by Norris, Kris
“Blake Smith.”
“Sheriff Garrison.”
The man lumbered around his squad car, stopping in front of them, one hand resting on the handle of his gun, the other palmed on his hip. A deep flush laced his cheeks and his nostrils flared as he took a series of quick breaths. He nodded at Blake. “You know something, Smith? When Sheriff Tanko from Carson City called me and said some dumbass cowboy had vandalized the State Archives and Library building, then tore out of town in a suped-up Chevy truck heading my way, I just knew it was going to be you.” He took a step forward, nearly bumping Blake in the chest. “I’m pretty damn certain I told you and your brother you weren’t welcome in Virginia City.”
“I believe your exact words were, ‘don’t make a habit of dropping by’.”
Garrison’s skin flushed a deeper shade as he breathed heavily in Blake’s face. “Are you getting cute with me, son?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff. And I assure you, I wouldn’t be in Virginia City if it wasn’t a matter of life or death.”
The man snorted, crossing his arms on his chest as he finally acknowledged Payton’s presence. His gaze swept up and down her without pausing, before sliding back to Blake. “The last time you had a life or death situation in my town, you set an abandoned building on fire.”
“Technically, Avery set the building on fire, and we explained that it was to dispose of some rather nasty ghosts that had taken up residence in your town. As I recall, we had a number of eye-witnesses to the hauntings.”
“And those eye-witnesses are the only reason you got asked to leave instead of tossed in jail!” He pulled his mouth into an intense frown. “What’s so important that you’re back?”
Blake glanced over at her and gave her hand a squeeze. “Ted Dalton.”
Garrison’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded. “What about him? He’s been dead for a hundred and twenty years.”
“Dead, but not gone.”
Garrison scowled, turning to Payton. “And just how do you fit into all of this Ms. Scott? If I recall correctly, you’re new to our town and weren’t here when the Smith brothers ransacked my town.”
“Blake came here because I asked him to. We’re old friends. I was having some odd occurrences and he volunteered to help me out.”
“Of course he did, even though he knew he wasn’t welcome here.”
Payton glared at the sheriff as she stepped in front of Blake. “That thing has been trying to kill me for the past two days. If it wasn’t for Blake, I’d be trapped in my gallery, most likely dead.”
Garrison scrubbed a hand over his face as he motioned toward the church. “Please tell me you’re not planning on doing anything permanent to our church, because I promise you that won’t go over well, ghosts or not.”
Blake placed his hands on her waist and gently eased her beside him. “I’m only here to drop off Payton where I know she’ll be safe. There’s a small artifact I need to acquire so I can put Mr. Dalton to rest…permanently.”
Garrison cursed. “Now why does that make me nervous?” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Maybe it’s because when you say you’re going to put Mr. Dalton down, you really mean you’re going to make one hell of a mess for me to clean up!” He exhaled roughly. “Where’s your brother?”
“Avery’s not here. He’s in Montana, on his honeymoon.”
Garrison chuckled. “I see.” He nodded at Payton. “So perhaps ghosts aren’t the only thing you’re chasing in my town, Mr. Smith.”
Payton gasped and palmed her hips. “Sheriff Garrison!”
The man merely shrugged. “Ghost hunter or not, a man doesn’t travel all the way from Phoenix just to help some crackpot find the light. Now I suggest you two get back in your truck and—”
Garrison’s voice cut off as the air around his car swirled upward, creating a funnel of dust and dirt. Blake grabbed her by the waist and pulled her backward, half carrying her to the front of the church.
He spun her around, placing her in the doorway. “Stay here. No matter what happens, don’t set foot off of this ground!”
She looked over his shoulder, unable to speak as a dark cloud hovered over the street, the edges reaching toward her like spider legs. Blake hissed at her to stay back as he loaded the tube and fired, sending a blast of salt into the center. The mass swirled faster then barreled toward them, vanishing into nothing as it hit the invisible barrier surrounding the church. Smudges of black marred the pristine white steeple as the winds slowly died down.
