by Mac Flynn
"What time did you wish for the dinner?" Roland spoke up.
"You're still going to treat me, aren't you?" I returned. He smiled and nodded. A mischievous grin slipped onto my face. "What about noon tomorrow?"
"That would hardly qualify as a dinner," he pointed out.
I sighed and slid down in my seat. "I guess that means brunch on the veranda is out of the question."
"Very, but for dinner I was thinking of five. Your shift starts at six, so that would leave us plenty of time to relax and talk," he explained.
"Dining over soup and talking about spooks?" I quipped. Roland's shoulders slumped just a little and his smile faltered. I sighed and glanced down at the soul box in my hands. "So what place were you thinking about going to?"
Roland brightened. "Any location you wished to eat."
I grinned. "So even Casa Royo?" I suggested.
"Expense is no matter to an immortal," he pointed out.
I looked him over. His clothes were simple and a little dirty, and I'd never seen him give anybody his two cents, much less money enough for a meal.
"You're not going to hypnotize them into giving us a free meal without washing dishes, are you?" I asked him.
Roland dug into his large coat and pulled out a black wallet. I had to admit this guy could accessorize. He opened the top of the wallet and revealed a lot of Jacksons and Grants, two of my favorite presidents.
"Does that quell your concerns?" he wondered.
"Yeah, but not my curiosity. Do those presidents have a lot of vices somewhere else I can meet?" I returned.
He smiled and pocketed his wallet. "A very great many, but where does your tastes lie?"
"South of the border," I told him.
He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Mexican," I explained.
Roland frowned. "Wouldn't you rather go to a more fashionable establishment?"
I gestured down to my uniform. "I work at a diner. A drive-thru with seating is upper-class. Mexican will be fine, and a change in pace. They probably use a different lard than Ralph's."
He smiled and bowed his head. "Then Mexican it is."
I leaned back and looked him over. "Can you even taste food? And I'm not talking about the usual vampire kind that walks down the sidewalk."
"Food has flavor, but it doesn't feed my appetite," he explained.
"So you could eat it until you burst?" I guessed.
"In theory, yes," he concurred.
"Well, don't go eating too many chilies at the restaurant. I don't want to be peeling vampire off the walls because you not-so-spontaneously combusted," I warned him.
CHAPTER 3
I went out later that morning, and came back with a large plastic bag in my hands. That was tucked into my bedroom away from prying vampire eyes. I don't know why I bothered hiding it during the day. I could have stuffed it into his coffin and he wouldn't have noticed. Hell, I could've stuffed it into his mouth and he wouldn't have noticed. But human habits are hard to kill, and I went back to sleep with the bag stuffed under my bed.
My alarm went off. It was time.
I jumped out of bed and dragged the plastic bag out from beneath its depths. The clothes inside the bag were a little wrinkled, but a little blemish on the sisterhood wasn't going to send me into eternal damnation. Maybe I'd have to do some Hail Marys and drink wine for a few hours, but I could live with that. If I remembered any of it.
The sun was just setting when I donned the last of my outfit. The neck and hood were the worst to put on, and I had to tuck Frank's necklace inside so I didn't ruin my consistent theme. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and grinned. Roland was going to love this. Maybe he'd even have a heart attack that would jump-start his heart and-
What was that?
My eyes caught on something at the corner of the mirror. It was the reflection of the tub and shower, but something was wrong with the curtain. There was someone behind it. I could see half their pale face behind the curtain. I grabbed the bar of soap and spun around.
"Come out or I'm going to clean your clock!" I threatened at the intruder.
I found-nothing. No one was there. I stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain. The tub was empty of everything but bits of hair and dust. I dropped the curtain and ran my hand through my hair. The hand that held the soap. I dropped the soap and ran a cloth through my hair. Maybe I'd seen nothing, but I couldn't help but believe I'd seen something.
I stepped out and stood by his coffin waiting for the moment when the dead would rise and get the shock of his un-life.
