Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy

by Tracy St. John

  Dan’s tone gentled immediately. “Are you okay now, baby girl?”

  I rubbed my cheek against the sprinkles of chest hair, giving my emotions the once-over. The void in my gut had departed, taking most of the agonizing grief with it. I was still shaky, but not nearly as hopeless. “I think I’m all right now. I’m sorry I lost it on you like that.”

  His big hands were warm as they rubbed up and down my back. “Don’t worry, you’ll do it again.”

  I propped my chin on his breast to give him a brave smile. “No, I think I’m done.”

  Dan shook his head at me. “It comes back, especially when you least expect it. When it does, give yourself a break, baby. We all cry for the dead, especially when the dead is us.”

  I didn’t want another repeat of the unbearable sorrow. There had to be a way to avoid it. Before I could tell Dan that, a muttering voice caught my attention. I looked around, trying to locate the source.

  For the moment, we had Sanderson Cottage to ourselves. Even the bike path was empty right now. Still, the sound, like a woman humming a monotonous tune, grew louder.

  “Who’s doing that?” I asked Dan.

  “Doing what?”

  “It sounds like singing.” I changed my mind as the voice grew louder still. “No, it’s chanting.”

  Dan only looked confused. I sat up on my knees, and he levered up to look around us. He shook his head.

  “You can’t hear that?” I said, and a rotting odor wafted into my nostrils. Like long-dead vegetation. Like rotting trees. Like a gator’s butt.

  The pull in my gut confirmed my sudden horrified realization, and I recognized the voice doing the chanting as Erica Ford’s. Before I could scream a warning to Dan, a yanking sensation tore me away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Being pulled from one place to another against my will was nothing like the hopping around I do with Dan. Much like Erica Ford’s earlier attack, this was more akin to being hooked in the belly by a sadistic fisherman and reeled in through a lake of molten lava. In short, it hurt. A lot.

  I emerged screaming in a dilapidated shack. I could see patches of sunlight between the boards overhead, trees between the boards of the walls, and water between the boards of the floor. The smell was pure swamp, most likely the Okefenokee. Despite all the gaps between its silvery boards, not much light filtered into the shack. The main illumination came from a hurricane lantern, which cast a soft glow on the surroundings. Brokenly painted wards covered every surface I could see.

  Staggering but glad to be done with my trip, I located Erica Ford pretty fast. She still chanted, her face fervent with effort. A folding card table sat next to her, on which lay the lantern, a knife, stubs of flickering black candles, and what looked like a medieval chalice. Erica was in desperate need of a new decorator.

  Most disquieting of all were the wraiths. Easily a dozen faded, gauzy spirits drifted aimlessly across the ceiling, passing through one another, and moaning in thin, lost voices. I could barely hear them over the skin-crawling buzz of insects.

  As my guts recovered from the shredding agony of Erica’s spell, a wave of fury overcame me. I stomped up to the witch and got right in her face. “All right, lady, I’ve had about enough of your crap.”

  Her chant broke off, and she gave me a crooked grin. “It’s not my ‘crap’ you should be worried about. I have her, Pembroke.”

  I’ll admit my guts turned to chicken soup the moment the Judge walked in through the walls in ghost form. Thank goodness I didn’t have a bladder anymore, because a large puddle would have formed beneath me that moment. Especially since the Judge looked as substantial as Erica. It’s hard to explain since with the exception of the wraiths, we ghosts look pretty solid to each other. Still, the Judge seemed more there than anyone else I’d seen. I had a feeling that had any living creature not gifted with second sight been in the room, they’d still have seen him.

  He stared at me. His undisguised revulsion mixed liberally with something a little too much like lust for my liking. I caught myself cringing. He’d looked at me the same way when he killed me. As I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective gesture, I realized I still wore no clothes.

  The Judge’s thin lips curled. “Foul creature.”

  This beast had ended my life, and I grasped onto my rage like a life preserver. I snatched my arms down and planted my hands on my hips. “Yeah well, you should have paid attention to the ‘do not disturb’ sign I had hanging on the door. Knock first next time.”

  As much as I wanted to thumb my nose at his loathing of my unclothed state, I felt way too vulnerable with nothing on. With bravado, I fashioned myself a string bikini. An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini, thank you very much.

  Erica snorted. Maybe she got the joke. I didn’t care.

  Drawing myself up proudly, I announced to the sallow-faced vampire ghost, “Since I have nothing to say to you, I’m out of here. Liberatio, solvo, eximo!”

  Having used the words Yelena had taught me to get me out of such a jam, I marched straight to the nearest wall. End of scene, exit stage right. Except instead of passing through the shack as the Judge had, I splatted against the wooden surface and bounced right onto my butt.

  As I rubbed my aching nose, more surprised than hurt, Erica snorted. “My wards keep you all inside and the earth’s magnetic field out. You’re not going anywhere.”

  I seized on the library, seeing, feeling and smelling its comfort and tried to transport myself there. Absolutely nothing happened. I stared at the Judge and Erica in horror, and once more noticed the helpless wraiths bouncing along the ward-covered ceiling.

