J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough

by J. L. Doty

  “Ya,” Paul said. “I’m working out a bit, a little bit, and eating regular again—” He’d almost added, now that Suzanna’s cooking for me again, but he knew better than to say that. Strath wouldn’t understand.

  “Come on in, Paul. Come on in.”

  Paul followed Strath into his office. Strath offered him a seat on the couch he kept in the corner of his office and joined him there. “I gotta say, Paul. Last time I saw you—what, three months ago? You didn’t look too good. Looked like you needed a shave, and a bath, and you were damn near anemic. You had me really worried. But look at you now.”

  “I just needed time. And it really helped that—” He bit back his words, clamped down on that thought viciously. He’d almost said, . . . that Suzanna and Cloe are back.

  Strath missed the hesitation, looked him over again and grinned broadly. “Well whatever it took, I’m glad to see the old Paul’s back.”

  “I’m not completely the old Paul, but close enough.”

  Strath shook his head sadly. “Ya, nothing’ll ever bring back Suzanna and Cloe.”

  “Ya, you can’t bring ‘em back,” Paul lied. “You can’t bring ‘em back.”

  “So what can I do for you, son? What brings you here?”

  “Well . . .” Paul hesitated. “I need to ask a favor. It took me a while, but I’m no longer buried under a mountain of self-pity. I still miss them, and it still hurts, but I’m functioning again, as you can see, and I need to go back to work, and I was hoping . . . well . . . that . . . maybe . . .”

  As Paul spoke, the look on Strath’s face slowly morphed from happiness to concern, then an almost painful grimace. “You want your old job back, huh?” Paul could see it coming. “Damn, I’m sorry, son, but I’ve already replaced you, and we’re a small firm, so I can’t carry any fat.”

  At the pain on Strath’s face Paul said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He started to stand.

  Strath pushed him back down and said, “Wait a minute.” He stood and paced across the room, a thoughtful look on his face. “But, you know, I heard Carry’s looking for someone. And if not him, there’ll be someone else hiring. The industry’s picking up, and you’re a talented guy, and I can give you a great recommendation. I hate to see you go to the competition, but let me make some calls. I bet I’ve got something for you before you get home.”

  They spent another half hour just chatting and catching up, though Paul was careful not to speak of Susanna and Cloe in the present tense. Then Paul took his leave.

  Out on the street Paul decided to get a sandwich for lunch. He turned down Geary, and as he walked he scanned the street ahead for a place to eat, but that Suzanna-feeling came over him suddenly. It was hard to describe, but after Suzanna had died, whenever she came to him she brought with her an odd sense of comfort and a little tickle in the back of his soul, and he felt that now, on the street in broad daylight.

  Stunned, he stopped and scanned the street again. A typical lunch-hour crowd jammed the San Francisco sidewalks with pedestrians, but up ahead near the corner he spotted a woman that, from behind, looked like she might be Suzanna. And as she turned the corner he caught a glimpse of her profile, and now he was almost certain it was her. He raced after her.

  The Summer Knight of the Winter Court stood on the street corner impatiently. He wore a glamour that gave him the appearance of a young mortal dressed fashionably in a business suit. It wouldn’t do to have people wondering why an immortal Seelie Warrior with pointed ears stalked the streets of a mundane city in broad daylight.

  The Morrigan, the triple goddess, the goddess of sovereignty, prophecy and war, had summoned Anogh in a dream, and he knew well that only a fool ignored such a demand. For some reason she’d wanted him on this street, on this corner, at this place and time, though, as is always the way of a goddess, she hadn’t enlightened him as to her reasons. It was a very ordinary day on a busy San Francisco street, and he stood there waiting, wondering what he was waiting for. And then the ghost of a pretty young woman walked past him, though ghosts didn’t ordinarily haunt city streets in the light of day. The apparition paused next to him, looked at him directly and smiled at him knowingly in the oddest way, then walked on.

