him?” Mrs. Loehr said.

  “Of course.” I brought up my photos on my cell, scrolled through until I found a shot that wasn’t of him half naked, and handed it to them.

  They gasped. Both of them.

  In the picture I’d chosen, he was wearing a nice button-down. It was casual but nice. Really, really, really nice. Hell, they all were.

  Mrs. Loehr touched the screen in disbelief. “He looks like your uncle Sal.”

  “He looks more like my great-grandfather.”

  Maybe there really was a family resemblance. Once we got to the point where I could talk to them in public without risking my marriage, I’d insist on full access to the family albums.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said, her voice forlorn.

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” I said, completely serious.

  Mrs. Loehr smiled sadly. “When? When can we meet him?”

  I bit my bottom lip in thought, then said, “If you will just give me two days, I promise he’ll come around.”

  “Is that our grandchild?” she asked, and the question stunned me to my toes.

  I ran my hands over my baby bump again in awe. “Yes,” I said, suddenly thrilled Beep would have real grandparents. Denise didn’t count. “Yes, she is.”

  “May I?” She stepped forward, hesitant.

  “Of course.”

  She rubbed a hand over m
y belly as though I were Buddha. Which made sense. I felt like Buddha.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Um, well, Beep. For now.”

  They both laughed softly. Even Mr. Alaniz laughed.

  “Okay, well, I’d stay longer, but I have to pee.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Loehr said. She leaned in and gave me a quick hug. Mr. Loehr did the same, and I was overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through the three of us. How was I going to hide this from Reyes until I could talk to him about it? Really talk to him.

  Mr. Loehr gave me his business card. “My phone number is on there. We’re staying at the Marriott on Louisiana.”

  “Got it. I will call you the minute I’ve talked to him.”

  “Could you tell him—?” Mrs. Loehr started. “Could you tell him we love him? We only want the best for him.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I watched as they hiked up the trail that led to the access road above us. They got in Mr. Alaniz’s car and drove off as I fought another wave of hysteria.

  How on earth was I going to tell Reyes?

  I looked toward the Twelve as they paced just beyond the border, their hides glistening like silver fish in a pond. I could only see bits that appeared occasionally, like a mirage of crystal reflections that disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared, their muscles bunching and rolling with sheer power. They growled as I got closer, their snarls vicious and their teeth snapping like starving piranhas, begging for a piece of me. How close could I get? How long was their reach? Could they reach across the border and drag me to them?

  I didn’t dare get any closer. I couldn’t risk Beep, but I was looking for their mark. According to Osh, all creatures from hell had a mark, a symbol of what they were and where their power lay. I thought that perhaps if I could see their marks, if I could draw the shape of them, that would somehow lead us to an answer. It would help us in our investigation. It would help us figure out how to kill them.

  But even as close as I got, I couldn’t see a mark. I really didn’t know what to look for. I saw the silver of their hides, but they were black, so black that they absorbed light rather than refracted it. The silver was literally a reflection off such eternal blackness. But I didn’t see a mark. I had yet to see what other supernatural beings saw, though. Maybe if I were more in tune with who I was, with what I was, I would see right through the beasts.

  One growled and I saw another flash of silver, this time off a set of razorlike teeth. It lunged at me and I stumbled back, tripping on the low heels of my ankle boots. I caught myself before tumbling onto my backside. Thank goodness, because Beep would not have been impressed with my coordination.

  Just as I regained my footing, I heard a male voice from behind me. “One p-push, and you’d be their next m-meal.”

  Startled, I turned to see Duff standing behind me. He was a departed man in his late twenties who wore a baseball cap, glasses, and a stutter. I’d always found him adorable. The stutter got me every time. But lately he was kind of creeping me out. No idea why, considering almost everything he’d said to me lately seemed to hold a veiled threat.

  He smiled when he saw me, but he hadn’t been wearing a smile when I first turned around. He’d been transfixed, mesmerized by the beasts snapping and snarling a few feet away, pacing beyond the border, waiting for me to stumble into their grasp. It seemed as though he admired them, but he recovered quickly and forced a warm expression.

  “What are you doing, Duff?”

  “J-just checking on you.”

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously. “Did Reyes send you?”

  “N-no. No, I just came on my own. I s-saw you leave. I thought m-maybe you were in trouble.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Duff had been creeping around a lot lately, appearing at times and places where he had no right. He was turning into quite the stalker, and after Vatican Boy, I’d had about enough of stalkers. I kept meaning to talk to Reyes about him, but I also didn’t want to ban him from our lives without cause. I feared, however, it was coming to that. He said some strange-ass things. Then again, maybe he just had really bad social skills. I’d met people like him. Cookie’s cousin Lucille, for example. Or her second cousins. Or her uncle on her mother’s side. Her whole family, in fact, was a Harvard study waiting to happen.