Blake gave her a nod then bolted for the truck, barely making it inside before the apparition was back, this time in full form. The ghostly cowboy moved in front of the truck, his spurs jingling as he walked. He stretched his arms toward Blake but pulled them back as he hissed in pain. Dalton turned to look at her, his face twisted in anger. Blake revved the truck, driving into the ghost and sending it skyward. It lost substance and faded away, but Payton knew it wasn’t gone for good.
Garrison pushed to his feet, staring at the sky as if trying to decide if what he’d seen was real or not before he ran over to Blake’s truck, talking to him through the window. Garrison nodded and jumped in his car, roaring off, lights flashing, siren blaring. She met Blake’s gaze one last time before he revved the engine and took off, his truck disappearing around the next bend.
Blake swore as the truck shimmied around the corner, hiding Payton from view. He hated leaving her there, but he couldn’t risk her safety, not when he knew the ghost would stop at nothing to get what it wanted. And while he wasn’t sure why it wanted Payton in particular, he knew he wasn’t going to let it succeed.
He hit the accelerator, flying down the road before skidding to a halt at the Washoe Club. Garrison was already there, his lights still flashing on top of his car as it sat idling half on the road, half on the sidewalk where it was wedged beside a wooden pillar. Blake pulled in behind him, searching the sky before crawling out the passenger side and darting inside. A gathering of people lined the bar, watching as Garrison fiddled with something on the wall. Blake nodded at the men and stepped inside, heading toward Garrison when the bottles on the bar rattled.
“Get down!” He ducked under a table just as three bottles flew across the short distance, exploding against the table. Shards of glass crashed to the floor, leaving a tinny vibration in the air.
Blake peered around the side of the table, surveying the damage. Only his table had been targeted, though the other patrons had taken refuge beneath the bar. Blake steeled his determination and dashed out, moving over to Garrison. The man was crouching at the end of the bar, his gun in one hand an old knife in the other.
He shook his head as Blake snuck in beside him. “I don’t know what in the hell you’ve stirred up this time, Smith, but I’d appreciate you getting rid of it.” He held out the knife. “I believe you were looking for this.”
Blake took the knife, immediately sensing the energy pulsing through it. If it wasn’t what was binding Dalton here, it definitely held some sort of power over him. Just holding it made him materialize in the bar, his ghostly silhouette merging with the shadows. A round of gasps lit the air as the apparition took a step toward Blake.
Blake stuffed the knife in his belt and reached for more salt when he spotted another relic behind the bar. He lunged over and grabbed the poker, then stepped out, brandishing it in front of the specter.
Dalton laughed and reached toward him only to recoil on a hiss of pain.
Blake tapped the poker. “It’s made of iron, Einstein.”
Dalton growled then vanished.
Blake didn’t waste any time. He ran for his truck, diving through Dalton’s semi-transparent body as it appeared in the doorway. Shivers raced down Blake’s spine followed by a flash of goose bumps as the spirit’s energy collided with his. Blake rolled, hitting the tire as he spun to a stop. A new kind of fatigue burned his muscles and he knew the damn ghost had taken some of his energy for itself.
“Damn, you’d better stay there, girl, or I’ll spank your ass red.”
She had to stay safe. He couldn’t imagine it any other way.
He took the turnoff to the graveyard, following the road as it snaked along the hillside before driving through the parking lot toward the far edge of the grounds. The vehicle bounced along the narrow gravel road circling the plots, kicking up stones as he looked for the small wooden cross Garrison had said marked the ghost’s grave. Scrubby shrubs dotted the landscape as the sun glared down at him, the brightness dulled by a thin layer of clouds. He’d never witnessed a spirit this out of control during the day, and hoped the knife was indeed the key.
He circled around the back of the graveyard, drawn to a series of plots off to his right. He slowed down the truck, staring at the collection of crosses lined across the ground. “Fuck, Garrison. There’s a dozen bloody wooden crosses.”
