Early Grave: Grant Wolves Book 1

by Lori Drake

Emma smiled faintly. “I told you I believe in ghosts. But a medium, wow. It’s lucky you found him.”

  “Technically, he found me. I’m not looking forward to finding out what his retainer is. It cost me two grand for the initial sit-down. Speaking of which…” Joey glanced at her phone to check the time.

  “Can I help?” Emma asked, without hesitation.

  Joey looked up from her phone, giving Emma a measured look from across the table. Before she could answer, her phone rang. Startled, she dropped it, cursed, and hastily snatched it up again. It was Dean’s number.

  “Speak of the devil,” Joey murmured, then answered the call. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey Joey, it’s Dean,” he said.

  “So I noticed. What’s up?”

  “Chris is here.”

  “Going to have to put a bell on that one,” she mumbled, glancing around the room.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. What do you need?”

  “He wants to know if the name Tasha means anything to your mutual friend.”

  “I’m going to put you on speaker.” Joey tapped the speaker button, set the phone on the table and looked at Emma. “Chris wants to know if the name Tasha means anything to you.”

  The already-pale woman turned a lighter shade of white. “Yes,” she said, though it came out as barely a squeak. Clearing her throat, she repeated it more loudly. “Why?”

  “The woman that killed Chris called herself Tasha,” Joey explained. “And I’m pretty sure she’s looking for you, Miss Nichols.”

  Emma put her face in her hands. “Oh god, it can’t be a coincidence. It’s my fault,” she said, dissolving into tears once more.

  Dean’s voice came over the speaker again. “Chris says that you should stay there and let me come to you. Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. I’ll be there within the hour.”

  “Alright,” Joey said. She reached for her phone but Dean had already hung up. Looking over at Emma again, she grimaced and got up to walk around the table. Leaning over, she wrapped her arms around Emma from behind and gave her a hug.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emma sobbed, her body shuddering with each tearful spasm.

  She was probably supposed to tell her friend that it was okay, that it wasn’t her fault, that everything was going to be all right. Instead, Joey just held her while she cried.

  18

  True to his word, Dean arrived within the hour. By then, Emma was settled on the couch staring blankly out the window. The doorbell failed to rouse her, so Joey answered the door.

  “Thanks for dropping by?” she said, uncertainty coloring her words. “I’m not sure why it was so important.”

  He waved it off and smiled faintly as he came inside. “House calls, just one of the many services I provide.”

  “What do I owe you for this one?” she asked with a smirk, snagging her purse and removing the envelope of cash she had for him. He didn’t bother counting it when she handed it over, just tucked it into an inner jacket pocket.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, brown eyes glancing toward Emma in the living room. “Is that her?” he said.

  Joey nodded. “Yeah, what’s…” He turned away, heading for the couch. Scowling, she dropped her purse on the table and followed him.

  Dean set his helmet on the coffee table and crouched in front of Emma. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dean.”

  Emma leaned away from him in her chair, mistrust plainly written on her face. “Emma,” she said, flatly.

  Joey had seen her react this way to unfamiliar men before, especially ones that got up in her personal space. Figuring that Emma deserved a little discomfort for her part in all this, she stood aside and watched.

  Dean reached for Emma’s hands. She flinched away, but he halted with his hands open to her. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Emma took a deep breath and slowly reached out to place her hands in his. She didn’t look comfortable at all, but Dean’s demeanor was gentle and non-threatening.

  “Chris wants me to tell you something,” he began, waiting until she nodded for him to continue. “He says that what happened to him isn’t your fault. He wants you to know that he doesn’t regret helping you, and he’ll do whatever he can to keep you safe.”

  Joey snorted softly, perching on the arm of the nearby couch, arms folded across her chest. Dean glanced at her but she held her tongue, watching.

  Dean’s attention shifted back to Emma. She was crying again. Not the anguished sobs of before, just a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks.

