by J. R. Rain
It was still a couple of hours before lunch, so I suggested Parker walk around back. Once there, she found the delivery truck pulled up behind a Dumpster. When she saw the damage to the vehicle, she gasped and whispered, “Oh, Spider. That must have been an ouchy.”
You should see the other guy. He’ll be the one with his jaw hanging loose.
The back of the truck was open, so we assumed Dylan had been taken as some kind of hostage. On impulse, Parker glanced in the dumpster to check for his body. A big woolly rat crawled out, carrying a gnarly hunk of pepperoni. Parker squealed until I cautioned her to keep it down.
Might be some creeps around. If the Count is powerful enough to possess that guy driving the truck last night, no telling how many others he has under his command.
The back of the pizza shop featured a set of concrete steps that led to a basement door. I figured Parker would be smart enough not to go down there. But then we saw it on the bottom step—a lime-green flip flop. That could only be Dylan’s.
No, I commanded as she started down toward the flip flop.
He’s my cousin.
But the deal was for you to look around and report back to me.
So, I’m looking and reporting. Film at eleven.
Parker. Don’t do this to me.
What are you going to do to stop me?
She had a point. I suppose I could have tried to shock her brain somehow, overload her wiring, but she was pretty hardheaded and that would be risky. It looked like I would just have to stay alert and be the paranoid, careful half of the partnership. I sighed. I wasn’t so good at this.
Parker tried the basement door. Luckily, it was locked, and I thought that was the end. Any normal person would have waited around until the restaurant opened, gone in for a calzone, and asked a few questions without arousing suspicion. But Parker wasn’t normal. And, I have to say, that was one of the things I liked about her, even if it sucked sometimes.
Instead, she peered through a little window beside the door. It was even grimier than the restaurant windows, and she wiped at it with the bottom of her fist.
We both saw the face at the same time.
Dylan.
His eyes were wide, as if he’d witnessed horrible atrocities, and he looked like he was trying to scream but no sound came from his gaping mouth. She pressed her face to the window and saw that he was dangling from chains, wearing nothing but Bermuda shorts.
The Count is one sick puppy, I thought.
Maybe he’s just a man in love.
Same thing.
Before I could weigh in on our next move, Parker picked up a brick and smashed the window. She plucked away the stray pieces of glass and scrambled inside.
And I lost her.
Frantically, I sent my thoughts over half of Florida, trying to link up, but it was no use. All I could do was wait until nightfall, my imagination running wild with all the horrors she might be enduring while I lay there in bed like a raw piece of bacon.
Chapter Eleven
While I slept, things got ugly.
Parker made it out alive, but barely. I wouldn’t have known what had happened, of course, if not for her telling me her story, which she did later that evening before dark, while I drank from her wrist. Luckily, I can drink and listen with the best of them.
It went like this:
The basement was quiet. Even Dylan was quiet, although his eyes were still wide and unseeing. My guess would have been that he was quite dead, but that wasn’t the case. Parker had gone quickly to his side and discovered he had a pulse.
“Shock?” I asked, mumbling the word as I drank.
“If you just mumbled the word ‘shock’ then yes. He was in shock.”
“Continue on,” I said. Or tried to say. For some reason, when I’m in the middle of a feed, our psychic connection was fried, so talking was all we had.
“No clue what you just said, but I’m going to continue on.”
And she did. The basement, as far as she could tell, was empty. Once she verified that her cousin was alive, she came back to her senses and finally had a look around. Personally, I would have had a look around first. Then again, I’ve always had a penchant for watching my own neck. No one ever accused me of being the reckless type.
Anyway, the basement was as old and grimy as one would expect. No, it wasn’t a torture chamber, or where evil lurked. It was truly the pizza place’s basement, now presently doubling as a prison for Dylan.
After looking unsuccessfully for keys to the padlock that held the chains in place, Parker picked her way around old burners and oven parts and in between packing crates that, according to her, might have been there a half century or more. I told her to quit describing the goddamn packing crates and tell me what the devil she found down there, knowing, of course, that it very well could have been the devil she found. Or something damn close to it.
That some called me the devil was another story.
Parker, who had been intent on looking for the key to the padlock, soon found herself drawn to another part of the basement. To a door, in fact. A door with a light coming from beneath it.
I knew Parker had returned empty-handed, and I was beginning to suspect this story wasn’t going to end well for Dylan.
At the door, she could hear something that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh, until she realized it was probably both. Curiosity got the better of her, which was another trait I liked about her. Her impulsiveness kept things interesting. Maybe too interesting.
She tried the handle; not surprisingly, it wasn’t locked.
But what did surprise her was the woman she found inside. The very dead woman.
* * *
“You’re shitting me,” I said, pulling away from her arm, dribbling blood. I hate dribbling blood. When I broke the physical connection, though, I sneaked a peek inside her mind. No, that wasn’t true. The image of what she had seen had flashed powerfully through it. So powerfully that I couldn’t miss it.
“I’m not ‘shitting’ you, and please never use that disgusting expression again.”
