I wanted my life back. I wanted the life I had before all this shit started. I wanted my job and my small group of friends. Hell, I’d pay to keep my secrets from the general public and be a town pariah again.
And as daunting and horrible as it was that there was a body to be investigated, I was still excited to get back out there. Man, how fucked up was I?
Once I got myself under control, I rejoined the buzzing group milling around my half-demolished living room. The whole room was wired, and I didn’t have a good feeling as to why.
“What?”
J pinched his brow like he was trying to stave off a headache, which only happened when shit was not adding up.
“The body is at Deadman’s Gap,” he said, like it was supposed to mean something, and then it clicked.
“Ferris Laramie,” I muttered, and J nodded his head.
Who the hell could forget a name that preposterous? J had been staring at the same damn files with me for the last little bit, and a man being pitched off the side of a mountain into a ravine was kind of a big deal. I’d probably never get the sight of Tabitha kneeling over his corpse out of my brain.
And Deadman’s Gap wasn’t exactly a happy place. There had been plenty of stories over the years about people committing suicide in that particular pass.
“What are the odds some hiker just fell, and it has nothing to do with the case I’m working on?” I asked, a tiny sliver of hope still in my heart. That could totally happen, right? A hiker or hunter or someone slipped and fell, and it was just a coincidence.
Bishop snorted out a chuckle. “Gee, Adler, I had no idea you were such an optimist. Anybody mind if we tag along?”
I didn’t mind one bit. But I was technically on the outside. J had been doing this without me for almost a year. Maybe he had a new process. Maybe he did things different. I looked to my best friend.
J, in all his wisdom, rolled his eyes at me. “Go get your badge and your gear. You’re running point. It’ll give the boys a heart attack.” He rubbed his hands together, an evil glint to his smile. “If this shit day and this shit case had any silver lining, it’s that. Sal has been getting lax as fuck without you around. I can’t wait.”
Back to work and I got to torture Sal? I couldn’t wait.
I just needed to figure out what to do with my unconscious mother first.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I barked as I watched Sal Whitestone trample all over what could have been preservable footprints in the sandy shore.
Sal was inside the yellow tape, a strawberry frosted donut in his hand as he plodded about in the dark. At my shout, he froze and slowly turned to the sound of my voice like he was trying to pinpoint a rattling snake. He visibly swallowed his bite of donut before schooling his expression as best he could.
J wasn’t exaggerating even a little, and these fucks were about to learn today.
“D-Darby Adler. I didn’t know you were back,” he replied, ignoring my question altogether.
“You’re standing on evidence, Sal,” I growled through clenched teeth, my plot to exact revenge already swimming in my head. “Do you remember what happened the last time you stepped on evidence? Hmm?”
Sal’s already-pale face went white. “You taped sardines to the bottom of all my desk drawers and filled my whole car with shaving cream.”
“Not that you could prove it,” I replied, smiling in a way that could never be construed as friendly.
“Not that I could prove it,” he parroted. “But it’s not my fault this time. It’s dark and the lights aren’t set up and…”
I held up a hand. “That’s enough. What’s the rule?”
Sal frowned at me like he was going to start yelling about how he had seniority and I was some upstart who was the town freak. Before he could open his mouth, I stopped him.
“The rule is to not go past the yellow tape until the lead detective gets here. Especially if it’s dark. Especially if you can’t see anything. And why is that?”
“Because if I can’t see anything, then I could be destroying evidence, and evidence is how we keep guilty men behind bars,” Sal replied on a monotone voice, the answer falling off his tongue by rote since I’d drilled that shit into his head.
“Exactly.” I slapped Sal’s shoulder. “This is your freebie since I’ve been gone so long. The next one will cost you. Now get behind the tape and try and find me the person who called this in,” I called over my shoulder, but I turned back, approaching him once again. “Please. You’re a hell of a lot better at talking to people than me,” I offered, throwing him a bone. Sal had been on the force since before I was born and probably should have retired a decade ago. He knew everything there was to know about Haunted Peak—the human version of it, anyway.
