“Don’t see what’s there that can be worse than here,” said Dane, following Ned up and through the now-empty coffee shop. Another set of stairs and they were at street-level. Dane yanked the door open. The Order had gotten someone to design the strangest coffee place he’d ever seen. The main level here was like the tip of an iceberg—entrance and a small seating space for those uncomfortable with being underground. You’d never guess a whole large coffee shop was beneath something that was the size of a two-car garage.
They set off into the graveyard behind the lot. It should have been eerie in the night, but Dane had gotten over his jumpiness at this shit long ago.
“You got quiet. You leave yourself?”
“I never passed on,” said Ned, then, probably so he wouldn’t have to talk about it, “You know it’s unusual to do so and then return, right?”
“That’s what I heard. Can’t tell the difference. Sometime’s you’re just dormant, right?”
Ned led him to the left. They were approaching the river now, loud and rushing in the night. If Dane had been someone else, he might think this graveyard was peaceful. He knew better. When he died, burn him away until he was nothing. That was the best way to stay dead, really dead.
“I can tell the difference,” said Ned, words a whisper. Then he raised his voice. “There. Those three pines.”
Dane followed and saw the problem grave immediately. Eliza Bartley, deceased, had a plot far too lumpy for the fact that it had been around a good ninety years. Her stone was freshly tilted, and the ground was uneven, like something had been rolling around just beneath the sod, trying to come through.
Well, something had.
“Where is she?” Dane pulled out his knife and shot a glare at Ned, who kept a good eight feet back. He’d never specifically said, but Dane knew ghosts could hurt each other and he figured Ned wasn’t the particularly violent kind. And as much as he acted like an asshole, Dane wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Ned hadn’t even killed a spider while alive. What little he knew about the ghost was sad, really—Ned was transgender long before that was a term, had lived and died and been put in the ground not as himself. He seemed to enjoy being able to shape his form and exist as a ghost.
Not appealing to Dane. Cremate him and send him on his way, thank you fucking much. Still, whatever help Ned wanted to give, he wasn’t going to turn down.
“I expected her to be out by now,” said Ned. “I guess she’s taking her time.”
Dane groaned, returned his knife to his side.
“Should’ve brought the gun.” You couldn’t really use the bullets on a ghost unless they were still in the ground. Too easy to accidentally kill an innocent. Not that the Order wouldn’t get him out of a situation like that, but Dane had pissed them off enough for now, and as a rule they didn’t like to be inconvenienced.
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Take care of yourself,” said Dane. When he glanced at Ned, the ghost’s expression was closed off, neither joking nor concerned, just blank. Almost eerily blank. “Don’t engage. Sometimes they can be nasty pieces of work.”
“I’ve been around a while, thanks.”
Dane thought he should feel insulted at that, but really he was just tired and irritated. It was late, his report to the Order was overdue, and they were going to start riding his ass for it. Worst of all, he was thinking about that damned professor again, whatever his name was. He didn’t want to deal with Eliza’s bout of ethereal indigestion. He turned away from the grave.
“Anything else going on I should know about?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t fucking know, Ned, you tell me.”
“Some other grave rumblings. Nothing you need to worry about. Some people in to look at a plot—I’d bet on them burying someone soon, but I seem to have no currency.”
“Right. Anything not in the graveyard I should know about?”
“Cemetery. A graveyard is a—”
“I know,” said Dane, and Ned fell silent. They were nearly back to the coffee shop and he was not looking forward to finishing cleaning out the machines. Or checking the time. He needed another drink. “Look, that thing you do, where sometimes you tip me off to something else in Bleu Falls. That vampire passing close by a while back, that flushed fish that got magically charged and turned vicious, shit like that.”
“I’m not aware of anything at the moment. I’ll contact you if anything changes.”