“We’re dealing with a fifty-year-old corpse, and you’re worried about a disgusting expression?”
“What can I say?” said Parker. “I’m old fashioned.”
Okay, that was new to me. If anything, Parker was far more hip than I could ever hope to be. Of course, I was born nearly two centuries ago.
As I blinked and processed, she continued her tale.
There, lying on a cleared work bench, was a familiar corpse. Perhaps one of the most familiar corpses in the world. Or, at least, here in Florida.
It was, of course, Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos.
The object of the Count’s affection.
“How the hell did she end up there?” I asked.
“My guess, the Count found her,” said Parker, making a face as she sat on the edge of the bed, where I had been sleeping happily just minutes earlier. Unfortunately, the sun was still high in the sky, and I was next to useless. She was absently rubbing her arm where I had been feeding. The twin bites in her arm were healing already. “And could you please, you know, not talk that way?”
“Talk what way?”
“You know, speaking so...vulgarly.”
“Ah,” I said. Weird, my language never bothered her before. “Sure, I’ll keep a close watch on that.”
“Thank you,” she said, but even as she said the words, I sensed that she wanted to say another word entirely. She had wanted to say “gracias.” Spanish for “thank you.”
Uh oh, I thought.
“So what, exactly, happened back there?” I asked, choosing my words carefully, watching the girl I was certain I was falling head over heels for. “Back in the storage room in the basement?”
“Well, the Count was nowhere to be seen, and...” As her voice trailed off, I caught a glimpse of where she was going with this. It was a glimpse I was very uncomfortable with.
She looked at me and shrugged. “What
can I say? I’m stronger than I look.”
She pointed at Dylan, who was sound asleep—or passed out—beside me on the bed, who I hadn’t even noticed in my weakness and blood lust.
“Nice haul,” I said. “He must weigh two hundred.”
“Oh, he was the easy one.”
“Easy one? There was another one?” I was already dreading what I think she was thinking.
“Never too late for a double date.”
“She’s here?” I asked, sitting up suddenly, which caused a wave of dizziness to sweep over me.
“The van’s parked out front. Keys were in the ignition.”
“She’s here?” I asked again, but this time Parker didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned and looked out through the hotel bedroom, toward where I knew the parking lot was, to where the body of Maria de Hoyos now lay in the back of the delivery van.
It was at that moment something very alarming happened. Alarming and disconcerting.
I lost all connection to Parker.
Chapter Twelve
I’ve never been the co-dependent type, but it freaked me out a little to have my head to myself.
I guess I’d gotten more used to Parker than I cared to admit. But I was less worried about what the static interference meant than what might happen if the Count found out his decaying true love had been kidnapped.
Before I could yell at Parker for having done such a crazy thing, Dylan groaned and blinked. “Where...?”
“Where are you?” I said. “In our hotel room.”
“No, I mean where is she?”
“Don’t worry,” Parker said. “She’s on ice. She’s good.”
“Hold on a sec,” I said. “So the Count kidnapped both Dylan and his corpse bride and stashed them in a basement. What would he want with Dylan? You’d think he’d just rip Dylan’s head off and be done with it.” I glanced over at Dylan. “Nothing personal.”
“None taken,” he said. He tried to sit up, but he must have been woozy, because his head flopped back down on the pillow.
I was refreshed and the sun was just starting to sink into the Gulf. I had a feeling this was going to be one wild night. Parker looked exhausted from all her adventures, so I suggested that she catch a nap while I checked on our guest in the van.
“The psychic thing,” she said. “If it’s messed up, I won’t know what’s going on.”
I thought that might be better for everyone. Even though she’d proven she could take care of herself, my job would be a lot easier if both she and Dylan were out of the picture. “Somebody needs to be here with Dylan, in case the Count shows up to kidnap him again. Considering he’s been chasing a dead woman for fifty years, I’d say he’s not the kind that gives up easily.”
“What does he want with Dylan anyway?” Parker asked.
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “What does he want with me?”
“If the Count is powerful enough to possess that van driver, he probably has some diabolical plan to draw out your essence and bring your girlfriend back to life. Love is a very powerful magic and should be handled with care.”
Parker batted her eyes. “That’s so romantic.”
“Did the witch doctor put a spell on you, too?” I said.
“He didn’t need to,” she said.
I had to get out of there and fast. When I reached the door, Dylan said, “Tell her I said hello.”
I surveyed the hotel as I went out, making sure no mysterious characters were hanging around. I soon gave it up because, in Key West after dark, everyone’s mysterious. The air outside was warm and salty, and the city was alive with liquor, music, and the occasional siren. My senses were sharp from Parker’s sweet, sweet nourishment. It was good to be alive.
Well, at least to be aware of my undeadness.
I circled the van carefully. This was different than the one I’d busted into, since it still had a cab roof and there were no bloodstains. The vehicle reeked of cheese, anchovies, and tomato sauce, as well as the repellent stench of garlic. I noted with amusement that a parking ticket flapped beneath one windshield wiper.
