Dan gave me a none-too gentle shove, knocking me off my feet. I fell towards Isabella and screamed, my hands flying out in front of me to stop my fall. There was no way to avoid her, and I winced in the split second before our bodies collided.
No crash. Instead, a strange heaviness enveloped me, cloaking my body with unaccustomed weight. I blinked and saw two lobbies at once. One was the beautiful, richly appointed one I’d grown used to already, teeming with the wealthy of bygone eras. The other was dark, lit only by the thin beams of Isabella and Lana’s flashlights. I peered around, heartbroken to see the charred wooden beams of the King George’s blackened husk. Nothing of the richly papered walls remained. The paneled ceiling had disappeared, leaving the lobby open to the concrete floor of the world above. My head swam as I tried to focus on both worlds, the dead and the living. My stomach — or Isabella’s stomach — lurched with nausea.
Channeling felt wrong on too many different levels. My — Isabella’s — heart sped up with panic. “How do I get back out? Dan!” I screeched. The voice was not my own, husky despite the upper octaves I reached in my terror.
“It’s okay, Brandilynn,” Lana said, catching my — Isabella’s — tottering frame, keeping us from falling over on the debris-strewn floor as I flailed.
At the same time, Dan kneeled on the Oriental rug before me. “Relax Brandilynn. You’re not trapped. After a little while Isabella will wake and push you out naturally. Stand up and let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
I felt ungainly in Isabella’s body. Her frame was shorter and thicker than mine. Her breath and a heartbeat thundered in my ears after spending the day in my own completely silent essence. I flopped about helplessly as I tried to make Isabella stand. I caught Charles the desk clerk staring in openmouthed shock. I noted the profanity-laced graffiti on the charred wall behind him. He looked away as soon as he realized I stared back at him. Resuming his professional mien, he busied himself at a desk that no longer existed.
Heaven help me, this sucked harder than a Hoover vacuum cleaner. Never again, I vowed. If the living wanted to communicate with me, they could break out a Ouija board.
Lana pulled at me, her doughy arms stronger than they looked. I used her as kind of a ladder, climbing up her powder-scented body with effort while making sure I didn’t claw her with Isabella’s long, pink-polished fingernails. Bless her sweet heart, Lana bore it all cheerfully, saying, “There you go. That’s got it. You’ll be fine, honey.”
At last I gained Isabella’s feet, swaying drunkenly as my dual sight played holy heck with my balance. Lana patted my arm in congratulations. “Hi, Brandilynn.”
“Hi.” I suppressed an urge to pull the snug jeans away from Isabella’s legs. I never wear jeans, and they felt awfully scratchy, especially where her thighs rubbed together.
“Are you up to walking?” Dan’s face was oh-so serious, but I saw the amusement in his eyes. Jerk.
I took a few unsteady steps, acquainting myself with this body that felt so different from mine. Lana hovered nearby, her arms outstretched to catch me if I stumbled. Bless her again. Too much makeup or not, she was an absolute sweetheart.
“I think I’ve got it.” I tried to turn right. Isabella’s legs went left.
“Then let’s go.” Dan headed off to a brightly lit hallway off the lobby in his reality. In Isabella’s, the hall became a black tunnel, the kind of place where the bogeyman might be hiding, waiting to eat me up. Swinging the flashlight I clutched in a death grip to ward off any beasts lurking in the dark, I followed Dan. The channel’s legs wandered as I navigated the rubble-strewn floor, making me reel like a drunkard.
“Wait up!” I called to the rapidly moving Dan. “This body doesn’t want to do what I’m telling it to. God, it would be easier walking in quicksand.”
Lana was there, her bulk warm against my side as she put an arm around my waist. “Lean on me until you get your sea legs, honey.”
I wrapped my arm around her gratefully. “Thanks Lana. Take my advice. When you die, don’t ever do this.”
Over her happy chuckle, Dan said, “Come on, Brandilynn. You’re tougher than this. Stop being such a baby.”
I bared Isabella’s teeth at him. “Oh, you haven’t seen baby yet. You just wait.” Isabella’s feet nearly tripped over themselves, and he grinned at me.
I was so getting him back for this indignity.
I gained the hallway entrance and found it wasn’t as Stygian black as Isabella’s eyes had first informed me. Light emitted from wide doors at the far end of the hall, like a beacon in a storm. The sound of muttering voices came from there, and that’s where we headed.
While the dead version of the King George’s hallway looked much lovelier with its patterned tile floor and gilt-framed paintings, I focused my vision on Isabella’s view of the blackened carcass. The ceiling here remained intact, though soot obscured it. The floor had been swept clean, but it buckled in places, creating numerous tripping hazards. I already had to concentrate hard just to maneuver. Getting through the humped areas was like navigating an obstacle course on stilts.
As we reached the lit doorway, Dan announced, “This is the old ballroom. Tristan has converted it for his use.”
We stepped into the room, and my two different views of my surroundings slid together in a harmonious whole. The feeling of vertigo dissipated, and I no longer felt so wobbly as I took in my surroundings.