  Erica laughed at my expression. “You didn’t think that little nature witch Yelena was a match for my skills, did you? Stupid Wiccans. They have no real power.”

  The Judge scowled at her. “Leave off the boasts and continue the search. Now that this problem has been solved, we can concentrate on more important matters.”

  I staggered to my feet. I don’t know what made me madder; not being able to escape or tall, dark and killer dismissing me like I wasn’t there. “If you think I’m not still ticked about you murdering me, you’d better think again.”

  His arm shot out, and he gripped my upper arm with a hand of iron. “You will not speak, strumpet.”

  Then hell the likes of which I’d not known before descended on me. Being drained to death hadn’t come close to this. Not even Erica’s witchy pull had hurt so much. I can’t describe the searing pain that suffused my entire being. I just can’t. It eclipsed everything, leaving only torment beyond any torture I could conceive of.

  I felt myself withering, becoming small. Yet the anguish only grew, as if molten lava laced with sulfuric acid seared through me. My mind untethered in the swell of pain, and still the agony expanded. I wished for death, beyond comprehending that I was already dead.

  The grip on my arm disappeared, and the shrieking agony abruptly ended, though not the sense of being shriveled to nothing. I found myself floating slightly above the grayed boards of the floor, inches from the Judge, who looked more solid and real than ever. He’d released me, leaving me drained and helpless. A wraith, or at least well on my way to being one.

  His rolling voice sounded like thunder. “The slut’s screams are an irritant. Silence her.”

  Erica muttered over the card table, sketching smoky wards in the air with a taper. She huffed and looked at the Judge with exasperation. “Do you want Tristan Keith’s resting place or are you going to keep interrupting me?”

  I sobbed weakly as he roared at her. “Silence her, witch!”

  She snarled, but she put the taper in a brass candlestick and turned towards me. “Fine, fine, but I’d better get paid tonight as soon as you rise.” The witch mumbled incomprehensible words, and my throat went numb. “There, you undead energy addict. Glut yourself silly on her.”

  I’d floated even higher, but still not out of the Judge’s reach. He grabbed me by the elbow, an
d the insane torture resumed.

  It went on for a hellish eternity. I couldn’t even voice my pain now, which somehow made it worse. I lost all sense of self, of Brandilynn Payson. I was anguish incarnate. I would have welcomed oblivion, but it never came.

  A harpy’s shriek joined in the nightmarish cacophony of misery. “I found it!”

  The pain ended. I elevated with a rush and bounced off the ceiling, joining the moaning chorus gathered there. The hurting had stopped, but the memory of it persisted, joining the sensation of being consumed until I was only tatters of the ghost I’d been. I was shredded, an utter ruin.

  Having discarded me like used tissue, the Judge’s attention focused on the beaming Erica. “Where is he?”

  “Home sweet home. He and his sister are buried on the grounds of Sanderson Cottage among the natives’ oyster shells.”

  The Judge’s ghost grin didn’t possess vampire fangs, but it still resembled the Gates of Hell. “The Indian Mound. Brilliant hiding place. No one would dare to dig it up as long as there are a few savages left to protest the desecration of their former lands.” The bloodsucker’s laugh set the other wraiths to wailing in fear. “It won’t save him tonight, will it?”

  Erica’s cackle joined his. I had an inkling of how purgatory with its hordes of demons would sound. “His weres will all be gathered at the press conference, leaving your people to rip him to pieces when he rises. I got to hand it to you, you’re a pretty smooth operator.”

  The Judge recoiled from her, his obvious hatred reasserting itself as victory’s moment faded. “I expect you to join us to destroy any wards protecting the site. You’ll be paid afterwards.”

  “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss this party for the world.”

  Evil satisfaction slimed over his visage. “I must attend Tristan now. If a problem arises before the appointed time, I will be at the city council offices. He and his foul sister are spying on them today, hoping to block their plans for putting a new jail on the waterfront.”

  Well, that answered the question of why Dan and I hadn’t found Tristan. The city and county commissions were always at odds with each other, and any edge one could gain over the other was considered essential.

  Not that I really cared in my current state. I just wanted to disappear from existence before the Judge got his hands on me again.

  Erica peered up at me. “I think the last problem is taken care of. Although if you ask me, your psychotic murder spree is more likely to be discovered when you replace Tristan as Fulton Falls’ lead vampire.”

  The Judge sneered. “Humans are nothing but cattle, a lower link in the food chain. It’s high time the vampires claimed their rightful place as rulers.”

  Erica shrugged, clearly not impressed. The witch blew out her candles, leaving only the lazily drifting sunlight and the dancing flame of the hurricane lamp to light the space. Without a backward glance, the Judge blinked out of the shack. I sagged with relief to see him leave.

  I wanted to curl into myself and huddle with my hurts and fears. As the witch set about clearing the card table of her witchy accessories, I forced myself to look around the shack carefully, hoping to find some avenue of escape. One pointed board shard hung loosely from the ceiling like a stalactite, leaving a four-inch wide gap to the outside. I was wispy enough to fit through it, but when I drifted near, I found it blocked as if by a solid steel barrier. The wards defeated any hope of flight. However, as a weak sunbeam washed over me, I felt a trickle of energy. Solar power. Could I get myself back that way, I wondered?

