Not that she was paying attention. Her eyes were devouring Death. “Do I have to sell my soul to get a hot guy to show up and bring me back when I’m fatally injured? Even if the answer is yes, just tell me where to sign.”
I frowned. I wasn’t used to anyone else being able to see Death, and an oddly possessive streak urged me to step between them and tell Briar that if there was going to be any ogling, it would be by me. I didn’t do either, but I did move closer to Death. And my shoulder might have been slightly in front of him.
Though he didn’t make a sound, I could feel the amusement radiating off him and knew he was aware of exactly what I was doing. Then he stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, the hard planes of his chest against my back and his warmth engulfing me.
“Damn, Craft, I never thought I’d be jealous of a girl who just got her guts ripped open.”
Yeah, about that…I forced a smile. How the hell was I going to hide the fact I was walking around with large holes in my abdomen? Redirection.
“It was a good day,” I said. “We got the ghoul, saved Tamara and the OMIH officer, and no one else died.” Much. “But I think we should probably leave.”
She glanced back into the cemetery. “You sticking around for clean up?”
Crap. Yeah, I guess we couldn’t leave smoldering ghoul around for visitors to find.
“I actually need to steal Alex,” Death said, releasing my shoulders.
Briar’s dark eyes darted to the parking lot, where only her SUV was parked. She gave Death a sideways glance, but shrugged. “I’m used to working alone anyway.” She started to turn, and then stopped. “Craft, aside from the almost dying part, you did okay in there. I’ve seen grown men wet themselves when facing ghouls.”
Crap, compliments. I nodded in acknowledgment. “It would have been better without the ghoul ripping me apart.”
“The MCIB wouldn’t pay me so much if more people survived my job.” She shrugged before reaching into her jacket and pulling out a small card. “Taking out a nest in the middle of the day is a good way to do things. Call me if you’re up to searching more graveyards for me.” She held out the card. I was still hiding my stomach wound so Death was the one who reached out and accepted the card. She stared at him a little too long before turning back to me. “But, Craft, don’t think this means I’m not still watching you. Don’t leave the city.”
I smiled, hoping she’d take it as agreement and get the hell out of there. The look she gave me wasn’t quite as suspicious as any previous time she’d studied me, but even if the woman had complimented me, it was clear I hadn’t won her trust.
Finally she headed into the cemetery to deal with the corpses, and I turned to Death.
“I take it you swapped our life essences?” I asked and at his nod, I opened my arms to reveal my destroyed torso. “So now what? Will I heal?”
“Not exactly. Alex, I’m going to need an oath from you that you won’t reveal the secrets you learn in the next few hours.”
“You don’t need my oath for that.” I rarely discussed the collectors and I never revealed anything that wasn’t common knowledge, at least among grave witches.
“I do, and not just a promise because even a fae can be forsworn.”
Damn. I hated oaths, but I tapped the magic in my ring and forced it to coat my words as I let him swear me to secrecy. Once I finished, he nodded his approval.
“Now close your eyes and hold your breath,” he whispered.
I did, and his warm arms wrapped around me.
Then the world vanished into a sea of magic as cold as the grave.
We reemerged a second later. As the warm air wrapped around me, I opened my eyes, gasping.
“What was—” I stopped. We were in my apartment.
PC jumped to his feet in the center of my bed, his tail tucked and ears quivering. Then he realized it was me and yipped in greeting before lunging from the bed.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, but as I moved to pick him up, I felt things inside my gut shift and squish in ways that seemed more than a little not good. Nothing was falling out at the moment—I wanted to keep it that way.
PC danced around me, but when I didn’t pick him up, he gave up and moved to Death. The dog was so not loyal. Death leaned down and petted the small dog, a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“He feels different from what I expected.”
I had no response for that. Until the last month, he had been in my apartment all the time. It never occurred to me that I’d never introduced my dog. He’d been able to interact only with objects that I touched while touching him, my planeweaving forming a bridge long before I even knew about the ability. But now Death was mortal and could interact with anything he wanted. He couldn’t stay mortal. That had to unbalance the world or something, didn’t it?
“So, uh, what now?”
“We have to get you mended,” he said, picking up PC.
“Excuse me?”
He pressed those full lips together, as if he wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking, but he already had my oath so after a short hesitation he said, “Soul collectors aren’t exactly immortal, but we are unchanging.”
“Like the fae.”
He shook his head. “The fae like to think themselves unchanging but they are simply unaging.” PC licked Death’s chin and he jerked back in surprise before smiling and scratching behind the dog’s ear.
“Okay, so soul collectors don’t change. I kind of knew that. You’ve looked exactly the same since I was five.”
“It’s more than the way we look. We can have that altered if we desire. But we don’t change at all, which means if we are hurt, we don’t heal. We have to be mended.”
I absorbed all this. The last time Death had exchanged essences with me a cop had shot him—that’s sort of a hazard when you do major magic in the middle of an active crime scene. He’d seemed fine as soon as I gave him back his essence, and I’d assumed he’d healed. Of course, I had holes in my lungs and rearranged innards and they weren’t slowing me down.
