Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1)

by Kerry Blaisdell

  She seemed quite proud of the whole thing, and I had to admit, it made sense. I mean, was it any different than a mother sucking poison out of the snake bite on her child’s arm?

  “But what kept him here in the first place?”

  She peered at me for a long moment, then shrugged. “He Christian—he should go vhere zey go.”

  “Are you all pagan, then?”

  She spat. “Pagan—is Christian vord, for vhat zey no understand.” She gestured at the departing Dead. “Zey no vish to leave. Some no believe in your God, in your Heaven. Ozers, da—but choose to stay.”

  She obviously knew more about this than I did. I wanted to question her more, but Eric stirred, shivering violently, so I asked, “Is there another blanket?”

  Her face creased in a frown. “Da. I get it.” She waddled away, leaving us alone.

  He regarded me solemnly. “You came back.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t explain to myself why I had, let alone to him. His whole body shook, and it occurred to me he’d be warmer indoors. But surely Nadezhda would have suggested moving him if it were possible. I reached for his hand under the blanket. Far from the earlier heat, his skin was now ice cold. He gripped my fingers convulsively, and somehow, I found myself lying next to him, trying to warm him with my body. He brought his arm out from under the blanket and held onto me, eyes drifting shut while he shook.

  Nadezhda found us there a few minutes later. She’d brought several blankets, which she piled over us, then she lay down on his other side. We made an odd little trio, but then, none of this was any weirder than the rest of my situation.

  Gradually, Eric’s tremors slowed, then stopped. His pseudo-breathing became more regular, and he relaxed. Nadezhda closed her eyes, clearly settling in for the night. I hadn’t planned on staying, but after all this, I sure as hell couldn’t leave. My own lids were heavy. I yawned once. Then I fell asleep.

  ****

  When I awoke much later, I was sprawled with Eric under the mound of blankets. Nadezhda was gone, and so was the moon. It was pitch black, and we were alone. At least, I hoped we were. I wasn’t exactly afraid of the Dead now, but I didn’t think they liked me much. There were those hands choking me at Pamukkale, and the foot that kicked me off the ledge.

  Nadezhda had called me the Destroyer, and not in reference to Eric. Her ghostly lair had to be close, since it only took a few minutes for her to bring the blankets—maybe in one of the crypts nearby. If I could find her, I’d ask her what the hell she’d meant. I’d also just remembered the rock. Hearing it had driven Eric from my mind and finding him made me forget it. So much for multi-tasking. If I planned to parent a seven-year-old, I’d need to work on that.

  I sat up, trying not to wake Eric, and looked around. Based on my jumbled memories, I was only a few yards from the last place I’d felt the vibration. Probably too much to hope it was still detectable, but I had to try. Starting from where I thought I was standing when Nadezhda found me, I spent fifteen minutes walking outward in concentric circles, staying quiet and moving slowly. Unfortunately, whatever I’d sensed was now gone, or I wasn’t in the right area after all. I returned to Eric feeling depressed and out of sorts.

  Nadezhda sat on a grave marker a few feet away, waiting for me. “I bring him clothes,” she announced, indicating a neatly folded pile near his head.

  “Thanks.”

  She pointed to a stone next to hers. “Sit.”

  Well, why not? I’d wanted to question her, and I was at loose ends. Having found Eric, I didn’t know what to do with him. I’d lost the rock again, and I still had Geordi and Jason to worry about. Sitting with a ghost-witch amidst thousands of dead people seemed like the perfect way to while away the night. Which, I noticed, waned fast, it being much lighter now than when I woke. I’d have to head back soon, or my only two living friends would find me gone—assuming they hadn’t already—and freak out.

  As soon as I was settled, Nadezhda demanded, “Vhat you do viz him?”

  “I don’t know. Is he…okay?”

  In the deep gray of the early dawn, her eyes were reflectionless pools. “Da. And, nyet. He full Dead now—but he maybe no belong here still.”

  “What do you mean? There are lots of Dead here—why shouldn’t he be one of them?”