My wait was short. The sun set and fingers emerged from beneath the lid. The top opened and Roland sat up. He turned to me and blinked. That little blink may have been small, but coming from him it was worth a thousand times more money than I spent on the costume. He looked me over and raised an eyebrow.
"A nun?" he guessed.
I was indeed dressed in a full nun's outfit, complete with white hood and cross around my neck on a slip of string. My feet were invisible beneath the cloak and hid the only non-nunning part of my costume, my tennis shoes.
I shrugged. "I figure if we're going out on the town I could point to you and tell people I'm exercising my demon."
Roland stood and stepped out of his coffin to the side, careful to avoid me. His eyes were on my chest and he frowned. He nodded at the cross. "Is that necessary?"
I fingered the little trinket. "I can't exactly wear a Star of David. Besides, it's only rubber. You wanna feel?"
I held it out to him and was surprised when he took a hasty step back.
"The power of the cross lies in the wielder, and not in the makeup of the cross," he reminded me.
"Then you're safe there because I'm a practicing agnostic, but speaking of makeup, maybe you need a little dab here and there on the cheeks," I suggested. I stepped up to him and studied his face. "And maybe some red lipstick on your lips so the effect isn't so real."
"I would rather immerse myself in a church," he returned.
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing?"
"As a creature of the devil I cannot enter holy areas," he explained.
"So what about cemeteries?" I wondered.
"Those are less hallowed, but it does depend on who is interred there," he told me.
"So don't go into a saint's graveyard, but one full of politicians is fine?" I guessed.
"More or less," he agreed.
"Well, we'll be sure to avoid that. So what say we get the dinner over before I'm late for work?" I suggested.
He smiled and bowed his head. "I'm prepared."
"Good. Let me get some water and-" I turned to the kitchen and paused. "Um, Roland?"
"Yes?"
"Is your soul box glowing?"
"No."
I pointed at the kitchen. "Then what's doing that?"
Roland stepped up to me and stared at what I pointed at. Just even with the kitchen counter and behind it floated a single bread knife. The spirited serrated blade hovered in front of its open drawer where all my cutlery was contained. More knives floated from the drawer and joined its bread brethren to hover a foot short of the counter closest to where we stood. Other drawers opened, and soon the kitchen was full of floating utensils, dish towels, and an egg beater.
Roland passed his soul box to me. "It seems we have a have a visitor," he commented.
"The invisible man?" I guessed.
The answer came when a mist slithered out of the floating kitchen items and twisted together in long strands three feet off the floor. The mist formed a figure of a tall, slim woman. She had long, pale hair and skin, and wore a white dress with a filthy apron over the front. She was also the person from the mirror.
Her eyes were a little red-colored as they looked between Roland and me, and there was a poutiness to her lips that reminded me of a child who'd had their favorite toy taken away after knocking over mom's favorite lamp with it.
"The not-so-invisible woman?" I rephras
ed.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "I am Violet, a spirit trapped in this world," she corrected me. She spoke in a prim and proper manner like someone out of an old movie.
Roland stepped in front of me. "What has brought your wanderings here?" he asked her.
She pointed a transparent finger at the box in my hands. "That is what I seek. It awakened me from my spiritually slumber and given me new life, and I demand more of such life."
"I'd hate to break it to you, lady, but this soul's already taken," I quipped.
"How did the soul revive you?" Roland interrupted.
The woman shook her head. "I know not, but that there was a great flash of light in the place in which I resided, and I found I was unchained from that hateful place of my wanderings." She turned her heated eyes on me and thrust out her hand. "Now I demand more that I can walk among the living and taste life again."
"Like I said before, it's already called for. Besides, we don't know how to work it," I told her.
A blue glow erupted from her fingers, and a matching glow came from the box. The glow from the box burst from beneath the lid as a straight line and traveled to her hand. Her see-through appearance became less so and a faint color came to her pale cheeks.
