The Curse of Tenth Grave

by Darynda Jones

  Either he had serious bladder issues, or they were EMFing me. I’d never been EMFed before. Not in public, anyway. I couldn’t decide if I should be insulted or flattered.

  I stopped at their table. Gave them all a thorough once-over. There were three and a tail. The three were men around my age, so old enough to know better but young enough not to care. They were your classic nerds. One even wore a pocket protector in his button-collar shirt. I thought those went out in the eighties.

  Two of them had dark hair and looked similar enough to be brothers. They were pudgy and cute. The kind of guys that set your mother at ease when picking you up for a date, only to be the decoy for your real date, the bad boy from down the street who raced his motorcycle through the neighborhood at midnight. Or that was my experience, anyway.

  The third one had been the driver every time I’d spotted them. He had light brown hair, too long in the front, and a bit of an overbite. He was also the one wearing a pocket protector. I’d have called him PP if the name hadn’t been taken by a poodle.

  I stood at their table for over a minute, waiting for them to look up at me, absorbing the panic that was rushing through their veins. They clearly had not expected contact.

  Finally, in unison, they looked up at me, their mouths slightly open, and I couldn’t decide if they were afraid of me or in awe.

  “Are you EMFing me?” I asked.

  The meter was going crazy underneath the table, and Pocket Protector was trying frantically to shut it off. Either that or he was playing with himself. Neither was acceptable.

  “Tristan,” one of the brothers said. “Just—” He shook his head, telling his friend to give up the game.

  Tristan, though I liked Pocket Protector better, brought out the meter that measured electromagnetic fields. Ghost hunters liked to use it to detect ghosts, believing they put out electromagnetic frequencies that could be detected. After some fumbling, he got it turned off, then had the decency to look sheepish.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

  “There’s a video,” Tristan said, his voice trailing off when he saw my expression.

  “Ah. Right. Well, it’s amazing what they can do with special effects these days.”

  “We know the guy who posted it,” one of the brothers said.

  “And you are?” I asked.

  He jumped up, and the other two followed suit. “I’m Isaac. This is my brother, Iago, and our fearless leader, Tristan.”

  I didn’t shake their outstretched hands. They turned to each other in discomfort, then offered me a seat.

  “Please, join us,” Isaac said.

  Cookie shrugged when I looked at her, wondering what I was doing. I held up an index finger and decided to join them.

  “So, you know the guy who posted it?”

  Tristan nodded. “He saw it firsthand. He said he was there when it happened and that he’s been obsessed with supernatural phenomena ever since.”

  I was starting to understand what it was like to be a rock star. They all gazed at me, their faces full of awe and reverence.

  “Is that how you found out where to find me?”

  “No,” Iago said. He seemed quieter than his brother. “He wouldn’t tell anyone. He said he’s been keeping an eye on you and is going to have a documentary soon.”

  Motherfucker. “Can he even do that?” I asked, so offended it was unreal.

  “I don’t know,” Tristan said. “He’s going to try.”

  “If he wanted me to be kept a secret until he could put out this documentary, why did he post the video in the first place?”

  “I don’t think he expected anyone to recognize you.”

  Iago nodded in agreement. “He was trying to build buzz. And now that you’ve been identified, he’s really upset.”

  My ire rose several notches with each word out of their mouths. “Do you have the name of the guy that I’m going to have to kill?”

  They all gaped, believing me.

  Tristan snapped out of it first. “Just his online name. He goes by SpectorySam.”

  Motherfucker. Again. He was e-mailing Amber trying to get an interview with me? No. No way. If he knew so much about me, he knew exactly how and where to find me. He was e-mailing Amber for inside information. Probably tricking her into saying this or that. I’d have to get on top of it and fast. He could try to meet with her.

  “So, let me get this straight. You guys are here to make money off me, too?”

  Their eyes went so wide, it was almost comical.

  “No,” Isaac said. “Never.”

  Tristan leaned toward me, wanting me to understand. “We’re more like urban explorers. We don’t change anything. We don’t do anything that will affect the future.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s your angle, then?”

  Tristan laughed softly. “Burning curiosity.”

  “But most are hunters,” Iago said. “Not explorers. They aren’t like us.” His gaze darted to the table of the other hunters I’d spotted earlier. “Most are in it for the money and the glory.”

  “Mostly the glory,” Tristan said. “There’s not a lot of money in this, unless you have a great subject.” He dropped his gaze, embarrassed he’d said such a thing. I felt it burn through him.

  “Look, what makes you think I’m the real deal? That guy is lying. I guarantee it.”

  “You put out an electromagnetic field,” Tristan said.

  I played it off with a laugh. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  All three shook their heads as though they’d choreographed it.

  “Oh.”

  “We won’t tell.”

  “Um, thanks? But you can’t follow me around, okay?”

  “We weren’t—”

  I stabbed them with my best glare of skepticism. Their faces fell, but they nodded, disappointed.

  “Just be careful,” Tristan said. “The other team members aren’t professionals like we are.”