  She shrugged. “He no like zem. He Catholic—he believe.”

  She said it like this explained everything, and in a way, it should have. Michael should have been at Eric’s death, should have guided him where he needed to go. So why hadn’t he?

  I hated this, hated not knowing why, or what to do. “Then why didn’t he pass on?”

  “Vhy you are here?” Her gaze was sharp, and I looked away fast. She didn’t know—couldn’t know. Could she? Did the Dead have special powers of perception?

  I countered, “Why do the Dead hate me?”

  She laughed. Not a cackle for once—a deep wheeze of amusement, her eyes crinkling and her whole body shaking with mirth. “Da, zey hate you. You no treat zem viz respect. You and your partner—you vell-known to ze Dead.”

  Partner? Shit. Of course the Dead hated me. I stole from them—Vadim and I both had. Especially Vadim, who’d “rescued” artifacts from graves all over this region. But being the Life-centric beings, we were, it’d never occurred to us the possessions still meant something to their owners. If I were a hardworking stiff, coming back to the crypt after a long day doing whatever the Dead do, and I found all my creature comforts gone—well, I’d hate me, too.

  Nadezhda, ever observant, watched all this process in my expressions, then nodded toward a still-sleeping Eric. “Zey like zat you help him. You still help, maybe zey no kill you.”

  Great. I already wondered what to do with him. Now, if I made a mistake, an Army of the Dead would be out to get me. On top of the Mob and the Demons, it seemed a bit much.

  Eric stirred, and Nadezhda pushed her bulk off the gravestone. She was so short that with me sitting, our eyes were nearly level.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Home. He yours now.” She turned to leave, and I scrambled off my own stone.

  “Wait—”

  But she moved surprisingly fast, weaving through the crypts and tombs before vanishing into the shade of the hillside. I would have followed her, but I could hear Eric stirring behind me. Besides, the sky was seriously lightening. Merde—I had to get back to Denizli.

  I turned in time to see Eric zipping the pants Nadezhda had brought him. He was still shirtless, though. I’d seen rather a lot of his nakedness last night. At the time, I’d been too terrified of the Dancing Dead to focus on anything else. Now, his muscles—smooth, healthy—rippled invitingly in the pre-dawn light. His ordeal had left him a little gaunt, or maybe he was just lean, not an ounce of excess flab anywhere. I felt a rush of something both inappropriate and disloyal to Jason, and quickly averted my gaze. Not that I was with Jason. But everything was so complicated, and lusting after Eric would make it worse.

  After a moment, he said, “You can turn around now.”

  I started at the sound of his quiet voice, then wiped all improper thoughts from my mind and faced him. He’d pulled the shirt on and was finishing up the buttons. The clothes suited him—khaki slacks that hugged his narrow hips, and a loosely tailored white shirt, which he left open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up. His old clothes, torn and bloody, had been beyond repair, but his socks and casual dress shoes were fine, and Nadezhda’d left them nearby.

  “How do you feel?” I asked as he laced them up.

  “Bon. Never better.”

  His tone held the habitual note of irony, and I thought, some things never change. He finished with his shoes and stood, fully meeting my gaze for the first time. His expression was…intense. But at the same time, unreadable. I didn’t know what to do with it—what to do with him. And he clearly expected me to know.

  “What next?” he asked quietly, as though wishing to respect the peace of this place.


  “I have to get back. To Denizli. You can come with me…if you want.”

  Why was this so awkward? After what we’d shared, we should have an easy bond. Instead, perhaps because I felt responsible for him, and he felt obligated to me, we were tied together whether we wanted to be or not. Plus, I couldn’t help feeling that what he knew about me was way too personal for such a short acquaintance.

  He took a step forward. “Mon ange…” His voice was low and hoarse, but from emotion, not pain. The last thing I wanted was his gratitude, especially when all I’d done was take him up on his offer of a car.

  I said on a rush, “I’ve got to get back. I can’t wait any more.”