“So then, I need to see this…mender? Where is he?” And would he fix me? I wasn’t a soul collector.
Death frowned and set PC back on the bed. “I can’t take you. This mortal body has certain limitations.”
“If you took my essence, your body should be fae.”
“Still mortal.” He smiled and walked over to me. “Just much longer lived.” He put his hands on my hips, careful not to touch any of the wounds. “Now we need to get you cleaned up so that the others can take you to get mended.”
Others? “Not the gray man.”
His brow pinched. “Gray man?”
Crap, I always forgot that the collectors didn’t know what I called each of them. But they wouldn’t give me their names, what was I supposed to do?
After a moment, Death nodded. “Appropriate description,” he said. “Fine, not him.”
Which left the raver. I didn’t offer her nickname, but retreated to the bathroom. I grimaced when I glanced in the mirror. With my tattered clothes—and stomach—covered in drying blood, I looked like an extra in a horror flick. And all the drying blood? It made getting my top off hell.
I ended up wearing the shirt into the shower until the water loosened the blood enough that pulling the fabric free didn’t threaten to skin me. Once I scrubbed clean, I dried off, trying to avoid my mirror. But I couldn’t seem to help myself.
Four ugly—and fatal—puncture marks pierced the right side of my rib cage. Ribbons of flesh hung from around the wound in my stomach and I could see darker things beyond the torn flesh. My stomach clenched at the sight, but at the same time, even though I could feel the wounds, they didn’t seem quite real. Maybe it was the lack of blood.
Just to be safe, I wrapped gauze around the stomach wound. I didn’t bother with charmed OMIH-certified bandages—they were expensive and if I couldn’t heal, an accelerated healing charm wasn’t going to do m
e any good.
Death looked up as I emerged from the bathroom in just the gauze and a towel. His gaze trailed over me, not in a searching-for-wounds way but with eyes that were all male interest and heat. A flush burned across my cheeks, but what was under that towel wasn’t anything I wanted to show off, that was for sure.
“I made you coffee,” he said, holding up a mug.
“Now that’s a change.”
He smiled. “Want me to hold it for you?”
I giggled, a girlish peal of a sound. The movement hurt, but I couldn’t seem to stop. It was the stress. I’d been betrayed and then warned off by Falin, feared I’d been addicted to Faerie food, started glowing, spent too long with my father, one of my best friends had been attacked by a ghoul, whom I then almost—should have—died from, and now I’d exchanged life essences with Death. It was too much for one day and I was either going to laugh or cry, though at some point, it became both.
“Hey,” Death whispered, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey, what is it?” He stroked his fingers through my wet curls. “I’ll leave the coffee making to you from now on, okay?”
I buried my face against his hard chest, but I had to smile. “It’s not that. It’s just, everything.” And I poured out every action, every fear, because he was Death. He stood there, holding me, making comforting sounds at times, offering a word or two of understanding, but mostly listening, his fingers twisting in my drying curls. “And what if the mender won’t fix me?”
“Then you’ll be a planeweaver in an unchanging body and I’ll be a collector in an unaging one.”
I shook my head. “You can’t remain mortal. But if your mender does fix me, and we switch back…” The last time I’d taken back my mortality I’d had a seizure. And we’d only switched for maybe fifteen minutes. What would happen this time?
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, and stepped back. The friendly comfort in his eyes took on a glint of a much different kind. “But for now, your coffee is getting cold.”
This time I accepted the mug when he handed it to me. It wasn’t cold yet. In fact, it was perfect. For his first time making coffee, I was more than impressed. Of course, he’d spent years watching me.
“It’s good,” I told him, and he flashed me that dazzling smile of perfect teeth and smooth lips.
I swallowed. It was a good thing the ghoul didn’t get my heart, because it was suddenly working double time. I glanced into my coffee mug. “I should get dressed.”
“For now.” That same heart-melting smile.
Oh, I’m in so much trouble. But I couldn’t understand how he could look at me with so much heat. I had to look terrible. I’d been crying and my curls were half air-dried, and then there was what hid under the towel. I cringed and set down my mug. “So if taking my life essence gave you a mortal body, how come I don’t have your incorporeal one?”
“You do. You just haven’t stopped touching mortal reality yet.”
Right. Planeweaver. Well, I had no intention of letting go of the mortal realm. But one more issue nudged at the edge of my brain.
“You have a fae body, so why aren’t you…glowing?” After all, my Sleagh Maith body glowed.
“We switched life essences. It gave you my immortality and me your mortality, but magic is part of the soul, not the body.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I’d never considered that the Sleagh Maith glow might be part of their—our—magic.
After I was fully dress and I’d walked and fed PC, Death held his hand out to me.
“Ready?”
I accepted his warm hand, and this time, when I closed my eyes, I was prepared for the cold.
“A night club?” I asked, eyeing the exterior, which wasn’t impressive with the bass thumping through the brick walls.