  He was a doll. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he had a tail. A shadow. A departed who’d taken it upon himself to follow the guy around. The entire time we’d been talking, the departed man, who was in a straitjacket no less, stood behind Tristan, staring down at him, his face full of rage. But he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to strike up a conversation just then.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the tape.”

  I figured I should say good-bye. Reyes had glanced out the kitchen door several times, wondering what was going on, so I wished them my best and decided to pay the second team a visit while I was at it.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t have the sense to be worried when I stopped at their table. They had a completely different feel entirely. They were polished, clean cut, with expensive haircuts and even more expensive gadgets, especially in comparison to Tristan’s team.

  I stopped at their booth. Looked them over. Found them lacking in spirit and character.

  Tristan and the brothers were passionate about what they were doing.

  These guys, on the other hand, all four of them, were privileged. Expectant. And in it for the money. I could see the hunger of the hunt in their eyes. They wanted to catch me doing something so bad they could taste it. Then what? Sell it to the local news station? Who would even pay for something like that? Something that would make them look like idiots?

  They weren’t the least bit surprised that I’d stopped, but I was. The more I looked, the more surprised I became.

  “You’re SpectorySam,” I said to the one sitting closest to me.

  He’d been hiding underneath a baseball cap. He took it off and let me see his face. My jaw dropped. It all made sense now.

  “You douche,” I said to him.

  One of the team members immediately took out a small camera to film our interaction. I narrowed my lashes, and he put the camera down, but I wasn’t stupid. He’d already hit RECORD and w
as angling it just enough to capture anything I did or said.

  “Douche?” he asked, his French accent still as thick as I remembered. I wondered if they were all French. Sam was the only one I recognized. But back then I knew him as Samuel. “That’s not very nice.”

  My temper rose so quick and so fast, Reyes stepped out of the kitchen. I saw him in my periphery. He was wiping his hands on a towel, assessing the situation before him with what looked like only a slight interest. In reality, he was on guard. Completely alert. His muscles tense and ready to move should the need arise.

  I forced myself to calm, then leveled my best glare on Samuel. “You recorded that video.”

  During my stint in the Peace Corps, we often encountered teams from other countries or even visitors who flew to the region once a year to help in any way they could. Samuel was on one such team. His parents had made him join. I remembered him talking about it. He talked about a lot of things when I was around, certain I couldn’t understand him.

  “I did,” he said, quite pleased with himself.

  “Why? Why would you even follow me?”

  “You were … how do you say?” He lifted his napkin and touched the sides of his mouth before he continued. “Unique. I knew you were different from the moment I saw you.”

  “I’m just like any other girl, Samuel. I told you that then, and I’m repeating it now.”

  “And I knew better, cheri. I followed you often. Watched you talk to no one. Saw you drop to your knees when they came close.”

  “Myself. I was talking to myself. Crazy people do that.”

  “You were talking to apparitions. To those who have passed and still wander the earth. And when they come close to you, it is like ecstasy.”

  “I guess I’m not the only crazy one in the room.”

  “I have it on camera. You were talking to nothing and then you told the—” He leaned into his friend and asked him for the English equivalent of elders. His friend answered, and Samuel came back with, “Ancestors of town.”

  Close enough. He meant the village elders. I knew exactly where this was going.

  “You tell them where to find the body of old woman. You say you find it. Is accident. You, Charlotte, are liar.”

  “Or maybe you’re just a sore loser?”

  He bit down, his turn to know where I was going.

  “You tried to kiss me. I said no. You kept pushing it, so I slapped the shit out of you. I think perhaps you were a little resentful?”

  “You mistake your value. It is what you Americans do.”

  This was getting me nowhere fast. I scooted into the booth next to him so we would be at eye level. They had to squish together to fit me in.

  “So, what’s this all about, Sam? What are you trying to accomplish?”

  He shrugged. “I decide to make film. Documentary, yes? You are big business.”

  “You think—?”

  “I do,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. If he wasn’t careful, he’d cut his own throat with it.

  “I wasn’t finished. I meant to ask you if you think you’ll live that long.”

  The other three men in the booth tensed and looked at their friend a little more worried than they had been.

  “All we need is interview, and we will leave.”

  “I think not.”

  “We know who you are,” Samuel said, his words broken around the edges.

  His thick accent was almost impossible to understand at times. Now was not one of them, though. I was getting every word. Every syllable.

  “We know what you are.”

  It was a threat. Give them an interview or else. But, seriously, or else what? What could they do? Throw me into ghost-hunter jail?

  Still, a threat was a threat, and it stung. This wasn’t about me anymore, however. He had been talking to Amber. Manipulating her into giving him information.

  Despite the anger pulsing through my veins, driving the blood through my body faster and faster, I smiled. Put my elbows on the table. Leaned my head on my clasped hands. And said in the softest voice I could manage, “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t be speaking to me in broken English.”

  At last, his smile faltered. Just a little.

  I leaned closer, going in for the kill. “If you knew what I was, you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

  Then I put my mouth on his. I wasn’t sure why until I did it, and then I knew. I showed him. What I was. What I was truly capable of.

