Dead Sexy

by Tate Hallaway

  I stayed at Mercury Crossing well past closing. William had left the place in terrible disorder with orders unplaced, invoices unpaid, and, from what it looked like in the safe, deposits unmade. Sebastian dropped by at nine o'clock with sandwiches. He helped reorganize the stock room and even volunteered to drop the money in the night deposit box at the bank for me. I felt too guilty to let him. The store was my responsibility, after all, and I'd neglected it for days.

  So, instead, I set him to taking care of some Parrish details I hadn't been able to get around to. Using the store's computer, I had him rekey the obit I'd written for Parrish and the remembrances for the coven on the newspaper's website. He paid for the notices electronically as well. Then, I had him print up some posters for Parrish's wake. Since I didn't know the names and address of Parrish's ghouls, I thought I'd post details in the places Parrish haunted. It would probably mean we'd get more than our share of freeloaders, but part of me figured Parrish wouldn't mind as long as his wake was remembered as a damn good party.

  Sebastian went out with a staple gun to hang the notices, while I finished up putting my store back in order. I had just laid my head down to "rest my eyes," when Sebastian returned. I have a vague recollection of getting bundled into his car, but almost none at all of getting tucked into bed.

  * * * *

  I dreamt of the dead.

  Trick or treating, dressed as a Witch. The first doorbell I ring opens to the smiling face of Jasmine. She's wearing a new necklace and wants to show off the lapis lazuli and malachite beadwork. I admire it, thinking: something's wrong. I notice a crow, no, a vulture, circling overhead. "Jasmine," I ask, "aren't you supposed to be dead?" She smiles, teeth showing all the way to the roots.

  I woke up with a start. The room was dark, and Sebastian lay beside me, as motionless as a corpse. The red light of the digital clock read 2:52. I rolled over to spoon with Sebastian. Even though his body was all twisted up, I managed to tuck my arm around his slender waist and griped him tightly. He made no sound, not even the gentle huff of measured breathing. At least his skin was warm. I folded the feather comforter around our shoulders and shut my eyes.

  This was the first time I'd dreamt of a coven member. Though the dream certainly unnerved me, the majority of it gave me the sensation of catching up with an old, albeit dead, friend. Scary, but comforting. Not unlike snuggling up to a vampire lover.

  * * * *

  The next morning I slept in. Sebastian woke me up with a cup of coffee, a bagel with cream cheese, and a nervous smile. Even though they seemed highly suspicious, I accepted his offerings. I munched on the toasted bagel and waited for Sebastian to explain why he perched on the edge of the bed so precariously.

  "So," he said finally. "What are your plans today?"

  I brushed a few crumbs from the comforter. "I thought I'd go into work for a while and finish taking care of some of the stuff I couldn't get to yesterday. Then, I'm going to call Slow Bob and have him cover for me so we can pick up Parrish. At some point, I need to figure out how to de-possess William." I took a sip of coffee. "Why?"

  "There are some things I need to attend to today," he said ominously.

  "Oh?"

  He glanced out the window. The sky was robin's-egg blue. A flock of geese made a noisy exodus south. He cleared his throat. "I was thinking that maybe if we adopted a policy of full disclosure things would be, you know, better."

  I took another hit of coffee hoping the caffeine would help me make sense of Sebastian's words. When it didn't, I tried again. After four sips, I finally had to say, "What?"

  "I need to feed, Garnet. I thought you should know."

  Did I feel better knowing Sebastian was headed off to suck someone else's blood?

  "Okay," I said. It wasn't like I could demand he starve to death. "You know, you could…" What was I about to offer?

  Sebastian looked equally intrigued.

  "… Just not tell me in the future," I said. "I think ignorance is best."

  * * * *

  Getting back into town was a hassle. Calling a taxi would involve spending more cash than I had on me. I tried Izzy's cell, but she was probably working since it was switched off. I couldn't call William for obvious reasons, and Sebastian was… well, busy.

  I ended up borrowing Sebastian's rusty ten-speed, which I found covered in cobwebs propped in a corner of the barn. The tires were flat, but a bit more investigation turned up an air pump and a wrench to adjust the seat with. I left him a note about it, but given the state of the bike I doubted he would be in a hurry to get it back.