Blake cursed again, getting as close as he could without damaging any of the graves. The last thing he needed was to resurrect another spirit by desecrating their grave. He looked around. The cemetery was vacant with only the twirl of small dust eddies blowing across the landscape. He clenched his jaw, more than aware that Dalton was just waiting until he was vulnerable before attacking.
Blake reloaded his tube, keeping it close as he jumped out of the truck and ran for the back. The wind picked up and a breathy hiss echoed across the open space. He ignored it, opening the tailgate and grabbing his bag of supplies and a shovel. He laid the shovel across one shoulder when an icy hand closed over his other.
He didn’t even turn, just aimed the tube backward beside his waist and fired. The blast reverberated through the graveyard, making his ears ring as he glanced over his shoulder, smiling as the apparition lost cohesion again. He took the momentary lapse as a chance to run for the graves, more salt at the ready. The names on the wood were faded, the writing hard to read. He passed by three before he stopped, drawn to a faint mark on the next cross. Though the wood had been heavily weathered, there was no mistaking the first three letters in Dalton’s last name.
Blake acted quickly, laying down a circle of salt around the grave before adding a healthy dose of holy water. A howl sounded above him and he ducked as the ghost swooped toward him only to have his essence scattered as he hit the barrier. His voice rose in a hiss of anger as he reappeared several feet off, nothing but a swirling black mist.
Blake pushed to his feet and started digging, knowing he didn’t have much time. The salt wouldn’t hold the spirit back forever. The more attempts it made to break through, the weaker the barrier would get until it’d find a way around it. He stomped on the cold metal end, trying to dig through the hard earth. He managed to make a small hole and felt a rush of adrenaline. Just a few more feet and he’d have this bastard right where he wanted it.
He worked quickly, careful to keep the displaced dirt away from the ring of salt. Every pass of his shovel drew a growl of rage from the specter until it rose up again, slamming against the line. Each impact sent up a shower of sparks as more of the crystals were destroyed. Blake kept working, knowing his only recourse was to gain access to the coffin and burn the contents along with the knife.
Sweat beaded his brow as he worked his way lower, pausing once to reinforce the ring. But every moment he delayed was another that the ghost could use to its advantage, and Blake knew his time was almost up.
He plunged the shovel in again, connecting with something harder than the dirt. He poked at it, smiling at the sound of metal on wood. He’d broken through, though the hole was hardly big enough to open the lid. While he hated the thought of destroying part of the coffin, he knew his options were limited. He only hoped that it’d be big enough to cleanse the entire corpse.
Blake cleared away the last square of dirt, using his shovel to break through the lid. Pieces of wood splintered off in every direction, sending up a plume of dust from within. He waved his hand to clear the air then looked down at the grave. Yellowed bones stared back at him, the man’s skull still sprouting bits of hair. He turned away, searching through his bag for some lighter fluid and matches. Once he’d lit the coffin on fire, he’d toss in the knife and sprinkle the remains with salt.
He snagged the bottle and opened the lid, dousing the contents with fluid as he placed the box of matches beside his knee. One more minute and their friend would be nothing but a bad memory.
Blake tossed the empty bottle on the ground reaching for the matches when a hiss sounded beside his ear.
“Too late.”
The menacing voice grated through his head as the spirit picked him up and tossed him across the opening. Blake crashed into the wooden cross, cracking it when he bowled it over then rolled across the ground, pain sparking through his body. His skin burned where the spirit had touched him, and he was certain he’d bruised a few ribs.
The black mist materialized above him, the cowboy’s hand reaching out through the veil and closing around his throat. A burning chill sizzled along his skin as the ghost lowered on top of him.
It hissed again, showing a row of crooked teeth as it snarled at him. “She’s mine. She’ll always be mine.”
Blake clawed at the man’s arm, but his hands passed through. The chill moved lower, making it hard to breathe. Blake reached for his pocket, praying a handful of salt would be enough to loosen its grip, when the spirit tipped its head up and roared in pain.