  He couldn’t move as I pressed images into his mind. Things I’d seen. Things I’d done. Things I’d do to him given a good enough reason.

  I showed him just enough to put the fear of God into him. I felt his body lose all its energy, all its life force, as he watched the atrocities play out in his mind, unable to close his eyes to them as though they’d been injected straight into his brain. Then I felt him lose control of his muscles, but he stayed locked against me, unable to move, until I heard a whisper in my ear as though from miles away.

  “Dutch,” it said. Soft. Unhurried. “You’re killing him.”

  I felt my face being pulled off Samuel’s. Turned. And another’s lips taking the place of his. Scalding. Sensual.

  The kiss did what I had just done to Samuel. It stole my energy. It siphoned my will, but I fought back. I showed the intruder images. Of things I’d seen. Things I’d done. Things I’d do to him given a good enough reason. But these images were not morbid or horrific or atrocious. They were a visual representation of all the feelings I had for him. My husband. My dark, cryptic, mystifying man.

  He deepened the kiss. Drove his fingers into my hair. Breathed fire into my mouth as his tongue pushed past my teeth and he drank his fill. Passion overrode all other thoughts. A warmth pooled in my abdomen as his heat leaped out and swallowed me. He put a knee on the bench. Wrapped a hand around my throat. Pressed into me.

  And then he took control. He pushed his thoughts into me, pushed his energy into me, constricted and released, deep and sensuous, until wetness flooded my panties. My legs parted involuntarily. Wanting more. He pulsed through my veins like electrical energy. Tugged at my inner core. Drew me closer to the brink of orgasm.

  And then we were no longer in the restaurant.

  Then we were no longer in the city.

  Then we were no longer on Earth.

  Star systems rocketed past us. Creatures from other dimensions swam around us. And suns collided. Exploded. Showered us with a billion shards of light.

  I gripped the table so tight my fingernails broke against the wood. The pleasure of pain brought me spiraling back to the present. Reyes was bent over me. His breath ragged. He pulled back, and his face showed the same surprise I felt to the marrow of my bones.

  Then I remembered where we were. What I’d done. I turned back to Samuel. His hands were clasped tight on the table in front of him. To steady himself. To try to keep his hands from shaking. But his entire body shook, so it did little good. A combination of tears and sweat streamed down his face.

  I stumbled to my feet. Reyes helped me, his movements as unsteady as my own. Then I glared at every man at the table, taking my time with each, making sure the threat was clear.

  Ignoring the wetness between my legs, I leaned into Samuel to make sure he got the message and said just below my breath, “If you e-mail or try in any way to contact Amber Kowalski or Quentin Rutherford, I’ll stop your heart from ever beating again.” I leaned in closer. Put my mouth to his ear. “Then I’ll rip it out and shove it down your throat.”

  I straightened and almost lost my balance. Reyes caught me, but his gaze was on Samuel’s crotch. From the looks of it, he’d wet his pants. I knew how he felt.

  Cookie rushed over, and the two of them took me into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Tristan and the crew had noticed that last exchange. Their saucerlike eyes would suggest that they had. As had every woman in the place. The awe on their faces, the longing, and the hush that had come over the entire restaura
nt would suggest I might’ve taken it a bit far.

  Reyes had leaned me against a prep table while Cookie grabbed me a glass of water, and nobody said anything. I was in shock. Cookie didn’t know what to think. And Reyes … who knew about Reyes? What he must think of me? I literally possessed the kiss of death. What would have happened if he hadn’t stopped me? Could I really have killed Samuel? Would I have?

  “So,” I heard a voice say from beside me. “That was pretty intense.”

  I turned to see Angel, my thirteen-year-old investigator. Or at least he’d died when he was thirteen.

  “I thought you were on assignment.” I glanced at Reyes to make sure he was okay with Angel shirking his duties. His attention had been dragged to a shortage of corn tortillas by Valerie.

  “I am, and it’s great and all, but damn. That was hot. I almost came, and I’m dead.”

  I glowered at him. Now was not the time. “What are you doing here?”

  He raised his palms in surrender. “Just updating the boss.”

  “Why?” I asked, softening my voice. “Who are you watching?”

  He leaned close enough for me to see the peach fuzz on his face. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and since you’re a god and all, well, you see my dilemma, belleza.”

  Damn. So close.

  15

  I miss being able to slam the phone down in anger.

  Violently pressing END CALL just isn’t the same.

  —MEME

  That afternoon, I interviewed several of Emery Adams’s friends and coworkers. They all had glowing reports. She was a hard worker. She was professional and smart and kind. She looked out for the little guy. She didn’t take shit from doctors.

  From everything I could tell, Emery was the most liked woman in the history of mankind. Then who would want to kill her? Somebody either hated her or her passing was a random act of violence. She was the squeakiest clean I’d ever encountered. Besides, perhaps, Cookie Kowalski.

  But nobody was liked by all. It was a statistical impossibility. She was a hospital administrator, for goodness’ sake. They had to make some pretty tough decisions. Someone had a beef with her, but was it enough of one to kill her?