Romancing the Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I held Marge’s comb and concentrated on it. I pictured Marge in my mind—her long, wavy gray hair and tendency toward Hawaiian shirts. I could see her pretty well in my mind. The only problem was that I had no idea how to convey this information to the now-snoring Mátyás. I tried thinking at him really hard, but I had no idea if he got the image or not.

  Going to the astral plane might help. I let myself slip the rest of the way into a trance state I’d started with the song. I was exhausted. It’d been a long time since I’d gotten a decent night of sleep. My head slumped to my chest. When I opened my astral eyes, Mátyás was waiting for me with his arms folded across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

  We were somewhere I’d been before, though I couldn’t have named it. It was an empty plain with grasses bending in the wind. The sky was large, purple, and black. Mátyás too looked darker, more sinister. Dark hair fell over hooded eyes and his skin hung to a rail-thin body. His astral image wore a trench coat, ragged at the edges, and it blew in a mystic breeze. I thought his reputation as a boogeyman might be well deserved.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  Good question. I looked around. The field was unremarkable until I noticed giant, plastic comb teeth, like the bones of some ancient behemoth leading to the horizon.

  I led Mátyás along the row of spikes. We moved quickly, faster than walking somehow. His image appeared to flicker as he moved on the opposite side of the black obelisks. “You’re different here,” he said. “Did you know you picture yourself as blond?”

  I hadn’t until he mentioned it, but once he did, I had vivid images of my dream-self as the Garnet I was before Lilith. Glancing down, I saw that I had on my favorite sundress—batik images of the Venus of Willendorf patterned the material.

  “Lilith looks different than I would have expected too. Younger. More beautiful,” he said quietly, his gaze looking over my shoulder. When I looked, however, I saw only shadow. Turning around quickly, I saw nothing except the flash of an owl’s wing.

  The comb’s teeth ended in a two-story, A-frame house with no windows or doors that I could see, but Mátyás walked confidently up to it. “Normally, I can just walk in,” he told me, “but I suppose I should knock.”

  A door materialized out of the darkness, and Marge opened the door. Or at least I thought it was Marge. She was young and muscular. Mátyás seemed nonplussed by the new Marge. “I’m only going to ask nicely once,” he said with a smile that seemed more razors than teeth. “Where’s my papa?”

  The handsome gray-haired woman that was Marge shrugged. “Where the dead lie,” and she shut the door.

  Our grassy field became a graveyard.

  I held on to the door handle with white knuckles as Mátyás’s Jag raced across town at top speed. “I should have known,” he said through clenched teeth. “He’s only ever dreamed of Saint Sebastian when he’s in torpor.”

  “She told us she worked at Sunset Memory Gardens too,” I said. “It’s the perfect place to hide a vampire.”

  The Jag skipped over an uneven patch of road. My stomach lurched. “Sure,” Mátyás said, “if you drive a stake through his heart.”

  I looked over at the speedometer. The red line was well over a hundred. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”

  According to the sign, the cemetery didn’t open until eight. The ten-foot wrought-iron gate was locked. The spikes on the top of each post looked like serious deterrents.

  “Why do people do this?” I said, attempting to rattle one of the bars. It didn’t even shake despite my best efforts.

  Mátyás stabbed the shovel into the trimmed grass with a metallic, slicing sound. “To keep out people like us.” He laced his fingers and hunched down. “I’ll give you a boost.”

  I looked at the spikes.

  “They transfixed him with something like that,” Mátyás reminded me.

  I damn near leaped into his arms.

  Mátyás’s boost got me onto the second rail, and I managed to wedge myself over the top without jabbing myself too hard in the crotch. Getting my other leg over proved more difficult.

  I landed on the other side with a bruising thud. When I saw him heaving the shovel over the gate, I had to scramble out of the way. The dew-covered grass was slick and the handle nearly whacked me in the head. Mátyás was pulling himself over when we heard a growl.

  A mangy coyote strolled into the deserted street. Its lips were curled in a snarl. In the thin light of dawn I swore I could see a string of drool slide from between sharp canines.