Ned vanished abruptly and Dane figured he’d pissed the ghost off. Not that it mattered. He wanted some alone time anyway. Despite Crypt Coffee being a good business, Dane was more comfortable the fewer people he had to interact with. He entered the mausoleum entrance and descended to finish cleaning up for the day, glad at least the theme of it meant he didn’t have to be constantly smiling. And he could get away with pushing some boundaries now and then—everyone expected the owner to be creepy.
As he went through the annoying process of rinsing out the cappuccino machine, he wondered why that professor had even come in in the first place. Crypt Coffee didn’t look like his scene. Not that Dane completely minded—he wasn’t bad looking, even if he was a little older than Dane normally went for. He’d looked cute the few times Dane had glanced up at him working, brow scrunched low over blue eyes as he peered through his glasses at some internet bullshit about werewolves.
If only he knew Dane could give him actual information on them. He’d get flustered and his white, stay-inside-lecturing-all-day face would flush. Dane had seen what had happened to the professor’s pupils when he’d kissed him, could guess why he rushed out of the place. Too bad he doubted the man would return.
The Order wasn’t very keen on its members having relationships anyway, even flings or hookups. It put people at risk, and led to everything from very messy situations to catastrophic fuckups. There were enough members of the general public to lasso into this life.
It sucked, though. Dane had a hard enough time finding someone, and too many of the people through his place were teens. He’d sign up for one of those apps, only he had to constantly change his phone, and again the Order cautioned against it after several members had been tracked down and murdered that way.
It was too late to think about this anyway. Dane slammed the last things shut, turned off the lights, and got in his car. Almost three in the morning. Enough time for a drink and then bed.
Chapter 3
He’d hoped things would be clearer in the morning but Sean woke just as confused. The moment he opened his eyes, he felt the headache—groaning, he rolled over and checked the time. After ten. He never slept in that late. Of course, he also never tended to drink so much caffeine so late at night, or have so many nightmares, or randomly get kissed by coffee shop owners.
And he was pretty sure there had been a ghost.
He pulled on a robe and shuffled into the kitchen, his stomach churning at the sight of the coffee pot. He drank a glass of water instead, then went to the fridge for orange juice and some eggs. He yawned, cooked, and took his food to the end of the table not piled with papers, folders, and books. Sean ate, scrolling through social media on his phone, and tried to forget about everything.
Mindless time fillers didn’t work, nor did going through papers. Still, he forced himself to get his work done, do a few mundane chores, go out for a drink, but by the time Sunday morning rolled around, Sean knew he wasn’t going to be able to let any of this weird shit drop. He very much doubted his memory of the ghost, but he didn’t doubt what he’d seen in the basement of Crypt Coffee—or that the owner had kissed him and told him to go home.
Dane openly sneered at him when he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the coffee shop. He seemed surprised to see Sean. Good. When he went up to the counter to order, Dane moved over to assist the barista and locked eyes with him. Dark, calculating eyes. Sean remained calm.
“Back for more, professor?” he asked, words loaded. Sean swallowed.
&nb
sp; “Just, ah, a Dhai Latte, please.” Sean pronounced it to rhyme with chai, which was all it was.
“Please,” said Dane, almost mocking him. “I like the way you order.”
“To go,” said Sean, firmly, and Dane smirked.
“Not going to stick around for another kiss?”
“People can hear you,” hissed Sean, but that only seemed to improve Dane’s mood.
“I figure if you’re back here you must’ve liked it.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t, as it happens.”
“Really?” asked Dane, and leaned up close across the counter. Sean refused to back down, Dane’s face only inches from his, but he could feel a flush creeping up his neck. This was embarrassing, knowing everyone in the place could see—and most could hear—what was going on. But damn, Sean kind of liked it, too. When Dane handed him his latte in a to go cup with skull and crossbones on it, Sean left without looking back.
He took it out into the cemetery. There weren’t any paths from Crypt Coffee’s parking lot, but the place wasn’t fenced, either, so Sean just walked onto the grass. Like most cemeteries, there was a decent mix of older and newer stones, everything from embellished granite obelisks to worn limestone rectangles barely larger than a couple of bricks.