“Trust me, this is the most likely place.” Death started for the door. Only to be stopped by the bouncer, who wanted IDs and money.
I balked at the cover charge, but dug in my purse. Death put a hand on my arm, stopping me.
“Never mind,” he told the bouncer. Then he turned and walked back the direction we’d come. I had little choice but to follow.
“I thought you said this was our best bet?”
“It is. Hold your breath.” Then his arms were around me, a warm anchor in the sudden cold.
A moment later the chill abated. I looked around at the ugly green tiled walls with rust-stained urinals. “The men’s restroom?”
Death shrugged. “Normally if I pop into the mortal realm and a person occupies the same space, they get a chill. But with this body, I’m not sure what would happen.”
The fact it probably wouldn’t be pretty didn’t need to be said.
“Come on.” He pulled open the door and then led me into a madness of lights and bodies.
While I liked barhopping, I’d never been a clubber. Dim rooms with flashing strobes equaled one blind grave witch not having a lot of fun, so I avoided dance clubs like a particularly vicious curse of pox. This club was worse than most with fog machines pumping onto the floor and the dancers using glow sticks and charms to create elaborate trails of light following their movements. I might have Death’s unchanging and hard to kill essence, but that clearly didn’t fix my eyes.
I squeezed them closed and opened them again. All I could see were random flashes of light. Except, out in the center of the floor, I could clearly make out one solitary figure in a bright orange top with matching dreads that glowed in the black light. Her movements were fast, her body moving in time with the pounding bass. At least, until she spotted us. Then she stopped dead, her scowl exaggerated by the black light–sensitive makeup. As she stalked across the dance floor, she swept straight through several of the other dancers, making them pause and shiver. Of course, as hard as they where moving, the chill might have felt good.
“What have you done?” she asked, ignoring me completely as she whirled on Death.
“It was a necessity.”
“Well, I suggest you switch back before anyone else finds out.”
I frowned from one to the other of them. Apparently I wasn’t invited into this particular conversation. Not that I wasn’t going to join. “I need to see the mender.”
The raver glanced at me, blinking long eyelashes that glowed brilliant blue in the light.
“She means she needs mending,” Death said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him. I didn’t know if it was worry or amusement.
“You must be out of your mind if you think I’m taking her.” She threw her hands in the air, waving her nails in front of his face. “Actually, I know you are. Only a mad collector would do what you’ve done. Do you know what he’ll say about—”
“Will you take her or won’t you?” Death asked.
She cocked an orange eyebrow. “What kind of damage are we talking about?”
She doesn’t seriously want me to show her the wounds here? But she only looked on expectantly and Death nodded for me to show her. Great. I glanced around, but no one was paying attention. I lifted the bottom of my shirt, the white gauze glowing in the black light. Still the raver waited, her long nails tapping her elbows where her arms crossed her chest.
Fine.
I unwrapped the gauze. She studied the wound with more of a detached analytical expression than anything that could be considered sympathetic. “Wrestling tigers?”
“Ghouls actually.”
She nodded, and then turned, dismissing me as she addressed Death. “Well, I see why you decided this was the only option. I don’t approve, and you know he won’t either.”
He? Was she talking about the gray man or the mender? Or someone else? I had no idea how the soul collector hierarchy worked.
“I’m assuming if I disagree you’ll either find someone else or you’ll stay in that decaying body.”
“One day, you might understand,” he said.
The raver shook her head. “I sure as hell hope not.” She glanced at me. “F
ine. I’ll take her, but if she’s too mortal to make the trip or he won’t mend her, it is not my fault.”
Death smiled and inclined his head graciously. The raver only scowled in return. Then she turned to me.
“Give me your hand and drop your shields. All of them.”
I blinked at her. Was she crazy? I glanced at Death, but the raver clicked her nails.
“Now would be good.”
Death nodded, stepping back. Then he either vanished or the darkness of the club devoured him. I shivered at the thought and turned away.
I took off my charm bracelet before taking the raver’s outstretched hand and lowering my outer shields. Realities swam over my vision and grave essence reached for me, making the wind from the land of the dead tear through me.
“Look at the people—what do you see?”
“Their souls. They glow softly under their skin.”
“Good,” she said, her hand tightening around mine. The wind was still swirling around me and several brightly colored souls were beginning to stare.
“Do you have any of your shields still locked?”
I didn’t answer.
“Take them down. Now.”
“I—”
Her hand around mine tightened so hard her nails bit into my skin. “Now.”
Dropping my innermost walls wasn’t so simple as opening them like my main shields; I had to deconstruct them. By the time I finished I could barely make sense of the scene in front of me. I had to be looking at a dozen different realities, all blurring into a jumble far more chaotic than the manic light show on the dance floor.
I swayed, and the raver kept her hand locked around mine. “Can you still see the souls?”
I blinked, trying to focus. It was like looking at one of those 3-D images that you had to stare at until it suddenly jumped into focus.
Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel Page 30