The ballroom existed in both planes exactly the same. As it was in the living realm, so it was in the netherworld. Large chandeliers hung overhead. The parquet wood floor no doubt set someone back a bank account or two.
It left prettiness behind after that. Three rows of utilitarian desks marched across the room. It looked like office hell in sumptuous surroundings with computers, ringing phones, and people bunched here and there in watercooler gangs. At the far end of the room, two large dark wooden desks sat on a bandstand. The desks, both high-end enough for Fortune 500 CEOs, were also outfitted with computers. A giant whiteboard hung on
the wall behind them. I could see scribbling on the board, but at this distance I couldn’t make out what was written.
What I could see was that all the people in the room weren’t exactly people in a human sense. I’d stepped into Paranormal Central. I suddenly felt very vulnerable in Isabella’s too mortal body and wondered what would happen to me if she died while I remained trapped inside her.
I let go of Lana and tottered a bit despite the absence of vertigo. I felt like I might overbalance at any moment. I fought hard for my equilibrium and dignity. “Why is this so hard? I was in a physical body only days ago!”
Lana patted my arm. “This isn’t your body. Usually the spirits Isabella channels don’t have to walk around. If you ask me, you’re adjusting very well.”
I smiled at her kind words, feeling all too well how the facial muscles under my command worked. Gosh, this was so weird.
We advanced into the room, and I gawked openly at the ‘people’ working. Most were weres, their shifter identities obvious from the animal-like characteristics blended with human forms.
The ‘Zoo Flu’ that turned humans into shapeshifters wasn’t a flu at all. Usually, victims that survived the animal-hopping virus possessed genetic abnormalities that predisposed them to becoming weres, needing only the illness to finish the job.
A location’s predominant flavor of werecritter depended on the local fauna in the area. For southeast Georgia, we have mostly alligators, feral hogs, and rattlesnakes. The werepanthers, once major players in Fulton Falls’ shifter community, are now rare as the Southern panther itself has gone extinct. All that keeps that particular population of shapeshifters going is passing the virus from were to human. Since humans are very leery of hanging out with weres, the panther shifters are on the brink of extinction themselves. You won’t find a ‘Save the Werepanther’ movement, as no sane person contracts Zoo Flu by choice. The virus kills more often than not.
I saw mostly
werehogs, their pointed ears sitting high on their heads and snouted noses sniffing nonstop at the musty burnt air of the room. Fingers fused permanently into the Star Trek ‘live long and prosper’ signs tapped carefully on computer keyboards. Tiny eyes peered myopically around; many werehogs wore goggles outfitted with corrective lenses. Second most prevalent were the weregators, their armor-like skin greenish-gray. I watched one laughing with a wizened doll-sized gargoyle, its dagger-toothed smile heartstopping.
“It’s like Halloween in here,” I muttered. “I’ve never seen so many paras at once.”
“You’re one of them now,” Lana gently reminded me. “Mind your manners. Here comes Patricia.”
My skin crawled as I looked at the tall, dark-haired vampire stalking towards us. God help me, I came face to face with a bloodsucker, something I usually tried to avoid at all costs.
One of those monsters had killed me. For all I knew, it was this woman.
She looked vaguely familiar, but since I don’t mix with her kind, I couldn’t quite place her. I had to give credit where it was due. Patricia was a beauty. Somehow her bluish pale skin suited her. Her long, lithe body made me feel even more ungainly within my Isabella suit. Her sleek, almost black hair stopped just short of her shoulders, and she wore an emerald green pantsuit that set off her lean body to advantage. I wondered where she’d found the outfit; it looked so professional without detracting from her femininity. Lovely.
Trust fashion to distract me, even from walking death. I forced myself to attend the threat before me.
More human looking than most of the paras who populated the room, there was still no missing the cold otherness that set her apart from the breathing. She was pure huntress, and I shivered in fear for Lana as the vampire addressed her.
“Is Dan here?” Patricia’s voice sounded like chipped ice, but she showed no fangs. I knew from television and gossip the fangs were always there, but most bloodsuckers chose to glamour their appearance to mask them.
Lana nodded, her smile as agreeably sweet as if greeting a member of the Garden Club at high tea. She gestured towards Dan, who looked bored. “He’s here and this is Brandilynn.”
Patricia barely spared me a look, for which I felt profoundly glad. Staring in Dan’s general direction, she said. “He’s waiting for you. He’s been waiting for you.”
She turned on her heel and started towards the bandstand where more vampires and shifters clustered and broke apart, clustered in different groups, and broke apart again. If not for the metaphysical nature of the participants, it might have been a typical corporate American scene. They moved with purpose; a hive of undead and half-animal worker bees getting para business done.
As we followed Patricia, I snorted, “Long on manners around here, aren’t we?”
The vampire flung a fanged grin over her shoulder at me. “Only when we’re trying to charm someone out of their blood.” Her gray-pink tongue traced her lips, and she tittered when my eyes widened. She hurried ahead, pulling well ahead of us.
Okay, now I was grumpy. “Who is Morticia, exactly?” I whispered to Dan and Lana.