Sean hadn’t been among the dead like this in a long time. The breeze blowing in from the Blue Falls River was refreshing but also made the place creepier, dropping the temperature a good five degrees at least. Sean drank, the warmth from the latte reviving him, and wandered down to the water. A series of benches in memory of a collection of departed people lined the path at the river’s edge and he selected one to sit, staring, across the water at the park opposite. It was peaceful here, a good place to be buried.
When he finished his drink, he got up and wandered back through the headstones, looking for a garbage can. Sean wasn’t really sure what he was hoping to find out here, maybe some satisfaction that what he thought he’d seen on Friday wasn’t real. If he could go out into a cemetery alone and fail to meet a ghost, he could write off the thing he’d seen floating through Crypt Coffee.
Just as he was beginning to think he’d need to go back into the coffee shop to pitch his cup, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, thinking he’d seen something pushing up dirt. A fresh grave by three pine trees was moving, slightly, and Sean walked toward it. Moles, he told himself, but he wanted to confirm it. The soil continued to move as he approached and glanced at the gravestone.
Eliza Bartley, not recently buried at all. Sean gaped at the dates on the lichen-covered stone, mind running through possibilities. Could the grave look fresh because of robbers? That didn’t seem likely—more the sort of thing to happen in books or a bad movie.
Tiny off-white things pushed up through the soil and Sean blinked at them, mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing even as the hand emerged fully, ghostly flesh just visible around the bones. His breath caught in his throat. A skull started to come up.
“You were supposed to be handled,” said a voice, and then Sean felt someone shove his shoulder. He stumbled back as the whatever-it-was pulled its torso up out of the grave. The ghost from Friday night hovered before Sean, looking annoyed instead of pleasantly dapper. He shoved Sean again, frowning when Sean backed up toward the trees.
Sean opened his mouth to swear, maybe, then closed it again. He struggled to process what was happening.
“Go on, get out of here,” said the ghost. The thing in the grave brushed more dirt off and he flicked a glance at her. “You can’t be stupid enough to stick around.”
“What,” managed Sean, but the ghost was glaring at the animated skeleton now.
“Eliza, you have terrible timing,” he said. The skeleton-ghost made a noise like breathing in and Sean could swear she was draining his energy. The ghost flickered and sighed. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, then to Sean, “Except for you. I recommend you run.”
He flew off in the direction of Crypt Coffee. Sean gaped at him only briefly—Eliza was unearthing her bone-ghost-leg-things, and when she’d finished with that, he figured he was screwed. Running really was the only option. Which was unfortunate, because at the moment Sean just couldn’t get his feet to move. Whether it was fear, or disbelief, or shock, he didn’t know, but by the time he wrenched himself away, she was free and reaching out toward him.
Sean didn’t scream, but he did drop his empty cup when she grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off his feet. He saw stars as she slammed him up against a pine tree. Needles showered down around him, passing through her, and Eliza opened her mouth to draw in that energy-sucking breath again. It was then Sean realized he was going to die.
“Fuck off,” shouted Dane, suddenly there and swinging the shiniest machete Sean had ever seen.
Eliza’s ghostly form fled the skeleton an instant before the blade struck, showering Sean with bones. He gasped, freed.
“Fucking ghosts always pulling shit in daylight.”
Sean mouthed thanks at Dane, hands at his throat, but the man wasn’t looking at him. Over his shoulder the other ghost hovered, observing solemnly.
“The fuck did she go, Ned?” asked Dane.
“I’m having difficulties at the moment.”
Dane snarled and began hacking at the fresh dirt on the grave. Sean blinked hard, brain still trying to process everything, keep up. One of the ghosts was bad. The other was…good? Someone Dane knew, at least. Whatever that meant. He was still trying to work it all out when the trees behind him lurched and pulled him to them. This time he screamed.
“Shit,” said Dane, leaping up and swinging with the machete as limbs wrapped around Sean, slowly crushing him. Needles and bark pressed against his skin, pricking, scraping, and he struggled. Chunks of bark and then wood flew as Dane hacked.