  Previous experience taught me that Sebastian's farm was about an hour or so from the store by bicycle. It was a long ride, but not impossible, especially given crisp, clear weather like today's.

  I started down the road toward home. Glancing at the graveyard opposite the driveway, I hoped Parrish was still safe and sound in the morgue.

  The asphalt was broken and bumpy where a season's worth of traffic had made it rough. A sparrow hawk circled above fields of dried cornhusks. My eyes watered at the scent of skunk roadkill. I pushed the bike faster uphill.

  Rounding the curve, I crested the hill and was able to coast down past farmhouses and fields. As gravity carried me along, I tried to figure out what to do about William and the zombie queen. Maybe I could still convince Dominguez to arrest her. I was sure trafficking in humans was a federal crime, even if the people involved were dead. Even if it wasn't, he had said he would act as a liaison for me with the local authorities. Besides, I still owed him a natal chart. Maybe I could lure him over to my place for Parrish's wake, and then all I'd have to do was convince William and Mo to also attend.

  The smell of dead skunk was eventually replaced by the much more pleasant odor of burning leaves. Tall grass growing in the ditch rasped in the wind. A sandpiper darted along the road.

  The old William would definitely come to Parrish's wake. They knew each other from our previous misadventures, and for a while I suspected William could have been counted in the ranks of Parrish's ghouls. Going Goth had been another phase of William's, but like all the other spiritualities/lifestyles he'd tried, it didn't stick. He later confessed to me that he couldn't hack the late hours; William was a morning person.

  A black covered wagon pulled by a pair of dark brown horses clomped alongside the ditch in the other lane. I waved a cheerful hello. I turned my head to watch them pass, marveling, as always, at how the bright orange slow-moving triangle fastened to the center of the wagon always seemed like such an anachronism.

  I had to help William return to his usual, fuddled self. I was sure there was a spell to counteract the possession. Maybe Izzy could help.

  * * * *

  By the time I pulled up to Holy Grounds, my butt ached from sitting on an unfamiliar seat and all I wanted was a cool glass of something. A notice about Parrish's wake was taped to the window. We'd picked a good picture of him, one I'd snapped with a friend's digital camera to settle a bet that a vampire's images would reproduce electronically, despite the myth they didn't on film. I'd tried to explain to Parrish that no one used silver to develop pictures anymore. And even if they did, there'd still be a photograph, because vampires aren't allergic to silver, werewolves are. Needless to say, I won that bet.

  When I opened the door, a few leaves followed the gust of wind inside. The coffee shop was quiet. It was one of those between-rush times, when only a few patrons sat clacking at laptops and nursing lattes they'd ordered hours ago. Izzy had a newspaper open on the counter. She glanced up when the door opened. When she saw me, she scurried around the bar.

  "Sebastian told me about your friend," she said, embracing me in a hug. "Are you okay?"

  Izzy and Parrish had never met. She had no idea he wasn't really dead. "I don't know," I admitted. Parrish's "death" had shaken me, bringing up all the unspent grief with my coven. "I have to pick up his body today."

  Izzy stepped back and held me at arm's length. "And why do you have to pic
k up his body, exactly? Shouldn't the funeral home take care of all that?"

  "He can't be embalmed," I said. Then, because there was no reason she shouldn't know, I added, "He's a vampire."

  "But he's dead?"

  "Officially, he's in torpor. He called it a 'long sleep' or something like that."

  "He's playin' possum," she summed up nicely with an appreciative grin.

  "Yeah," I smiled. "Precisely."

  "But, you're going through all the motions? Wake, burial, and all that. I noticed the obit today," she said jerking her thumb in the direction of the paper she'd left discarded on the bar.

  "He's taking the fall for me," I said. Then glancing around the room, I whispered, "With the FBI."

  Izzy gave me that smile that sometimes seemed more like an exasperated grimace and shook her head. "All in a day in the life, eh?"