  “Chris,” Emma said, looking around the room. “You’ve done more than enough. Be at peace.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Dean said, drawing Emma’s gaze once more. “He doesn’t know how long he can keep the truth from her, now that he knows what she wants.”

  “What?” Emma’s brow wrinkled in confusion, watery eyes flicking between Dean and Joey.

  “She keeps summoning him,” Joey said. “Interrogating him. Now we know why.”

  Emma’s eyes flew open wide. She started to tremble again.

  Joey swallowed another snort. God, I wish she’d stop doing that. She’s stronger than that, or she wouldn’t have gotten this far.

  “How is that even possible?” Emma asked, her eyes taking on a distant quality as she cast them elsewhere. “She must be much stronger now,” she murmured, thoughtfully.

  Dean and Joey exchanged a glance, then looked back at Emma and said at the same time, “What do you mean?”

  Emma swallowed and looked down, reclaiming her hands from Dean’s grasp and scrubbing her cheeks with them. “Nothing, I…”

  Joey gave her a pointed look, rising to her feet once more. “If you lie to me one more time…”

  Emma glanced at Joey and flinched, cringing away. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Em, we’re having a conversation with a dead man about a woman who’s putting the irons to his spirit. I think our eyes are pretty open as far as the paranormal is concerned.”

  Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “You have a point,” she said. “But even so, Chris died because he knew too much. I can’t put you in that position too.”

  “With respect ma’am,” Dean said. “Chris’s soul is trapped, unable to cross over, because of the secrets you’re keeping. We’re not going to stop trying to free him, so we’re already in danger.”

  “And who’s to say this bitch won’t go for me next, anyway, just because I was so close to Chris?” Joey added.

  “Okay, good points,” Emma said, sighing. “Remember that cult I told you about? Well, I wasn’t entirely truthful about it. It’s a—a coven.”

  “Coven?” Joey blinked. “As in, witches?” She glanced at Dean, who kept his eyes on Emma, listening.

  “Yes, as in witches,” Emma explained. “The leader, he draws his followers in with charisma and the promise of magic, of power. But he hoards most of it for himself. Most of his acolytes learn little more than party tricks.”

  “You’re a witch?” Joey blurted, dropping back down onto the arm of the chair. The revelation rocked her, perhaps more than it should have given her own supernatural gifts. Her eyes darted to Dean again, but he didn’t appear particularly scandalized.

  “Yes,” Emma said, wringing her hands. “But I don’t do magic anymore. Tracking magical signatures is easy for an adept. Before I left, I made this.” She reached for a silver chain around her neck, pulling a small coin pendant from beneath her shirt. It looked like one of those old brass arcade coins with a hole in the center. “It acts as a cloak, hiding me from magical sight but dampening my own ability in the process. I gave up magic when I fled, choosing safety and independence instead.”

  The longing for independence was something Joey could identify with, but this was quite a bit to take in. She thought about it for a long moment, then said, “So you don’t know how she’s doing this.”

  “No,�
�� Emma said, the word tinged with regret. “Sorry. Whatever magic she’s using, it’s beyond what I was taught. She must be high in his favor now.”

  “Or he’s getting desperate,” Dean murmured, at which Emma grimaced and nodded.

  “So, we’re back where we started,” Joey murmured, frowning thoughtfully. “We don’t know what she’s doing or where she is, just what she wants.”

  “Chris says that you need to find somewhere to hole up for a while,” Dean said. “Somewhere that he doesn’t know about, so he can’t tell her where you are.”

  Emma tucked her pendant back under her shirt and bit her lip. “She’s here in the city somewhere. She could be anywhere…”

  “Then get out of the city,” Joey suggested. “Pack a bag, grab Cheryl, and go. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

  “How can I do that?” Emma asked, wringing her hands again. “This isn’t your problem, it’s mine. I have to do something. I can’t just keep running away.” Her voice quivered, words lacking the force of conviction.