  Of course, he could see her only because he was a powerful Sidhe mage, and, until the young man bumped into him, he would’ve sworn that no one else on the street was aware of the specter walking in their midst. The young fellow apologized quickly and rushed on, chasing the ghost. Anogh knew the young man, or rather, had known him a long time ago but couldn’t recall how or when. And since a Sidhe mage never forgets such details, he knew the goddess was clouding his mind for some unknown godly reason. Anogh followed the fellow.

  The ghost led the young man a merry chase. As he turned each street corner she was always a city block ahead of him, glimpsed for just an instant as she turned and vanished down another street. She was clearly guiding the young fellow to a destination of her choice, and only after he’d followed her for several city blocks did she turn into a store that sold expensive shoes to young mortal women.

  Katherine McGowan paced back and forth in front of the mirror, admiring the new pair of Pradas. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford them. She wasn’t wealthy, but she had plenty of money, and she already had a closet full of nice shoes, though only a few pairs this expensive. One more pair was just an impractical extravagance, and if she bought them they’d constantly remind her of her ex-husband Eric, and how much he’d disapproved of her frivolous expenditures, even though it was her own money earned by her own efforts. She was a grown woman, and he’d never stopped treating her like a child.

  “They look good on you, Dr. McGowan,” the clerk said. “They go nicely with that suit.”

  Yes, they did look good, she thought, looking at her reflection in the mirror. The Pradas were a nice touch, and they complimented the Vera Wang suit. And it wasn’t as if she had anything else to spend her money on, especially since she no longer needed to support that deadbeat ex-husband of hers. Eric would’ve been quite angry to see her buy these, so she turned to the clerk and said, “I’ll take them. And the matching purse, too.”

  The clerk smiled happily and turned to ring up the sale, and it was at that moment that the ghost walked through Katherine’s aura. She gasped as a sensation of cold yearning washed through her, reached out and clutched at a display table to keep from collapsing to the floor. The ghost wasn’t visible, but she could feel it hovering about her. She sensed its anticipation and realized it had sought her out purposefully.

  “Is something wrong?” the clerk asked. “Are you ok?”

  The moment passed, the ghost was gone and Katherine said, “Ya, I’m fine.” She made up a little lie, though it was actually the truth. “Just had one of those moments that felt like a ghost walked over my grave.”

  “Oh, I get those all the time,” the clerk said. She leaned close and whispered, “With me it’s usually a PMS thing.”

  “Ya, I know what you mean,” Katherine lied, but she thought, No, you don’t get them the way I do.

  A tinkling bell drew her attention to the front door. A fellow about her own age walked in and let the door swing shut behind him. He was handsome and dressed well, and more out of reflex than anything else she glanced down at his left hand, noted with just a little satisfaction he wore no wedding ring. She looked into his eyes and liked what she saw so she smiled, and as he smiled back she caught herself involuntarily twirling a lock of her hair with her finger.

  She pulled her eyes away from his and dropped her hand to her side, angry for reacting that way. She’d actually twirled a lock of her hair, acting like some horny little schoolgirl hoping for a Saturday night date with a cute guy. She wasn’t about to hit on some guy in a shoe store. Shoe stores and grocery stores were Eric’s style.

  The clerk smiled at the fellow and said, “Feel free to look around, and I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done here.”

  She looked at Katherine.
“Will there be anything else, Dr. McGowan?”

  “No,” Katherine said, “That’ll be all.” For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off the young man, started to fantasize about him in her bed, had to clamp down on her thoughts to end that train of thought quickly.

  He ignored the two women and scanned the store carefully with his eyes. He was obviously looking for something, and there was just a hint of desperation about him. Katherine suddenly realized he was looking for the ghost, and for the first time she paid attention to her arcane senses. Without doubt he too was a practitioner of the arcane, a strong one, and now she understood that he’d followed the ghost into the store.

  He stepped further into the store, and when he was close enough Katherine whispered, “You don’t have to worry. It’s gone now.”

  He started and looked at her, and his eyes narrowed with distrust. “She’s gone?” he asked warily.

  She, Katherine thought, the ghost of some woman who’d probably meant something to this man.

  “Yes,” she said. “She’s gone.”