Roland grimaced and swept me, box and all, into his arms. He dashed into the bedroom and the blue-light contact was broken. The woman screamed like a banshee and the cutlery flew after us. Roland slammed the door shut behind us. I was still in his arms and glanced over his shoulder, and saw the tips and prongs of knives and forks stab through the door and stuck there.
The wielder of my cutlery floated through the wall and held out her hand. The soul box glowed bright, but before it could make a collect call between spirit and soul Roland ran to the open bedroom window and flung us outside. We flew up and away from my apartment building. My nun hood fluttered in the wind, but I pulled it back and glanced behind us. The spirit floated through the bedroom wall and followed, but her astral speed was stuck on turtle mode while Roland had his on panic.
Unfortunately, speed was all he had. We'd only gone a few miles over the town when he sputtered and descended into one of the wooded parks. There was a small pond nearby with a few fat, sleeping ducks. Their weight wouldn't carry them south to their condos, but the park-goers would provide fro them during the winter.
We landed on the damp grass near one of the park trails. Roland set me down and stumbled over to a bench. He caught one of the arms and leaned over it. His back was turned to him.
"Why couldn't we get a little more distance between her and us? Maybe a state or two?" I asked him. Roland's reply was to fall onto his knees. "Roland!" I yelped as I knelt beside him. The faint glow from his soul box illuminated his strained face. "You okay? What'd she do to you?"
He clutched his chest with one hand and ground his teeth together. "She. . .she stole a piece of my soul," he gasped out.
I blinked at him. "She can do that?"
"Apparently," he hoarsely whispered.
"Are we talking three-quarters or just a teaspoon?" I asked him.
"A great deal more than I wish," he answered.
"Well, let's get you a little more comfortable," I replied.
He shook his head. "I will be fine. I merely need some rest," he insisted.
"Then you'll be just as fine on the bench," I quipped. I helped him onto the seat and sat down beside him. His face was as white as a bleached sheet and his body was stiff. "What if I give you some blood? Would that help?" I offered.
"This is a matter of the soul. Blood only assists my physical form," he explained.
"So what happens if she steals all your soul?" I asked him.
"Then I will be completely drained of my existence and cease to be," he told me.
I leaned back and glared at the pond in front of us. "If that's the Lady Violet Ned told me about then I think we can drop the 'lady' part. And how did she find us?"
"As all the others found us, through the energy given off by my detached soul," Roland explained.
"So since it's detached she's thinking about attaching it to herself," I mused.
Roland struggled to his feet, and I jumped to mine and caught his arm so he could lean some weight on me. "Whoa there, cowboy! You can't think of wrangling a spirit in your condition."
He shook his head. "It will continue to worsen if the spirit isn't confronted and my soul retrieved."
"You have any idea how to do that?" I asked him.
"No. For once I have no past experience with such a dilemma," he admitted.
I felt the color drain from my face until I was as white as Roland. "Then how about we get a plan of attack together? Otherwise she might K.O. you the next time we face her."
"You spoke of this Violet before. Is there any truth to the story?" he questioned me.
I shrugged and readjusted the collar on my costume. "After knowing that vampires and were-sheep exist I'm ready to believe in a car accident."
"Is there any place that keeps such records?" he persisted.
I furrowed my brow. "The police probably destroyed what they had, if they ever had much, but if it was a bad accident the papers probably mentioned it."
"Where can we find records of these papers?" he wondered.
"The library should have a bunch of old copies, but I don't know if the librarian would be crazy enough to be open on Halloween," I told him.
"Then to the library we must go," he told me.
Then I heard a softened shot ring out.
CHAPTER 4
Roland grabbed me and pushed us both to the ground. A bullet struck the bench where we'd just sat. Roland helped me to my feet and he looked towards the pond. I followed his gaze and saw that a man stood there. He was dressed completely in black with a pair of night-vision goggles over his eyes. Even in the getup I still recognized our old enemy, the vampire hunter David Ginsleh. He had his gun barrel pointed at us.