The corner of Dan’s mouth quirked. “Tristan’s sister. Behave yourself. She’s not one for foolishness.”
Oops. Properly chastised, I snapped my mouth shut. At least now I knew where I’d seen her before. Any time Commissioner Keith held a press conference or gave an interview, his sister Patricia lurked in the background. She’d also attended a few events I’d been dragged to on clients’ arms. I should have recognized her.
A werehog with big yellow tusks brushed past me, and I fought not to scream. Zoo Flu doesn’t jump around easily, thank goodness. It’s a blood-borne virus, but most of us normals are still squeamish about skin-to-skin contact. I barely restrained an urge to check Isabella’s arms for open cuts.
Next to me, Lana seemed more cheerful than ever, something that lowered her a bit in my estimation. How could anyone be so jolly with all these scary bugaboos surrounding us? “Patricia is totally dedicated to her brother. She has the most pull with him, even more than the Judge.”
Patricia climbed the two steps of the bandstand, joining a dark-haired man standing with his back to us. Despite the very expensive-looking suit covering him, I knew that body on sight and experienced a thrill up my spine.
The greeting on my lips died without being uttered as Tristan turned towards his sister and I caught sight of his lily-white face. Even with several yards still separating us, I could see the more predatory expression he wore. There was an aloofness in his attitude that hadn’t been there before. He looked as watchful as a hawk looking for tasty bunnies in the meadow. My skin crawled.
Dan whispered, “I know I don’t have to remind you, but Tristan as a vampire is different from his ghost self.”
“Dan and the girl are here,” Patricia said to Tristan, and he swung his dark gaze towards us. I couldn’t control the shiver that raced down my spine at that calculating stare. He looked at me as if I were a particularly delicious morsel he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of.
“Is he dangerous to us?” I whispered to Lana and Dan.
Lana’s smile slipped a touch. I felt better about her again. “All vampires are dangerous, even the good ones. You have nothing to fear from Tristan though. He’s never lost control.”
Her hesitant tone didn’t have to finish her last sentence. That we know of hung unsaid in the air.
A massive creature stepped to Tristan and Patricia’s side, and I gasped. Even on all fours, the majestic griffin stood tall, reaching Tristan’s shoulder. The pure white feathers on its eagle’s head laid flat … not a plume out of place, I thought. The eagle part of it extended down to its chest and shoulders. The black and brown plumage of its folded wings was a monochromatic contrast against its golden lion’s pelt that made up the rest of the gorgeous entity. I couldn’t help but stare. I didn’t know Fulton Falls had one of the ancient beings as a resident.
“Cool pet,” I breathed.
Lana bit her lip. “I wouldn’t call Augustus a pet to his face. You’ll lose poor Isabella’s head that way.”
Boy, I just kept putting my foot in my mouth. “Maybe I should just shut up for the rest of the night,” I groused.
There was no humor in Dan’s reply. “That might be wise.”
I scowled at him. “You know, you’ve been kind of a jerk since I borrowed Isabella’s body. I don’t like you too much right now, Dan.”
He grabbed my arm. I stopped as much from the surprise as from the strength of his grip. How did he do that? After all, he was a ghost, and I was in a solid body.
The warning in his tone distracted me from my shock. “Listen to me, Brandilynn. I don’t mind your wit most of the time. In fact, I enjoy it. But this is dangerous territory, even for a ghost. A lot of these people don’t have a sense of humor when humans show up.”
My pique ebbed away. Dan’s attitude came from fear, not meanness. He was afraid for me? His concern gave me warm fuzzies.
“Okay, I’m in the company of sensitive vamps and shifters. I can be PC. I won’t tell werefox in the henhouse jokes.”
He didn’t relax. “Try for more than political correctness, baby girl. See it from their point of view. Paras have had equal rights for only the last three decades. They’re under attack from the humans all the time.”
I swallowed. “It’s not that I don’t believe they deserve equality, Dan. They scare me. I always feel like I’m on the menu when I’m around them. You can’t tell me they’re not dangerous.”
He gave me a grim smile. “It’s true they’re predators first and civilized second. But that’s just another reason you need to stop being a tourist and show respect whether you think they deserve it or not.”
Lana added, “Many of them were once human like us. The shifters didn’t ask to catch the virus, and in some cases, the vampires had no say in their transformation either.”
I blew out a breath. “Fine. I’m walking on eggshells from here
on out. But you need to cut me a break since I wasn’t properly prepared for this. I just found out I was dead only this morning, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Dan nodded. “Point taken. I’m sorry if I’ve been too hard on you. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”
Before he could say anything else, Tristan’s deep voice rolled through the room. “Bring Brandilynn here, Lana.”
I could bring myself, thanks so much. Nevertheless, I kept my tongue still as I presented myself to Tristan in my borrowed body.
I was glad I’d stayed silent. Tristan’s dark, almost black eyes were like obsidian marbles in his very white face. I searched for the warmth he’d looked at me with earlier in the day. I found no trace of it, only a terrible patience that a stalking predator might have for the prey it creeps towards.
Call me a racist all you like, but I really don’t like vampires at all. Not even this one.
Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy Page 8