  The sky was light enough that I had no trouble seeing the terrain. We were a good fifteen minutes from where I’d parked the car, and there was still the drive across the valley after that. Jason and Geordi would be awake for sure by the time we got back, and I’d have to pretend I’d gotten up early and gone out, to cover my all-night absence.

  Eric’s eyes darkened, but after a moment he nodded. “Of course. I will come with you.”

  We folded the ghost blankets and left them beside one of the tombs for Nadezhda to find—it still freaked me out how real they felt—then Eric followed me through the necropolis onto the museum path, which led to the North exit. In my hurry, I stumbled on the uneven trail, and he reached out a hand to steady me. I was increasingly aware of him, of his “body” as I persisted in thinking of it, close behind me. Before, he’d needed my help. Now he was strong and whole, and helping me. Our dynamic had changed, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.

  We passed through the gate to the bus parking lot in the rear, where I’d left the car. I opened the passenger door for Eric, then got in the driver’s seat and we took off.

  I have to say, if the Turkish police had been around, I would’ve been stopped, ticketed, and probably arrested on the spot, considering the number of traffic violations I committed in my race back to Denizli. Of course, it being Turkey, maybe I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Eric grabbed the safety handle when I first floored the accelerator, then shrugged and relaxed into the seat. I suppose being “kind of” dead, then having your putrid parts chomped off by ancient spirits, to make you “full Dead,” might account for a laissez-faire attitude toward haring down the highway at top speed.

  By the time we reached Denizli, the day had fully begun. The city was awake, markets and stores opening, the business of Life in full swing. I parked in the spot the car had been in before, ran around to get Eric’s door—I didn’t have time to wait while he dematerialized, even supposing he’d want to—then hurried into the hotel with him right behind. Now that he’d been “healed” he kept pace better, and we made record time up the stairs.

  As we passed Jason’s door, I checked the bottom, hoping to see if the light was on, but the seal was too tight. I inserted my key into the lock on my own door and turned the knob, pushing inward a crack. Thank God—my room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn, and the bathroom doorway showed that it and Jason’s room beyond were also unlit.

  I tiptoed inside, waiting for Eric to follow, then closed the door quietly and fumbled in the dark to set my purse on the dresser.

  “Mon ange…” Eric began.

  “Shh,” I whispered needlessly, since no one but me could hear him. “I need to change—go somewhere else or turn around or something.”

  “Ta gueule!” he said at the same time the bedside lamp clicked on, revealing Jason sitting upright on the bed, legs out, fully dressed and—yet again—mad as hell.

  “Tell me where the fuck you’ve been all night, and who in God’s name you’re talking to, or Geordi and I walk.”

  Shit.

  “I tried to warn you,” Eric murmured, and I couldn’t even tell him off, because Jason stared me down, just waiting for me to take another ride on the Crazy Train.

  His gaze took in my slept-on-the-ground, hair-messed-up, dirt-covered appearance, and hardened. He pushed off the bed, advancing on me, and I backed up, bumping into the dresser.

  “Jason,” I began, but stopped. I had nothing—no way to explain this that wouldn’t make him madder. So I tried a change of subject. “Where’s Geordi?”

  “Still asleep.” The look in his eyes was terrible. “I came in here at midnight, after he conked out, figuring we could finally talk. Imagine my surprise at finding you gone, without even a note to keep me from going insane with worry.” His hands fisted at his sides, but I don’t think he was even aware of them. Everything he had was focused on me, his long, lean body tensed, hair standing out like hackles on an angry cat. “I mean it. I want answers—now.”

  Beside me, Eric was pretty tense himself. “Ask him who he is. Make him tell you that, before you tell him anything.”

  While I agreed with Eric on principle—Jason had a lot of nerve demanding answers from me, when he’d revealed so little—still, I didn’t want to alienate him more than I already had. The down side to him being so adept at getting us here was that I was now thoroughly dependent on him. And he’d been patient overall—I didn’t really blame him for being mad now.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I had to do something, and it couldn’t wait.”

  “What could be so damn important you risked your life—jeopardized Geordi’s safety—to go God knows where, doing God knows what, at night, alone?”