Sal blushed before shuddering a little. “I’d like that better, anyway. This place gives me the creeps. Full of old ghosts,” he mumbled gratefully, turning away to leave the scene. I had to wonder if he was a little more receptive than I gave him credit for.
Because Sal wasn’t wrong.
Places like this I tried to avoid at all costs. Cemeteries. Monuments. Suicide cliffs. There was this bridge out in the boonies people talked about where people went to die. Places like that were filled to the brim with ghosts. People who couldn’t or wouldn’t move on. People who begged for their final rest only to get stuck here waiting. My only solace was that my father wasn’t here. I’d put Hildy in charge of watching Dad and making sure he stayed firmly planted in the land of the living. It was a small comfort, but I’d take it.
This tiny little ravine was riddled with glowing see-through specters. Some milled about, seemingly unaware that the gully was packed with living humans. Others were staring at the humans as if they had forgotten what the living looked like. Others just appeared angry.
I wasn’t a fan of an angry ghost. Especially an angry ghost that was staring right at me.
“I know that guy,” Bishop hissed in my ear and I jumped, breaking eye contact with Ragey McRagerton to stare at him.
“What?”
“The dead guy,” Bishop clarified, not helping in the least. “I know him.”
I pulled him closer to hiss in his ear, “You’re going to have to be more specific. This place is crawling with ghosts, and one of them looks like he’s about two seconds away from going full-blown phantom.”
I broke away from Bishop and found J. “Get everyone out of here. Code Boo.”
J’s eyes widened, and he let out a whistle that hurt my ears. Granted, it had the desired effect, and techs and detectives and everyone else all popped their heads up. “Clear the area. I repeat, clear the area. Possible methane leak detected.”
A gas leak was a bullshit reason to clear everyone out, but it was tried and true. I just had to hope this ghost held off until everyone was clear.
If only I was that lucky.
14
“Code Boo?” Bishop snickered in my ear as he tagged my elbow in his large hand. How he’d gotten to me so quickly was a mystery since I couldn’t peel my eyes from the dead man across the gully. You know, the one that seemed so close to losing it.
“Adler?”
“Yeah,” I whispered back, not taking my gaze off the no-longer-living man sporting a crisp suit and tie and a lanyard hanging around his neck. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. If Bishop knew who he was, then he had to be with the ABI, right?
“What’s a Code Boo?” he asked, his breath tickling my ear. I could hear the smile in it. If he only knew…
“It’s a feral ghost in the vicinity who may become a poltergeist and harm people. She wouldn’t call it unless there was an actual threat, and she’s trying very hard not to spook the spook,” Sarina answered for me, which I appreciated. I had a feeling if I moved, the man was going to turn. “Help me clear these people out. We don’t have a lot of time.”
It had been a long time since we’d had a poltergeist on hand, and even longer since I had to
deal with one so pissed off. Calming specters was a specialty of mine, but I couldn’t exactly do that with a crowd of people watching.
I’d rather not trade in my prison stay for a psych one.
Plus, I had no idea what could happen now that I actually had juice. It wasn’t like before when I didn’t light up like a Christmas tree. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
When the majority of people were out of earshot, I made the likely stupid decision to approach the specter. Of course, it was just my luck that this guy not only knew who I was, but he also seemed to be pissed as hell at me.
Goodie.
I picked my way through the gully, trying not to get my boots wet. Not that it mattered. I had a feeling I’d be running from this guy before the evening was over.
“You,” the man hissed when I was in earshot, and it was all I could do not to beat feet back where there were people and lights and some modicum of safety. It was an illusion of safety, but whatever.
“You know me?” I asked, pitching my voice in a soft, conciliatory tone that I hoped spoke to him. It did not.