"Get out of the way, sister!" he shouted at me.
The idiot was so single-minded he must not have realized what day it was. Roland tried to step in front of me, but I stepped in front of him. If Ginsleh expected a nun then he'd get a nun, and be nun the wiser.
I held out my hand. "Have mercy, my son!" I insisted.
"Mercy on a monster? You don't know what you're saying, sister," Ginsleh told me.
"He is but a stupid lost soul! Have mercy on him!" I pleaded.
Ginsleh shook his head and positioned his eye behind the scope atop the barrel. "Not this one. He's too smart. I knew he couldn't be dead. Then I heard about the attack on the Squash Festival and knew I had a job to finish." He pressed his finger against the trigger. "Now step aside, sister! I don't like collateral damage, but I must destroy this beast!"
"But you must believe it wasn't this creature! It was a were-sheep!" I insisted.
Ginsleh looked over the scope and frowned. "A what?"
"A werewolf of the sheep variety," Roland explained.
Ginsleh sneered at him and raised the scope to his eyes. "Werewolves don't exist, and in a moment neither will you."
I held up one of my hands, and the other cradled Roland's soul box. "You must stop this senseless violence!"
Ginsleh paused and squinted his eyes at me. "You look familiar. Aren't you-"
My eyes widened and I pointed at the pond. "Duck!"
Ginsleh whipped his head around. Roland flew past me and pulled back his arm. Ginsleh turned around and Roland's fist connected with the side of his face. Our erstwhile hunter flew backwards a couple of yards and landed with a heavy splash in the pond. The ducks quacked and scattered, and in their retreat they gave Ginsleh a bit more beating.
"Yes!" I shouted. Then I noticed Roland cradled his hand in his other one. I noticed that small plumes of smoke rose up from his knuckles. "You okay?" I asked him.
He nodded. "I am, but the hunter is most thorough. He wears a protective sunscreen infused with silver."
I walked up and studied his skin. It was blacken
ed like Ralph's toast, and smelled like Ralph's tuna surprise. I wrinkled my nose. "What if you ate that stuff?"
"The results would not be pleasant," he told me. He tilted his head to one side and studied me. "But how did you know I would have the speed to attack him?"
I shrugged. "I didn't, but I figured it was either try that or get a vacuum to suck up your dust."
Roland smiled. "I'm glad the vacuum won't be needed."
"Me, too. There's no plugin nearby," I agreed.
A noise from the pond roused our attention, and we turned in time to see the hunter rise to his feet. Gone was the majesty of his black outfit, and in its place was a camoflauge of muck and sticks. Ginsleh swiped off some of the mud from his goggles and pointed the barrel of his dripping gun at us.
"Die, monster and his scum!" he yelled.
Ginsleh's finger pressed against the trigger. Roland and I battled it out who would be in front of whom, and the vampire won. He stepped in front of me and held out his steaming hands on either side. Ginsleh's gun fired, but instead of the muffled report there was only a muzzled 'glop' and some mud slid out of the end of the barrel. The hunter watched with wide eyes as the muck drip into the dirty pond water. His body shook and he ground his teeth together.
Roland swept me into his arms and flew us high into the sky. The last I heard of Ginsleh was his terrific roar of frustration and a few choice words, none of which were learned in Sunday school. Except maybe if the Apocrypha was studied.
"He really needs some anger management problems," I quipped. Something caught my eye and I glanced behind Roland. My face fell and my eyes widened. "Um, speaking of problems, we have one. A big one."
Roland flaoted in place and looked over his shoulder. Behind us was a streaming mass of mist that covered the clear Halloween sky over the park. Its arms flanked us on either side. We were stuck between the ground with the angry hunter, and the sky with the angry spirit. The spirit made our decision for us when the mist swooped in and wrapped its white tendrils around us. We were pulled apart, but I tucked the soul box against me and didn't let them take it.