“She’s possessed all three of them,” said Ned. “It’ll take too long to chop him out.”
“First pigeons, now trees. I hate you damned ghosts.” Dane took several more swings at the pine, Sean feeling his eyes pop as the breath was squeezed out of him. Ned was right. No way could Dane hack him out in time. For the second time in less than five minutes, Sean realized he was going to die.
“Dane…” began Ned.
“Shut up,” snarled Dane, and stepped back. He dropped the machete to the ground, pulled a gun from his pants, and pointed it almost directly at Sean. If he’d had any breath left he’d shout, but Sean could only watch. Splinters flew as Dane unloaded the entire gun into the tree, then calmly reloaded the weapon. Sean’s vision was going, his hearing, too, he figured, since Dane unloaded the gun a second time into the trees and the sound seemed so distant.
Sean was about to pass out, and he figured he wasn’t going to wake up.
“Why the hell is she so strong, Ned?” asked Dane, words reaching Sean as a whisper.
“…stole some…my energy too…”
Sean gasped like a fish, unable to breathe, and then the tree limbs let up and he slid to the ground. He couldn’t move, and he could barely breathe, but he felt a hand on him, could tell Dane was checking him to see if he was still alive. With what little breath he had, Sean laughed.
“Bastard thinks it’s all a joke,” said Dane, releasing him and straightening. “Fuck off, Ned, and I’ll feed him some bullshit. We’ll talk later.”
“No,” said Sean. “Don’t bother.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to kiss away any of this,” said Ned.
“Yeah, well I could try,” said Dane.
Sean felt Dane’s shoe tapping his foot. Maybe he was wondering whether Sean was really alive.
“I get her or is she still around?”
“As far as I can tell, she’s incapacitated,” said Ned.
Sean blinked and stared into the ghost’s face as he hovered in front of him at ground level. He wasn’t even shocked anymore. “Best to burn everything, obviously. This one will live. Inconvenient for you.”
“Inconvenient if he
died.” Dane picked up the machete and began circling the trees, hacking off random limbs and branches. Sean caught his breath enough to push himself up to a sitting position and glance around. Bones, pine needles, and wood chips littered the ground. The trees themselves were studded with bullets that glinted silver in the afternoon light. The smell of resin, sweat, and Dane’s gun was heavy in the air, and while some of the stickiness on Sean’s limbs and face was pine sap, the rest of it was his blood. The trees had cut him up, and his chest hurt bad enough for him to wonder if he should get checked out for cracked ribs.
“What the hell just happened?” he asked. Dane glanced over at him, looking pissed, and Ned moved a safe distance away to hover.
“I did tell you to run,” said the ghost.
“Like this idiot would’ve listened,” said Dane, then, “You got yourself into some shit, professor. Lucky you’re still alive. Tree didn’t bust you up too bad, did it?”
“I hope not,” said Sean, and took the hand Dane offered. “Shit!” He staggered on his feet and clutched at his ribs, then pulled up his shirt. A dark patch spread under his skin.
“Bruised. Well done, you got your ass kicked by a tree.”
Sean glared at him and let his shirt fall back down.
“I want to know what’s going on,” he said.
“Can’t you just go the fuck away and sleep it off?” asked Dane. Sean stared at him until he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. What’s going on is this: I’m going to shoot these trees a couple more times, then I’m driving you to my place up the road and you’re getting cleaned up. If you’re not too much a pain in my ass, I’ll give you an explanation. Got it?”
Sean nodded. He was too tired and sore to object.
Chapter 4
“Here you go. Drink up.”
Dane took a swig from the bottle and capped it as Sean eyed the glass he’d slammed on the counter. He looked a little better after washing up, all his scrapes clean and dirt gone. Almost normal. He was wearing one of Dane’s old hoodies and a pair of pajama pants, and he moved gingerly as he slid into the bar stool at the counter. Dane didn’t have a table.
Bad Seed Page 2