The man approached, doing that thing that ghosts did where they glide superfast and scare the shit out of you. Getting right in my face, it was all I could do not to scream my head off and take off running. “You’re the reason I’m dead, so yeah, I fucking well know you.”
Super. He knew he was dead and blamed me and knew all the ghost tricks to frighten the fuck out of me. We were getting off to a great start.
I did my best to calm my heart rate—and my brain—and ask the important questions. Too bad my voice still trembled. That wasn’t winning me any points.
“Why am I the reason you’re dead? Can you tell me anything about the person who killed you? Anything at all would be helpful.” If he knew what was going on, I would sure as hell capitalize on it. There was nothing worse than an angry ghost who had no idea why he was angry.
But my trembling tone and questions seemed to make him even madder. “Why am I the reason you’re dead?” he repeated my question in a snotty voice, screwing up his face in derision. “Take a wild fucking guess, Adler.”
It was tough not to get back into old habits of absolutely hating talking to ghosts at night. Hadn’t I been all big and bad a few hours ago in the park? So much for that level of confidence.
But this guy really did know me, or my name at least. Sure, he looked familiar, but I had no idea who the fuck he was. As someone who did their absolute best not to get people killed, his implication pissed me off. I growled under my breath and tried to tamp down the flare of rage that lit me up like a brush fire. Well, it was better than fear.
“Why don’t you spell it the fuck out? In case you were out of the loop, I have no idea who you even are. Moreover, I have no idea why out of all the people in the world, I would be responsible for your fucking death. So, pretty please, get your head out of your spectral ass and give me some goddamn info before I deport your sorry self to the hereafter and find out myself.”
Were my hands glowing like lanterns in the middle of this gorge with possible witnesses? Maybe. But my threat seemed to do the trick. Ghost boy was still mad as hell, but he relaxed some, backing out of my space.
“I work—I worked—at the ABI. I was an analyst assigned under the director.”
Okay, that was useful info, but it still didn’t tell me dick. But I let him continue without prompting. Sometimes specters just needed to talk out what they could remember.
“I was one of the agents assigned with bringing you in,” he elaborated, which told me where I knew him, but not what he was doing dead in a giant ditch. “When the building was breached, it was like the people who dealt with your case—the ones working under the director—were all targeted. It was as if they knew where we were in the building. They came straight for us.”
That opened up a pit of dread in my stomach for sure. “It was un-nested vamps, right?”
The man nodded, his anger fading a little. “Kenzari told us to get out, that it wasn’t safe, but the director told us to stay put. Then she left us there to die. She killed us. She fucking killed us.”
I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t start raging right here in this stupid fucking ravine. How many deaths were on Mariana’s hands? How long had she known Tabitha was killing people before she acted? And if she was trying to protect “me and mine,” as she said, then why leave these poor agents to die while she fucked off to safety?
None of this made any sense.
“If you were killed at the ABI building, you must have seen who killed you, right?” I prompted, hoping to have something to go on. I seriously doubted the vamps who stormed the building knew what they were doing, or if they did, I suspected their reasoning was a lie. Whoever was pulling the strings was working extremely hard to stay hidden.
Man, did I miss the days when killers were easier to find.
“Un-nesteds attacked, but the man who killed me was no vamp,” the dead agent said. “It was a white-haired man in a suit. Never seen him before. Looked young, but you could tell he wasn’t, you know?”
I nodded, massaging my temples. Most arcaners quit aging young. Vamps stopped when they were turned like Ingrid. Ghouls could be born or turned, and the turned ones could outlast the born ones by a couple of centuries, but like vamps, that could be anywhere from a few hundred or thousands of years depending on who turned them. Most natural-born arcaners aged at different rates. Witches had the most human lifespans at about two hundred years, but that was if they didn’t dabble in the hard stuff. Shifters lasted longer at about five hundred years or so. Mages could last forever if they didn’t piss off the wrong person, but most of them failed in that endeavor.