  It was hard to hold still and remain in the mote of sunshine. My weightless substance wanted to drift around the cabin, bumping all over the ceiling. And drawing on the light proved to be little of a feeding, more like munching on a handful of peanuts when I’d gone all day without eating. At this rate, I wouldn’t regain enough power to land on the floor for a week. I had a feeling the Judge would be back to leech off me long before then.

  Erica continued to pack her belongings into a compartmentalized carry-all. She took her time, wrapping everything with great care before encasing each item in its padded section. I looked at her black-handled knife with longing. I’d never wanted to kill anyone before, but putting the double-sided blade through the witch’s heart seemed like a pretty sweet idea right now.

  My gaze went to the hurricane lamp and its tiny flame. Heat had energy. Perhaps more than the diffused sunlight that barely squeezed in?

  I coiled the rags of myself against the ceiling. Using every pitiful ounce of effort I still possessed, I pushed off towards the glass encased flame. I drifted lazily down, just far enough to catch a waft of the warmth pushing its way out of the lamp’s chimney. My course reversed, and I bumped against the ceiling again along with a couple of other wraiths. My sister spirits eddied apart at our contact before coalescing into more or less intact forms again.

  Only then did I notice the accumulated ghosts of ghosts had stopped moaning. Gray pits that once held eyes trained on me. Weary fascination had them watching my efforts.

  I didn’t remark on my audience for long. My experiment with the lamp had given me a little extra energy, a miniscule spark of life. I gathered myself and launched towards the lamp once more.

  I got even closer and sucked in as much of the flame’s heat before I drifted out of range again. Better still, but it was slow going. I’d never recharge anywhere near what I needed to be before Erica snuffed the lamp. Unfortunately, it was all I had.

  The next time I actually entered the glass chimney. Drawing heavily on the tiny flame, I made it flicker. Erica noticed as the shadows danced along the shack walls.

  She waved a hand at my retreating substance as if shooing a pesky fly. “Get away from that. You’re blocking my light.” She turned back to her case.

  That’s when I saw her cell phone. It lay on top of a shard that looked like bone.

  I powered off the ceiling, heading straight for it. Well, powered as much as a wasted wraith could. It took me a good five seconds to cover the distance, but I made it. My grasping wisps of fingers closed over the phone.

  A wash of power seethed through me, and the phone beeped a complaint as I drained it. My position put me in contact with Erica, and she tried to push me away, her hands sliding right through my insubstantial form. I drew from her too and saw the flesh of her bare arms goosepimple. Getting energy off a person was much harder than other sources. Erica’s strength came off her as sticky and reluctant as thick molasses.

  “Get off me, you stupid whore!” she cried. “I’m not about to release you no matter how you beg. The Judge pays me too damned well for that.”

  I wasn’t sure I had gained enough, but I withdrew before she decided to hurl some black magic curse at me. I had regained perhaps a quarter of my old self. I probably overestimated the situation, but I’ve always been an optimist. Better to be a quarter full than three-quarters empty.

  I took that pittance of power and concentrated everything in me on my hands. I poured all my will, all my force into those two points of myself. I wrapped my hands around the handle of the knife.

  I felt resistance, a solid hold keeping my ectoplasmic flesh from drifting into the rubber encasing the gripping surface. Before I could think twice about it, I swept around in an arc, the blade blurring in a silver circle to slice into Erica’s throat.

  Blood sprayed to patter the card table surface. I lost my hold on the knife, and it remained stuck deep in the witch’s flesh. Feeling wasted again, I drifted towards the ceiling once more and watched Erica drop to her knees.

  She made a desperate sound, half-gurgle, half-scream. Her hands scrabbled at the knife sticking out of her gore-slimed throat and fell away. Fading eyes found mine. Whatever she tried to say I never figured out. It came out in thick, wheezing grunts, “Nyuh, nyuh, nyuh.”

  Then like a light switch, her eyes flicked off. She dropped to the floor, twitched, and lay still. I waited to see if her ghost would rise, but there was no sign of
afterlife.

  Erica Ford was completely gone.

  I’d killed her. I tried to feel something: guilt or horror. Even sadistic pleasure would have been nice. Only profound exhaustion filled me.

  Too tired to care, I drifted around the room. The sensation of the thinnest bits of me dissolving into nothing was unable to rouse my interest.

  The sensation of cobwebs drifting over me brought me around. I looked into the hint of a woman’s face. The wraith was unrecognizable; I’d seen the pictures of all the Judge’s other victims but I couldn’t have identified her. She seemed a super-misty version of that agonized figure in the painting ‘The Scream’. Only blurred gray pits where her eyes, nostrils and mouth should have been suggested a face.

  She seemed to nod at me when she realized she had my attention. Then smoky tendrils of her drifted around me, slowly wrapping around my essence. It was like being embraced by silky strands of hair.