  “Honey, this stopped being your problem when Chris took a knife to the gut,” Joey replied, indelicately but honestly. It was how she rolled. Emma flinched, but didn’t offer any protest. “Now it’s our problem too, and the best thing you can do is to go to ground and wait. We may need you before this is done, but right now we need you safe. If she gets her hands on you, Chris died in vain.”

  Joey felt Dean’s eyes on her, but refused to look at him. She kept her focus on Emma, as she straightened once more and offered her a hand. “Come on, up you go. Pack what you and Cheryl will need, we’ll wait out here.”

  Emma hesitated, but placed a trembling hand in Joey’s and got to her feet. Then she flung her arms around Joey and hugged her tightly, her chin digging into Joey’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

  “I know,” Joey replied. She squeezed Emma gently, then extracted herself and turned to nudge her toward the stairs.

  Once Emma was out of sight, Joey dropped onto the couch and looked over at Dean with a sigh. He’d risen from his crouch and stood nearby with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Chris is,” he began, but paused in search of an adequate word. “Agitated.”

  “I’m pretty agitated myself,” Joey murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “Not like this,” Dean replied. “He wants you to take it easy on her. Says she’s too fragile for tough love.”

  “Sorry, that’s all the love I’ve got at the moment, for either of you,” she said, letting her hand drop.

  “What does that mean?” Dean said, in that tone that Joey was quickly beginning to associate with his “translating” for Chris. It lacked some of the inflection that came with natural speech, and was delivered relatively without emotion.

  Joey looked at Dean, but he wasn’t the one she was talking to. So she picked a spot to his right and decided to talk to that. “Because I’m getting really tired of being kept in the dark by people I love,” she said, sighing and shaking her head. “All these secrets, it’s like I didn’t know you at all. And I’m not even allowed to be angry with you, because you’re dead.”

  “You seem to be doing a pretty good impression of it.”

  Joey frowned, getting to her feet. “Don’t start with me.”

  Dean shifted uncomfortably, but kept relaying messages like a trooper. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never kept secrets of your own.”

  “Oh? Like what?” she said, planting her fists on her hips.

  Dean hesitated long enough that Joey shifted her focus to him, watching while he rubbed the back of his neck and generally looked uncomfortable.

  “What, can’t think of anything?” she challenged.

  Dean sighed, continuing. “Like the pregnancy scare, a few years back. Like Alex’s proposal.”

  “That’s not the same!” Joey glared at Dean now. He was Chris’s proxy, whether he liked it or not. “I kept those things to myself to spare you the drama. You had a whole relationship behind my back! You let her use your fucking identity and it got you killed!” She was angry now, but it was strangely comfortable compared to the jumbled mess she’d been for the last twenty-four hours.

  “Not sparing me the drama now, are you?” Dean said, then paused and gave his head a vigorous shake. “For fuck’s sake, you two deserve each other,” he said, collecting his helmet and stalking for the door.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Joey asked, turning to follow him.

  “Somewhere else. I need to think. I don’t have time to help you two sling emotional baggage at each other, and I sure as shit am not getting paid for it.” He was out the door seconds later, shutting it firmly behind him.

  Chris barely noticed the door as he rushed through it, following Dean out into the hallway. Anxiety twisted inside him, the notion that the medium might walk away from his “case” filling him with dread.

  “Dean, wait! I’m sorry, please come back. We need your help,” he pleaded.

  Dean didn’t even look back. “No. You’re giving me a headache. Go away.” His low voice was tight as he started down the stairs.

  Chris stood on the landing and watched him go, then rushed after him, reaching out with a ghostly hand that passed right through the other man’s arm. “Wait, please!”

  Dean didn’t stop, or even reply.

  Chris flung himself after the medium in a desperate tackle, but rather than bowling Dean over he found himself passing through him. For a brief moment, the world snapped into focus—bright, colorful, beautiful. He kept falling forward, pulled inexorably by the physics of his mind if not his current reality. The landscape shifted again, paling, blurring.