  I shrugged. Izzy went back to her position as barkeep, and I pulled up a tall stool next to the jars of biscotti and foil-wrapped imported chocolates. "Can I trouble you for an iced coffee?"

  "Sure," she said, then automatically, "For here?"

  I laughed. "Yeah, I need to sit awhile. And, we need to talk about William."

  She scooped ice from a bucket into a pint glass. Removing a pitcher of chilled coffee from the fridge, she added that and a bit of milk to the glass. "What's wrong with William now?"

  "He's possessed by a loa or… something. He tried to kill me."

  Izzy set the glass down in front of me. "Honey, he doesn't need to be possessed to want to do that."

  "He's dating your cousin," I said, ignoring her quip. "Mo? The one who's making all the frat zombies?"

  Izzy didn't look nearly as surprised as I wanted her to be.

  "You knew about all of this?" I asked. "Is that why the zombies were after you?"

  Slowly folding the newspaper back together, Izzy shrugged. "I feel responsible for all of this. I helped Mo relocate after the hurricane. It was tough when she first arrived. She'd lost so much… I should never have told her about the money."

  "What money?"

  Izzy leaned against the refrigerator. The surface of it was covered in cartoons featuring coffee and/or coffee shops. Magnets in the shape of cups and saucers held everything in place. Crossing her arms, she said, "I hear a lot in this job. People like to tell stories to me, just like they would to their bartender. This guy came in once, said he was writing a book about grave traditions, and he'd heard about some Italians or gypsies that buried money with the deceased. He'd done research, knew names. I told her about it after work, you know, like you would."

  Izzy trailed off, but I could guess that the end of the story.

  "When I found out what she was doing, I kicked her out. We've been feuding ever since."

  "She took your barista, Suzette," I remembered. "And now she's got William."

  "Well, I didn't say I was winning."

  Izzy returned the newspaper to a pile at the edge of the bar, and I drank my coffee, considering. When she came back, I said, "How mad would you be if I had your cousin arrested for human trafficking?"

  "Pretty damn mad," she said. "I brought her up here because I wanted to help her."

  "She's killing those people, Iz."

  "Pot calling the kettle, don't you think?" she snapped.

  Izzy was comparing what I did in self-defense to what her cousin did for fun and profit. My mouth hung open for a moment. The way her eyes slid away from mine, I could tell Izzy regretted what she'd said the instant she'd spoken. But, it was too late, we'd started something that apparently needed saying.

  "That wasn't the same," I insisted.

  Izzy's gaze drifted to the espresso machine. Her lips compressed into a thin line, and she shrugged. "I'm just saying that the other day you thought you'd killed that FBI agent. It's not like you don't abuse your power sometimes. Jesus, Garnet, you date people who prey on others and drink their blood. That's like romancing some kind of giant tick. You don't have a lot of moral high ground to stand on here."

  Did she just call Sebastian and Parrish wood ticks? I shook my head, not even knowing which accusation to refute first. Instead, I said, "I think I should go."

  "Probably best," she agreed. Pivoting in the direction of the stainless-steel sink, Izzy turned her back to me and pretended there were dishes that needed her attention.

  * * * *

  William never came to work. The first thing I did was phone every auxiliary staff member I had to set up a schedule that would allow me to pick up Parrish this afternoon and keep the store open during its busiest month while assuming William as a long-term no-show… in case I couldn't reverse Mo's possession spell. Then, I picked out every title on voodoo we had in the store and piled them next to the register. When I wasn't ringing up sales of last-minute Halloween costume jewelry to giggling customers, I skimmed the sections regarding possession.

  I didn't find anything terribly helpful, since most of what was described happened in ritual to practitioners.

  Plus, I felt very uncertain about using a magical system so different from my own. Finally, I decided that I'd try a general hex-breaking spell. As I sold the fifteenth black wool cloak and pointy cap to a UW student, I felt a pang of loss. I missed my coven. Someone there would have had some experience with this sort of thing, and if not, they still would have leant their magical support to the spell. I had a feeling that breaking Mo's hold on William was going to take more oomph than a single Witch could muster.