  Mátyás dropped back to the ground. “I’m going to be heroic now,” he said. “So don’t blow it.”

  “But he’s a God,” I said. “You don’t have any magic.”

  “Not like yours, but I am my father’s son,” he said, and for a second in the half light I saw the hint of trench coat and hooded eyes. “Run,” he commanded.

  Coyote took a step closer.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mátyás’s shadow separate itself and slide along the street toward where we’d parked the Jag. The coyote’s eyes were drawn to the shadow, and it whined. While it was distracted, Mátyás hauled ass over the fence.

  “I thought I told you to run,” he said, picking up the shovel. He gave my shoulder a slight push. I got the hint and started moving. “He’s not going to be distracted by that for very long.”

  “You just did a Peter Pan,” I told him, my mouth still slightly agape. We ran blindly into the graveyard and my toes kept catching on markers. Every time I tripped over one, I was very aware that I was standing on someone’s grave. “Since when could you do stunts like that?”

  “Since I read Jung,” he said.

  My foot snagged on another stone simply labeled “Mother.” I had to spread out my hands to keep from falling on my face. “Are you talking about the psychologist? Seriously?”

  “He did a lot of work with dreams and archetypes and it occurred to me that I can walk into people’s subconscious when they dream. Once I read Jung, I realized just how much the subconscious operates in our conscious minds. If the light is right,” he said, looking up at the dark rose-colored clouds visible through the tall pine trees, “I can play parlor tricks on the mind.”

  “That’s more than just parlor tricks, if you can fool a God incarnate.”

  “Even Gods dream, apparently.”

  We’d reached an older section where the monuments became covered in moss and lichen. The stones were more ornate. Some of the fancier ones were even carved to represent extinguished torches or weeping cherubs.

  “Any idea where we should be going?” Mátyás asked.

  Speaking of dreams, I was pretty sure I’d seen this place before. A dog had been chasing me then too. What was that? Oh, the beer-and-pizza-inspired dream I’d had the night after I’d first tried to find Sebastian in the astral plane! I’d thought at the time that I was in Lakewood, but I was here. Where had I ended up? I could see a crow sitting on something, what had it been?

  “The mausoleum,” I said.

  Luckily, there was only one. The shovel broke the lock with a dramatic spark. The sarcophagus was an entirely different problem. Mátyás hacked at the granite a few times with hollow, useless-sounding clangs. “Christ,” he said, flexing his hands. “I felt that one all the way to my elbow. Did I even chip it?”

  I inspected the box. “What we need is a sledgehammer.”

  Mátyás sat down dejectedly on the prayer bench. I sat opposite him, facing the open door. The sun rose, and golden slivers of light dappled the rosebush that nearly obscured the marker just outside the door.

  “Maybe I could use Lilith,” I suggested.

  “Can you turn her off before she slaughters Sebastian and me?” Mátyás asked wryly.

  I thought I probably could, though it was true that I found it a lot easier to bring her up than to put her back. There was another problem as well. With Coyote so close, would he try to steal her again when she was out in the open and vulner
able? I chewed at my lip and stared at the roses. They were picture-perfect, the way the dew rested on half-closed buds. I could just make out the first few letters of the name inscribed on the stone: Ster . . .

  “Sterling,” I said, jumping up. “The silver bullet. That’s the key somehow. Maybe there’s something that could help us over there.”

  “Let’s hope it’s a crowbar and a pneumatic drill hiding behind those bushes,” Mátyás said.

  Upon closer inspection, it was clear the rosebush was newly planted, as was the sod. Mátyás ran back to the mausoleum to fetch the shovel and started digging.

  And digging, and digging, and digging.

  We took turns shoveling. Thank Goddess the ground had been recently disturbed or we’d still be there. Several times while I was resting I thought I saw Coyote dashing among the gravestones just beyond the hill, so I sent up wards of protection. Though I really wanted to infuse them with a blast of Lilith’s power, I decided better of it. Lilith’s energy just might draw Micah to the scent.