  He jerked himself back into Dean. The medium stumbled. Chris felt it as if it were his own feet. The world tilted and his stomach fell as gravity threatened to pull him down. He grabbed for the railing, and the world righted itself. He looked down at his hand, feeling the smooth, solid wood in his grasp. But it wasn’t his hand. It was Dean’s hand. He was inside Dean, standing on the stairs, looking out through Dean’s eyes.

  “Holy shit,” he said, but it was Dean’s voice he heard. He could feel his host’s heart beating, hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  “Dean?”

  There was no answer.

  Chris’s thoughts whirled.

  Now what?

  He could go back upstairs and talk to Joey—really talk to her. Would she even want to talk to him? She was so angry, but he did deserve it. To a point, anyway.

  Chris looked down the stairs, drumming his fingers against his leg indecisively. The sound of footsteps on the landing below eventually stirred him to action. Turning, he marched back up the stairs and knocked before he could change his mind.

  Joey answered the door quickly, relief plain to see on her face. He’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was in living color, pale face framed by dark red hair. He was able to drink in the details for the first time in a week, and the sight of her stole his words.

  “You came back,” she said, looking up at him. He stood there, struggling to figure out what to say to her. Driven by powerful emotions, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “Yeah,” he said, after an awkward silence. “Joey… I’m sorry.”

  Joey flashed him a rueful smile. “It’s okay, it wasn’t right for us to put you in the middle like that.”

  Oh right. She thinks I’m Dean.

  “Occupational hazard,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they slipped from his borrowed lips.

  Fuck. She was just all over me about keeping secrets…

  “Still,” Joey opened the door wider and stepped into the doorway. Toward him.

  He caught a whiff of her scent and was nearly unmade. He wanted to reach for her. Cup her face, tell her how sorry he truly was for hurting her, for leaving her all alone to face this terrible mess he’d gotten himself into.

  God, he wanted to kiss her. But he’d never been allowed to do that, and she wo
uldn’t welcome it from Dean any more than she would have from him. The knowledge that she was right there, yet still beyond his reach, tormented him more than ever.

  There was no way he could keep this facade up for long.

  “Call me in the morning. We’ll talk,” he said, turning away before the disappointment in her eyes could make even more of a coward out of him.

  “Dean, wait,” Joey called after him.

  He stopped, wincing. Before he could turn—or make up his mind to finish fleeing—she had hooked one of his arms and was drawing him back into the apartment.

  “Is Chris still here?” she asked, taking Dean’s helmet from him and hanging it on the coat rack.

  “Yeah. Um, I really shouldn’t stay long. I’ve got a thing.” The protest sounded lame even to him.

  “Please, just a little longer.”

  The sound of a key in the lock rescued him from being wheedled into capitulation, and the door swung open to reveal a confused yet intrigued Cheryl.

  “Joey? Hey, what are you and your tall handsome friend doing here?” She shrugged off her shoulder bag and kicked the front door closed with one foot.

  Joey hesitated before replying, folding her arms under her breasts and eyeing her friend. Testily.

  Recognizing that stance, Chris stepped forward before fur could fly. He offered Cheryl his hand. “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you, Cheryl.”

  Cheryl eyed him a little as she shook his hand. “How’d you know my—wait, are you the medium?” she queried, eyes alight with fresh interest.

  “He is,” Joey said, her voice tight. “Emma’s in the bedroom. She needs to talk to you. We’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Does she? Alright, I’ll see you later. Thanks for dropping by?” Cheryl said, still clearly confused but catching on that something was amiss.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Joey assured her, grabbing Dean’s helmet on the way out the door.

  In the hall, Chris turned to Joey. “I know you’re frustrated, but you’re not going to get anywhere if you look like you want to bite everyone’s head off.”

  She shoved the helmet at him. The solid fiberglass impacted with his stomach, pushing the breath out of his lungs in a sudden rush.