A billow of smoke rose up over its shoulder followed the sound of wood crackling. The ghost released him and turned, expanding outward until it hovered over him and the grave, its harsh cries drowning out every other sound. Blake groaned, the burning sensation finally waning as he pushed onto his elbow, trying to will his body to move, when flashing lights caught his attention. He looked toward the grave, only to have his breath stall in his chest. Garrison’s squad car had pulled in behind his truck, the lights reflecting off the gray cloud. Blake could only see the outline of four people standing on the grave, their identities hidden by the increasing column of smoke.
He rolled onto his knees, coughing against the pain when the ghost howled in rage as its form started to dissolve. A set of hands wrapped around his arm, followed by the soft press of lips on his temple.
“God, Blake, are you okay?”
Payton’s sweet voice washed over him, her hands tracing up and down his sides. They passed over his ribs and he groaned, a new pain blazing to life.
She froze, her face hovering next to his. “Jesus, you’re hurt.” She cupped his biceps, helping him to his feet. “You are the most stubborn man—”
“You can curse me later, but we need to finish this. I don’t know why it let me go, but we don’t have much time. He’ll—”
She silenced him with a gentle finger on his lips. “It’s over, sweetie. He’s gone.”
Blake blinked, feeling more than a bit confused. “What? How? I…”
She crushed his next few words as she pressed her lips to his, the simple beauty of her kiss stealing what little breath he had. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, thankful she was safe.
Thoughts tumbled through his head and he pulled back, breaking the kiss. “I thought I told you to stay put? Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?”
She chuckled, giving him an amused smile. “You told me to stay safe, and how much safer could I be than with you and your brother.”
“Brother?”
Blake looked over her shoulder as she motioned behind her. The smoke had dwindled down to small tendrils, clearing the air over the grave. Avery was tossing more salt into the hole, while Temperance emptied one of his bottles of holy water. The scene seemed surreal and he hadn’t realized he’d
taken a step until Payton shouldered most of his weight.
“Wow, easy, sweetie. Looks like you did more than just get a scratch or two.”
“I’m so confused.”
She laughed again, helping him stumble over to the gravesite. Temperance smiled as she recapped the bottle, elbowing Avery in the ribs.
He turned, shaking his head as his gaze swept down Blake’s body. “You know, little brother, if you wanted to step out of the background and be more than a techno nerd, all you had to do is say so.” Avery waved his hand around the grave. “I didn’t need for you to put on a show.”
“Very funny, bro.” Blake accepted the hug Temperance gave him, trying not to grimace from the gentle squeeze. “Are you sure you want to stay married to him? I’m sure it’s not too late to get the entire thing annulled.”
Temperance laughed as Avery tried to punch Blake in the shoulder, before pulling her flush to his side. Her face lit up at the simple contact and Blake knew it’d be a cold day in Hell before they called it quits.
Avery gave her a chaste kiss. “Trust me. There’s no hope of an annulment now…not after the last week.”
Blake rolled his eyes in feigned disgust. “Feel free to spare me all the gory details.” He glanced at Payton, wondering what had transpired already. “So, have you two been introduced?”
Temperance winked at him, nodding toward Payton. “Briefly. But then it’s not every day you get to meet an old flame.”
Blake cringed inwardly, wondering what move to make next when Payton laughed and touched his arm.
“Blake, sweetie, they’re joking. Everything’s fine.”
He furrowed his brow, not sure if they were being honest with him. He turned to Avery. “So how the hell did you know to come to Virginia City? The last time I saw you two, you were heading north with every form of technology safely turned off.”
Temperance motioned to Avery. “Oh please. You know your brother. He can’t resist all those toys you make for him for long.” She chuckled. “Turns out cabins are just as haunted as hotels. Anyway, we ventured into town to ask you about one of the devices only to discover you weren’t home. And when we couldn’t raise you on your cell last night, we suspected something was wrong.”