  It was my shift when we hit something solid. My palms were covered with blisters and even though the temperatures were only in the sixties, I’d sweated through my clothes. My arms were covered in muddy streaks. At first, the feeling of something hard beneath the shovel made me thrilled. I’d imagined a coffin just lying there, like in the movies. Of course, what I hit was the concrete vault.

  Mátyás, who had jumped down to help smooth away the dirt, hung his head in defeat. “We’re back to square one. The cemetery will be open in less than an hour.”

  Was it nearly eight o’clock already? We’d been at this for almost three hours. No wonder my arms ached.

  I heard a dog bark. Looking up from the bottom of our deep hole, I could see the gray muzzle of Coyote peering down at us. “I’ll make this simple,” he said. In a blink, he had become Micah kneeling at the edge of the grave. “Give me Lilith and I’ll give you Sebastian.”

  Mátyás, apparently, was too tired to negotiate. In one smooth move, he stood up and whacked Micah with the broad head of the shovel. Being so far down, he mostly smacked Micah’s knees, but Mátyás was already clambering up to continue the fight. I didn’t need direction to know my job was to get Sebastian out now.

  I dug my raw fingers into a corner of the vault. Even though I was standing on the lid, I gave my most mighty heave. Of course, my fingers slipped, scraped and bloody from the edges, and I fell on my ass. I could hear the sounds of fighting overhead, and though I had faith in Mátyás’s desperation, Micah was a God. He had the home-court advantage.

  I was going to have to use Lilith, even though I was certain that was precisely what Micah wanted. I started to call her. I felt the familiar fire race along my nerve endings as she surged upward. Reaching for the lid again, I readied myself for her full arrival. Just as her heat began to peak, something cold and sharp, like claws, scratched my back.

  Coyote dug into me, sapping Lilith’s strength. This time I was more aware of the sensations as he began to steal her. The knife points became needles drawing away her strength and power. My fingers slipped on the concrete.

  Just then, I sensed a faint echo from inside the vault. The part of Lilith that had stayed with Sebastian was trying to answer my call for help. Even as Coyote pulled pieces of Lilith from me, I concentrated on connecting with the weak signal below. I heard a groan, and then a momentous snap as the vault lid came up. I gave the half in my hands a toss over my shoulder and was surprised to see it fly up out of the hole. I heard someone grunt in pain and prayed that I hadn’t just crushed Mátyás.

  Flee, I mentally sent to Lilith, though I had no reason to believe she’d listen or obey. She did, though. I nearly fell over when she snapped back inside me.

  I heard the coyote howl.

  I could see a steel coffin inside the vault. Sebastian was inside it, I was certain.

  “Mátyás!” I called. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” he said. “But the coyote is gone. After you whacked him with the flying slab of concrete, he ran off with his tail between his legs.” He looked down into the hole. “Jesus, Garnet. You ripped that concrete like it was paper.”

  I had. I was still standing on half of the vault. There was a jagged edge where Lilith peeled the vault top like it was a can of sardines. I would have been more impressed if we still didn’t have to get the coffin out and somehow pry it open too.

  I looked back up at Mátyás. His face was bruised and his right eye swollen. “Bright Goddess! Are you okay enough to help me get this out?”

  “One way to find out.”

  Turns out neither of us had the strength or leverage to get the steel casket out, but we were able to pry up the remaining half of the vault lid so we could use the shovel to break the locks and pry open the casket. There wasn’t a lot of room for us to maneuver, but we managed to only step on each other’s toes a few times.

  “Remind me to ask for a wooden box,” Mátyás said, just before the lid came open with an ugly hiss.

  Mátyás was right. They’d transfixed Sebastian by driving a stake through his heart, but they’d also turned him facedown. He’d scratched at the velvet lining quite a bit before slipping into torpor. I grabbed the stake and pulled. Given how hard we’d had to work to get this far, I was surprised when it popped easily into my hands. There hadn’t been much to anchor it to, though it had been enough to immobilize Sebastian.

  We rolled him over. He felt like deadweight. Sebastian’s eye sockets were sunken and his features were gaunt, ghastly. “Sebastian?”

  No flicker of life.