  Put like that, it did sound like a bad idea, but the logic was wasted on Eric. He thrummed with so much energy, my hair crackled. He stepped toward Jason, hand twitching to his side where I assumed his gun holster should have been.

  “It’s okay—I’m okay,” I said carefully, hoping Eric would know I spoke to him, while Jason would think the same.

  “No, it is not,” Eric said tersely. “He should not speak to you this way. Nom d’un chien—I have seen him somewhere, I am sure of it!”

  A muscle in Jason’s jaw twitched. “You’re lucky you weren’t raped or murdered. I promised to keep you safe—I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Safe.” The viciousness of Eric’s tone made me jump, and Jason’s eyes narrowed. Eric glowered at him. “He does not keep you safe. Ask him—ask why he is here. Ask him who he is.”

  Cold fear shuddered down my spine. Even though Jason was right there, watching me, I turned to Eric. “You know. Don’t you?”

  Eric met my gaze steadily. “Non. But—” he began, at the same moment that Jason yanked my arm and spun me around so hard I stumbled, only to have him haul me back up and pin me against the dresser.

  “Ouch!” I yelped as it jabbed me in the spine. “Let go of me!”

  His grip tightened even more. “Answer me—what in God’s name is going on?”

  In a heartbeat, Eric was at my side. “Cochon!” he spat, as though Jason could hear him. “Release her!”

  I’d never seen him this worked up, except the first night we met. That was terrifying. I had to calm him down. For one thing, he was barely recovered from his ordeal, and all this anger couldn’t be good for him. For another, he popped with so much force, anything he did might affect me, whether he meant it to or not.

  I didn’t think Jason would hurt me on purpose, either, but how could I tell Eric that, without making Jason madder? Jason’s eyes flashed, almost black with fury, but I saw fear in them also. I’d scared him—was scaring him more right now.

  I blew out a breath and said deliberately, “Jason. I know you aren’t trying to hurt me.”

  “Fils de salope!” Eric snapped. “I know his type—if you do not tell him what he wants, he will hit you next.”

  The statement was so outrageous, I turned to Eric. “He won’t! Jason would never hit me.”

  Big mistake. Making my words seem like a total lie, Jason gave me a shake so hard, my teeth smacked together. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”

  I shook my head, but before I could speak there was a loud crack! like a fast, sharp ligh
tning bolt. The air sizzled and popped, and my hair stood on end. And then the vase of flowers on the dresser flew up and smashed Jason on the head.

  He stared at me for half a second, stunned, before his grip loosened and he toppled over.

  “Bâtard,” Eric muttered.

  “Tata Hyhy?” said Geordi from the bathroom. “Did Jason die?”

  Merde.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It may be that we have all lived before and died, and this is Hell.”

  ~A.L. Prusick (1941-2008)

  “Jason’s fine, sweetie,” I said quickly, dropping down beside him and hoping I wasn’t lying. Eric sizzled behind me, but I couldn’t demand explanations in front of Geordi, so I said, “He just had an…accident.”

  Geordi’s somber gaze took in the smashed vase and nasty red welt blooming on Jason’s forehead. “Oh.”

  Jason would have a doozy of a headache when he woke up. But would he remember how he got it? Either way, I was screwed. If he remembered what really happened, he’d want to know why a vase conked him on the head of its own accord. And if he didn’t remember, he’d think I threw it. Geordi’d apparently chosen scenario number two. He hesitated in the doorway, watching me uncertainly.

  “It’s okay,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “Jason tripped and bumped the dresser, and the vase fell.”

  Geordi still seemed doubtful, but he came and sat on his knees by Jason’s head. I cast a quick glare at Eric, whose sizzle had slowed to a simmer, and mouthed, What the hell was that?

  “I do not know.” I glared harder, and he raised his hands. “Truly, I do not. I was…upset. Your friend”—he made it sound like a dirty word—“hurt you. I stopped him.”

  Geordi was absorbed in watching Jason for signs of recovery, so I shook my head and mouthed, He wouldn’t.