  But Duff was getting a bit weird for my taste. I liked weird, don’t get me wrong, but he was creepy weird, as though every move he made had an ulterior motive. As though he were testing his boundaries, pushing his limits to see how far he could go with me. He was about to find out.

  But nothing could have prepared me for what he said next. “I wonder what would happen if someone just pushed you over the line.”

  I followed his gaze to the string that marked the boundary; then I turned back to him. “Are you threatening me?”

  His eyes widened. “N-no. I would never. I just, I mean, I j-just wonder what they’d do. The hounds.”

  “Rip me to shreds.” Well, that was enough crazy for me for one day. “Excuse me, Duff. I need to get back to the wedding party.”

  “S-sure,” he said before disappearing. I couldn’t help but notice the short but intense glance he’d placed on my midsection. Beep, seeming to notice as well, did a somersault. At least it felt like it. I turned to leave and slammed into a departed thirteen-year-old gangbanger.

  “Angel,” I said, enthusiasm raising my voice an octave. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and his presence had been sorely missed.

  He hugged me back carefully, as though he might squish the baby between us.

  “Where have you been?” I asked after setting him at arm’s length. He wore the same red bandanna over his brow and a dirty T-shirt. The peach fuzz on his face still tickled when I kissed him. And he brandished the same wicked grin as always, the one that made me wonder what he’d been up to.

  “Here and there. You’re still hot, you know. I’d still do you.”

  “Wow,” I said, forcing my smile wider. “You are too kind, but I’m good.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you have my number.”

  I snorted. “I’ve missed you. How’s your family?”

  He lowered his head, still not able to fully accept that his best friend’s family had become his. “They’re good. My mom and her nieces made tamales all day.”

  My mouth flooded with saliva. Pavlov totally could have studied me.

  “I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “That sounds serious,” I teased.

  “You need to stay away from him.”

  Was this about Reyes? Again? “Sweetheart, I’m married to him, remember? I’m having his child.”

  He ducked his head to hide his face. “Not him. That guy that was just here. That cracker pendejo who pretends to be your friend.”

  My brows slid together in thought. “Duff?” I asked, surprised. He was the only cracker I’d spoken to in the last few minutes besides … My heart skipped a beat. Did he hear me talking with Mr. Alaniz and the Loehrs?

  “Whatever his name is. Four-eyed bitch. He looks like a serial killer.”

  “Angel, it’s not nice to judge based on looks. Not all people who wear glasses are serial killers.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” I put my fingers under his chin and lifted his face to mine. “Are you okay?”

  “I just don’t trust him with you.”

  “You don’t trust Reyes with me either, if I recall.”

  He shrugged and ducked his head again. “He’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

  “Rey’aziel. He’s okay, I guess.”

  Angel couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me. “Are we talking about the same Rey’aziel? The one you warned me about? The one you’ve hated since … forever?”

  He kicked at a rock, missing it since he was inco
rporeal and all. “He keeps you safe. That’s all that matters.”

  “That’s so sweet.” I pulled him into an awkward hug since he wasn’t really joining in. “You are the sweetest gangbanger I know.”

  “Okay,” he said, wanting the nightmare to end.

  “I wish you were alive.” I set him away from me again. “I’d totally get you a Charley’s Angel T-shirt.”

  One side of his mouth lifted into an adorable lopsided grin. “Like I would wear it.”

  “Oh, I’d blackmail you into wearing it.” We started for the convent arm in arm. I really did have to pee. “You’d wear it every day and thank me.”

  “I don’t think so, freak.”

  We trounced through the brush back to the party, and though I had a lot on my mind, Angel helped keep my mind off my impending doom. Reyes’s birth parents showing up out of the blue was going to be a tad difficult to explain. Maybe the hellhounds weren’t such a bad alternative to life without Reyes Farrow, because that was exactly what I risked by defying his wishes.

  * * *

  Angel gave me a kiss good-bye, saying he had to check on the tamales before trying to slip his tongue into my mouth, at which point I had to swat his ass. Sadly, I think he enjoyed it. I walked around to the front door, noticing most of the cars were gone now, but that the departed had multiplied. There were more now than when I’d left. All staring straight ahead. Waiting for something, which did nothing to put my mind at ease.

  I would have to tell Reyes what I’d done. I would have to face the music, a term I never understood because it made whatever confrontation one had to endure seem bearable. I mean, it was music. How bad could it be to face it? The saying should have implied something direr, like, I would have to face the executioner. Much better.

  I grabbed the door handle, but before I could open the front door, Denise opened it for me.

  “Where were you?” she asked, almost frantic. “We’ve been worried about you.”

  Gemma walked up behind her and did the crazy sign, which since she was a psychiatrist seemed very unprofessional.