  He nodded, turned and walked toward the entrance, but paused there and looked back at Katherine. Their eyes met for a long moment, a moment that should’ve been uncomfortable for two strangers, but wasn’t for some reason. Then he turned and stepped out of the store without another word.

  Katherine McGowan, Anogh thought, the Old Wizard’s daughter. Amazing!

  Anogh had assumed a glamour of invisibility and slipped into the shop on the young man’s heels. And he might’ve completely missed the connection had not the clerk called her by name: Dr. McGowan. He knew the old man’s daughter was a mortal physician of some kind, and he’d heard a vague description: thirtyish, pretty, brunette, nice figure. But merely the name and a description would not have been enough. Her arcane scent branded her, for she reeked of the Old Wizard as only family would. And the ghost had led the young man straight to her, purposefully, with single-minded determination and without deviation.

  The triple goddess had wanted Anogh to see this, the young man and the Old Wizard’s daughter. They were connected in some way, and since Anogh could easily find the young witch, he stayed close to this unknown young man as he left the shop, and he followed him all the way back to his apartment.

  “Old man Strath was as good as his word,” Paul told Suzanna. He was sitting in the kitchen watching her prepare dinner, sipping on a glass of wine. “He called me on my cell before I got home. Carry is hiring, and he got me an interview. And he’s got calls into a couple of other firms, says he thinks he can get me interviews even if they’re not hiring right at the moment. You know, plant the seed for when they are.”

  That’s wonderful, sweetheart, Suzanna said, looking over her shoulder, giving him that big smile of hers. She wore one of those lightweight summer dresses, more like a sleeveless T-shirt that extended to just below her knees. But unlike a T-shirt it was cut to hug her gorgeous figure, to emphasize it, and that made Paul long to touch her again, to hold her in his arms once more. But that could never be.

  “I saw you on the street today,” he said again, and again she ignored him. That was the third time he’d tried that, and the third time he’d gotten no response. Any mention of her on the street, and he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Maybe it hadn’t been her and he’d just imagined the whole thing. Certainly there was no reason for his Suzanna to lead him to a shoe store where that pretty young woman was trying on some sort of fancy shoes. He recalled that she was quite attractive, auburn hair down to her shoulders, wearing a smart business suit with a skirt cut just above the knees. The suit was quite conservative, though it certainly didn’t hide her figure, a nice figure, with nice legs ending in the fancy shoes.

  Guilt washed over him as he thought of Suzanna, and he said, “Smells like you’re making Suzanna’s famous pot roast.”

  And it’s ready right now. She popped open the over door, cringed back from the heat for a moment, pulled on big hot-pad mittens, lifted the steaming pan out of the oven, gave the oven door a quick tap with her heel to close it and laid the pan on the counter. She called out, Cloe, dinner’s ready.

  Coming, mom.

  She looked at Paul and smiled contentedly. It’s serve yourself, Paulie-boy, so grab a plate and dive in.

  “Damn,” Paul said, “you make good pot roast.”

  He had it, or at least close enough, direction and distance. Two blocks east, maybe one block south. The idiot had finished the conjuration so he wouldn’t find him tonight. But the fellow’s pattern was unwavering. He’d do it again around breakfast-time tomorrow morning, and the older man was reasonably confident that would be enough to narrow it down to a single building. If so, tomorrow night he’d have him, hopefully end this safely before the fellow hurt someone.

  He considered that carefully for a moment. Best to bring in some backup, just in case.

  “Stay hidden,” Karpov hissed as he watched the old fellow walk down the street.

  “Yes, Mr. Karpov,” Alexei grumbled.

  “And stay silent.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kar . . .”

  “Idiot. Silence.”

  Standing in the shadows one block west of the old fellow, Karpov considered the situation carefully. “The Old Wizard is hunting the same prey. But he’s too soft, probably find some excuse not to kill the fool. So we’ll take care of that for him. And we’ll let him do the work, let him find this rogue for us.”

  Vladimir asked, “Do you want me to follow him?”