  They’d buried him in his street clothes, of course. It was kind of strange to see him lying there all dead looking in a T-shirt and jeans.

  “How do we get him to wake up?”

  “Blood would do it, I’d imagine.” Mátyás was already rolling up his sleeve.

  “No,” I said. “It should be me. It’s my fault he went off looking for a ghoul that morning.” And what? Marge jumped him? “Anyway, I think it should be me.”

  For once, Mátyás didn’t argue. He handed his pocketknife over silently.

  You’d think given all the time I spend hanging around vampires and their sort, I’d be used to the whole stab-yourself-and-stick-it-in-someone’s-mouth thing.

  Still, Sebastian’s life hung in the balance. It was do or die. With the knife poised over my wrist, I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Mátyás grabbed the blade before it struck home. “Bullocks! Are you trying to kill yourself? Give that thing to me.”

  I expected him to plunge the knife into his own flesh, but instead he grabbed my wrist. Twisting my hand over, he made a shallow slash across the top of my forearm. “Ow!” I shouted, jerking it back. I cradled my arm against my chest. Blood oozed between my fingers. “You cut me!” I accused.

  “Yes. Now don’t waste it,” he said. Then he gave me an evil little smile. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. He glanced meaningfully at Sebastian and I got the hint. Still, I was nervous. I’d seen what Sebastian was like after only having been transfixed for a couple of hours. He’d nearly bled Feather dry. I could only imagine what his hunger would be like after several days of stake-induced torpor. My hand shook as I held my arm over Sebastian’s prone body. Blood splattered everywhere.

  Mátyás rolled his eyes at my ineptitude. I pushed my wound closer to Sebastian.

  Nothing happened. I sat straddling Sebastian’s chest, with my bleeding arm extended like bait, and waited. Sun slanted into the hole. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light. Somewhere a lawn mower started up.

  I was just about to remark that I guessed the cemetery was open and that at any moment we’d be arrested for trespassing and grave desecration when sharp pain seized my arm. Looking down, I saw Sebastian attached to me like I was a ham hock. I didn’t mean to, but I screamed. I tried to pull my arm away, but he held tight, like a great white shark. I wondered if I bopped him in th
e nose if he’d let go. Not that I could have done anything so coherent when all my thoughts could be summed up with: “Ow, ow, let go!”

  Mátyás leaned over my shoulder, patiently speaking into Sebastian’s glazed eyes. “Father. Father, it’s Mátyás and Garnet. Wake up.”

  I wanted to argue that Sebastian was clearly awake since he was sucking the life out of me, but again with the screaming and the desperate attempts to get away.

  Lilith growled.

  Everyone paused. Mátyás looked at me. Sebastian let go and blinked curiously at me. I stared at myself—well, I really kind of just looked at my chest, but, given how loud Lilith had been, I thought maybe I could have seen her sticking out somehow.

  “I hate to be so cliché, but where am I?” Sebastian asked. Then he looked at the coffin, the broken vault, and the deep mound of dirt. “Oh,” he said. “Ugh. Get me out of here.”

  Mátyás and I helped him out onto the grass. I looked around for any sign of Micah or the coyote. Though I didn’t see anything, the hackles raised on my neck. I had a sense he was near. “We should get out of here,” I said.

  “I don’t know if I can walk,” Sebastian said. We’d propped him up against Sterling’s marker. His hair, which I’d often teasingly complained was always more luxurious than mine, hung in limp, tangled strands. “I feel so heavy, so cold.”

  “You need more blood,” Mátyás said.

  Even though my arm pounded with each pulse, I steeled myself to offer more. My mouth was opening to volunteer when Mátyás stripped off his shirt. He crawled over to his father and curled himself into Sebastian’s lap. His chin rested on Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian’s head fell forward. They looked like they were embracing tenderly, father and son.

  I looked away, letting them have their moment privately. A guy on a riding mower zoomed past several rows down. He glanced up. Our eyes met briefly, and then I heard the engine choke. No doubt he was looking at the gigantic mounds of dirt spread around the grave and the shovel perched on top. My mud-streaked face and dusty clothes probably didn’t help our case any either.