So, this guy could be a hundred years old or a couple of thousand, with any age in between. Meaning his thousand-yard stare meant precisely fuck all, except he probably had more power than I did.
“The vamps called him ‘X’ when they weren’t calling him master. The Knoxville nest might be calling them un-nesteds, but they serve someone, and it isn’t Magdalena Dubois.”
With that, I let out a groan. I was going to have to talk to Mags again, and I was pissed at her. Perfect. But what would she be able to tell me? I mean, Shiloh had been mind-wiped about Tabitha, agents had been killed and dumped, my mother had left people behind, and what? How was all this shit connected? I picked a clear spot on the ground and parked my ass there. Why would someone dump this man where another person had died?
I swear my life was peaches and fucking roses before my mother walked back into it.
Hating that I was coming up with more questions than answers, I wallowed in my tired, pissy question-laden glory until I spied a dark pair of boots in my narrow field of vision. Bishop lowered himself into a squat so we were eye to eye. The concern etched into his expression was doing very odd things to my middle.
I kind of wished we could rewind the day a few hours. Maybe leave the park or run away to literally anywhere else. For the first time since I’d been in this life, I wondered if I could hang it all up. Take a break. Go on vacation somewhere where no one knew me and live in peace for a little while.
I doubted such a thing was possible. Stuff like that just wasn’t in the cards for me, now was it?
“I don’t like that you’re doing this by yourself,” Bishop began, and then it dawned on me that Bishop wasn’t just concerned. He was pissed. Somehow in all my wallowing, I’d missed the line to his shoulders and jaw. I’d missed his rigid posture and stony expression.
“I do not like that you’re dealing with poltergeists by yourself or putting yourself in harm’s way. I hate that I just got put on crowd control duty, but moreover? I loathe that you could have been hurt.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. A hysterical giggle that signaled that I was ten steps past losing my mind—if I’d ever had it to begin with. I almost fell over I was laughing so hard. The exhaustion and fear and sheer confusion at this shit day landed on my shoulders all at once.
&nbs
p; Wiping at my tears, I finally replied, though my answer was filled with giggles. “I don’t like it much either, but nothing bad happened. Sometimes specters just need a friendly ear. Why people—living or dead—think I’m the ear they want to bend, I have no idea, but that’s my lot in life. Now, do you know the agent that was dumped here?”
Bishop nodded, and I spied a peek of sadness glinting in his eyes before he hid it behind a stoic mask. “Scott Greyson. I worked with him.”
At his somber tone, I didn’t know if I had the heart to tell him that Scott wasn’t the only one that had died at the ABI building. Likely all the people he knew—all the people he worked with day in and day out—were probably gone.
“La Roux?” Greyson whispered, and it made me jump. I’d forgotten he was here—a feat I thought totally impossible since he’d been a tiptoe away from going into a full-blown ghostly temper tantrum.
“You made it out. Man, that’s good news. I thought…” Greyson trailed off, seeming to get upset when Bishop made no move toward his voice.
“He can’t hear you, Scott. But I can, and I’ll translate if you want me to.”
Scott seemed shocked for a second, like the realization that his life was over had finally hit him. Sure, he’d known before, but now it was real. I’d seen it too many times before, the aching knowledge that no one wanted.
The ghost swallowed before giving me a hesitant nod.
“Scott was in the ABI building when it was attacked by vamps. They weren’t with the Dubois coven but un-nesteds. He was killed along with many of his colleagues in a targeted move that seemed geared toward agents that worked for the director. According to Scott, they were singled out specifically.”
I paused before adding in a little tidbit that might mean fireworks but needed to be said regardless.
“She left them there,” I whispered, unable to leave the absolute horror out of my voice. “She told them to stay put while she escaped and left them there to die.”
And that was around about the time that Bishop La Roux lost his fucking mind.
Dead and Gone (Grave Talker Book 2) Page 9