  Vladimir and Alexei were pure muscle, couldn’t follow each other without being spotted. “No. We’ll bring in Mikhail for that.”

  Paul used his fork to peel off a big slab of pot roast and shovel it onto his plate. He speared a couple of carrots and a big hunk of potato, its flesh having taken on that brownish cast that comes from simmering in the gravy for so long. Then he scooped gravy over everything, and it was a real balancing act to keep the gravy from drizzling onto the floor as he crossed the kitchen. He put the full plate down carefully on the dinner table and sat down. A moment later Suzanna and Cloe joined him, each carrying their own plate, though neither of them had been as piggish as Paul.

  He speared a bite of potato, swirled it in the gravy and tossed it in his mouth, rolled it from cheek to cheek and sucked air to keep it from burning his tongue. “Great pot roast, honey.”

  Both Suzanna and Cloe smiled at him. “Cloe,” he said. “Tell me what you did at school today.”

  Anogh climbed the steps to the door at the front of Paul Conklin’s apartment building. The lock on the door meant nothing to a Sidhe mage; a few words and a gesture of power and the door popped open. Anogh stepped through it, closed it carefully and relocked it.

  He’d waited patiently outside the building for the young man to leave, and when the fellow emerged in the early morning wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase, Anogh knew he’d be gone for several hours.

  He took the lift to the fourth floor, and the door to Conklin’s apartment was no more trouble than that at the front of the building. Anogh didn’t know what he was looking for exactly and had been careful to avoid forming any expectations. He just wanted to know more about this young man who was in some way connected to the Old Wizard’s daughter. Such connections were never coincidental, and as far as the triple goddess was concerned, they certainly weren’t accidental. So he had no expectations as he stepped into Conklin’s apartment, and was struck by six hundred years of grief. He could never mistake the arcane scent that permeated the place, and he cringed and staggered across the room as that scent lifted the fog the triple goddess had woven through his thoughts.

  He’d known grief for centuries, but not this grief. This pain was new, and yet it was old. The triple goddess had let him grieve in ignorance, and had chosen this moment to let him understand the true depth of his loss.

  With tears streaming down his cheeks he turned and left the apartment, for there was no more to be learned there.


  It had been a busy day, starting with the interview with Carry, which was early, so Paul had rushed there right after breakfast. Then there were two phone interviews with other firms, all thanks to old man Strath, and Paul had wanted to do his homework beforehand, check out the firms carefully so he could sound knowledgeable.

  As he walked into the kitchen he wanted to tell Suzanna about the interview, but as had been happening recently she wasn’t there at first, and there was something in the way, something that prevented him from seeing her. He wasn’t concerned, however, because he’d quickly learned how to break through it. Nothing was going to stop him from seeing his Suzanna. He just had to push against it a little; not too hard, just a little, and then it popped like a soap bubble and went away.

  Suzanna was there, waiting for him. It’s just sandwiches tonight, Paulie-boy.

  Standing on the street outside the apartment building, the old man staggered and reached out to a streetlight, gripped it tightly for a moment until the vertigo passed. A nicely dressed, middle-aged woman passing by looked at him oddly, as if he was drunk, or something.

  That had hurt. He should’ve known better than to try using the locator spell again. The idiot—no, he had to stop thinking of him as an idiot. He clearly wasn’t an idiot, just foolish, then. The fool had snapped his locator spell with no effort whatsoever, just casually shrugged it aside like someone brushing an annoying fly out of their face, and there were few, if any, who were capable of doing so with such little effort. But while the spell itself hadn’t located his quarry, the power the fellow had expended to break it had provided him with all he needed.

  He let go of the streetlight, straightened and crossed the street. The front door of the building was locked, residents only. But a quick rune spell would take care of that. He looked up and down the street to insure he’d be unobserved, then bent down and used his index finger to trace the rune carefully on the surface of the door lock. It was an elder rune, used by ancient wizards to seal tombs and grimoires and their arcane workshops. But here he traced it backwards, did so seven times, each time invoking his own power and spilling a bit into it. After the seventh pass the rune glowed momentarily and the lock clicked open.