No one was paying attention to me. Sunglasses, T-shirt, blue jeans, and boots, I was just another minimum-wage delivery guy to them. The back door was unlocked, so I climbed in the storage area as if I was hunting up a case of canned mushrooms.
Maria wasn’t in a glass case like she had been displayed in the museum. No, Parker had just dumped her on the floor like a sack of flour. The corpse had apparently rolled around a little during the ride from Aurelio’s Pizza to the hotel. She was a little worse for wear, poor thing.
I put a couple of her pieces back together, and I was reaching for the weird leathery facemask thingy that had been draped over her withered skull when a deep wail of anguish erupted behind me.
“Mariaaaaa! What have they done to you, darling?”
I didn’t even sense his approach. This dude must be packing some serious magic.
From the depth and power of the voice, I expected some eight-foot-tall dude with a cape and burning red eyes, hands as meaty as hams ending in powerful talons, and a glowering scowl featuring thick, sharp teeth. Instead, he looked like he might be an English professor, short, bald, and round-faced, with tiny spectacles perched on a dainty nose.
I’d been around enough to never underestimate anyone with supernatural powers, even if they were little creeps. If he wasn’t so into Maria, he’d probably be spending his time browsing necrophilia websites. But, hey, we all have our weird little appetites, right? Okay, maybe not that weird.
I said, “The Count, I presume?”
“You stole her beauty.”
I held up the leathery facemask that dangled from my fingers. “I can explain.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a rival suitor, too? I know her beauty drives men wild, like your gentleman friend you so pathetically tried to rescue.” His little brown eyes twinkled a little, like a teddy bear’s catching the streetlights. “Until you were wise enough to let your woman handle the job.”
His insult caused my blood to boil—well, at least warm up to room temperature. “Parker’s a free agent. She does what she wants.”
He glared at me over the top of his glasses. “Spider. The psychic thing between you two? I’ve been reading it like a book. A very naughty little vampire erotica tale.”
I would have blushed, but I was too mad (not to mention I hardly had enough blood and rapid heartbeat to pull that off), but I also realized he knew what I was. The element of surprise was lost.
Just as well.
“But you were right about one thing,” he continued. “Only the sacrifice of Maria’s true love would bring her back to life, and I could hardly kill myself for her, right? I’d miss out on all the fun. So when the witch doctor cast a love spell on the fool, I saw the opportunity I’d awaited for so long. Unfortunately, your pesky little Parker freed him before I could enact my diabolical plot.”
“Hey, Count,” I said, “You’re being a little melodramatic here. Let’s get down to business and get it over with.”
He smirked with his thin pink lips. “Fine. Only without your meddling Parker or your precious little psychic connection. Just you and me. Face to face.”
I tossed his dead lover’s mask at him. “Your move.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately for me, the sun had set just minutes before.
Unfortunately for me, the Count disappeared in a blink. One moment he was standing there, and the next...gone. I spun, looking for the sick bastard, when something hit me hard, driving me back against the van.
Yes, I’d been hit harder, and, no, the sick little bastard didn’t do any real harm. Unless he was wielding a silver stake, I would be fine.
But that didn’t stop this from being the most one-sided, lopsided ass-kicking I had ever seen. Sadly, I was on the receiving end.
I was picked up and hurled time and again. My swinging fists mostly met with air, and I doubted I did the ghost any real damage.
After about another ten minutes of this, I think the Count got tired of kicking my ass.
As I picked myself up off the ground, wiping a bloodied lip that was already healing, I heard the van start up again.
I turned in time to watch it peel out of the hotel parking lot, driven by, of course, that lovesick fool Dylan. Emphasis on “fool.” That Dylan would willingly give his life for the corpse, I had no doubt. This would, of course, pose a problem.
Especially since the Count materialized, clinging to the back of the van like a fly stuck to a spider web. Dylan was driving way too fast for me to catch him in my weakened state.
I waved to the crowd that had gathered outside. The crowd that had watched me getting my ass kicked by an invisible entity. Of course, from their perspective, I’m sure it looked funny as hell. Yes, I even saw two goons with cell phone cameras at the ready. I was sure I’d be trending on YouTube by midnight.
I nearly said, “It was a ghost. What did you expect? Give me a break.”
But I didn’t, of course. I gathered what little of my pride remained, gave the crowd a half-smile and a half-wave, and slipped back into my hotel room before the cops came.
* * *
I took a hot shower, which always feels good, since I’m perpetually cold. Any warmth, especially warm blood, was always appreciated.
My body had healed almost instantly after the ass-kicking. I wasn’t worried about that. My pride? Naw, I wasn’t worried about that either. Nothing to be ashamed about, getting one’s ass handed to them by an invisible, psychotic ghost.
Now, what to do about that invisible, psychotic ghost was something else entirely.
How the entity managed to generate enough physicality to not only attack me, but to do real damage, was something I’d never heard of or seen, let alone felt.
I gripped the shower head, ducked my own head under the steady, hot spray, and tried to wrap my mind around what the hell was happening here. A short while later, my conclusion was simple...and troubling.