  Thinking of William, I called his home number and left a message inviting him to my house for the wake. "This is for Daniel… and for me," I said. "I want you to know you're welcome to come. Mo too. Please consider it, William."

  Then, I dialed Dominguez's number. I was surprised when he answered after the first ring. "Don't you have work to do?"

  "This is my work," he said gruffly. "What do you want?"

  Here I go, lying to an FBI agent again. "I finished your astrological chart. I thought maybe you'd like to come over for a reading some time. Maybe this evening?"

  There was a long pause on the other end. For a brief moment, I thought we'd been disconnected.

  "Uh, Dominguez? Are you there?"

  "I'm thinking," he said. More silence. I thought I could hear the sounds of people talking in the background. "What time?"

  The wake was at nine. We'd set it for a late hour intentionally to appeal to Parrish's ghoulfriends. "Seven?"

  Dominguez cleared his throat. "Just to be clear, are you asking me out on a date?"

  "Would you be more or less inclined to come if I said no?"

  "More."

  "Then no."

  "Okay, I'll be at your place by seven. See you then."

  Despite insisting this wasn't a date, Dominguez sounded kind of excited. I wondered if my love spell had entirely broken. I'd lost the amulet when Lilith tried to kill him. Maybe it was still mostly together somewhere, still brewing up trouble.

  Just what I needed.

  Slow Bob came in at noon. Slow Bob was a portly, more-than-middle-aged man with a keen mind and a deep need to avoid most social interactions. He had a grandfatherly salt-and-pepper beard, and, when appropriately provoked, a bright, warm smile. Despite the fact that he would never make employee of the month, I liked Bob. He was a Virgo; he organized like a demon. The store was always more orderly after his shift; he just did things in his own time. I knew he was a Witch—I'd actually run into him at the Pagan Gathering one year when both of us were practicing the "clothing optional" rule. He never revealed much of that wilder side of himself at work, except for the occasional surprising quip interjected into a discussion William and I were having about some esoteric topic or another.

  "Hey, Bob," I said.

  He tipped an imaginary hat at me, flashed a shy grin, and disappeared into the back. I didn't see him again until Sebastian showed up after one. I reluctantly left Slow Bob in charge of the store with strict orders for him not to spend his time hiding in the astrology sect
ion. Bob sat behind the register with a hangdog expression that would likely chase off any potential customers. My profit margin was so doomed.

  Oh well. I had bigger things to worry about. Like picking up my ex-boyfriend from the morgue.

  "I see you borrowed my bike," Sebastian said, as he showed me to the minivan he'd rented. It was bright red, not exactly a somber color for transporting the dead. As I got in, I could see that Sebastian had removed all the seats. Parrish's coffin sat in the middle of the carpet.

  "Everything work out for you?" Sebastian asked, then quickly added, "With the bike, I mean." There was something strained in his tone, and I realized we hadn't spoken since I nearly offered to be his meal.

  Even now, some part of me found the idea tempting, and I didn't want that. So instead, I blurted, "Izzy thinks you're a parasite. Actually, she called you a tick."

  Sebastian chuckled. "Well, I suppose that's better than a leech. Is she mad at me for some reason?"

  I shook my head. "No," I said, "at me. Her cousin is the person responsible for all the zombies, and I'm planning on trying to get her arrested."

  "Izzy?"

  "No, the cousin Mo—Maureen."

  Before unbuckling, I double-checked to make sure I had all the proper forms and paperwork. Satisfied everything was in order, I followed Sebastian up a set of concrete stairs littered with cigarette butts. Apparently, being a hospital worker didn't require living a particularly healthy life.

  It was only after the third turn down a maze of hallways did I think to wonder how it was that Sebastian knew his way around the basement of the hospital. "Have you been to the morgue before?"

  Sebastian had come from work. He had stripped off his coveralls, but he still had traces of motor oil and grease on his face and hands. Sebastian had a day job as a car mechanic. He fixed antique cars down at Jensen's. He didn't need the money; he just enjoyed the work.

  He'd tucked his hair up into a ball cap, and could easily pass as any one of Wisconsin's regular joes, if it wasn't for the aristocratic cut of his features. "I dated a nurse," he confessed.