“No.”
“Liar. Turning red is a dead giveaway.”
I have no energy to fight with him. “Will you just please leave me alone? Please?”
He stands. “Where do you plan on going? Back to elementary school?”
“None of your damn business, okay?” I scoff. “I don’t even know why you care. Look, I am not going to sleep with you. Never. Ever. You repulse me! So just get the hell out of my room!”
He studies my face. “There is something wrong.”
“Get out.”
“I am not leaving you alone in this state.”
“Get out!”
“My dear, you have been through more than your fair share tonight,” he says in the calming voice my Nana uses. “You are highly emotional, and now is not the best time to make rash decisions.”
“Stop patronizing me and get out, or I swear to God,”—I enjoy seeing Oliver wince at my choice of words—“I’ll send you right through that door.”
“I am not leaving.”
“Get out!”
“No.”
I push with my curse, and he stumbles back. “Don’t think I won’t do it. Get out.”
“I will not.”
My jaw tightens, and I get ready to push his butt through the closed door when he disappears. Just disappears. Arms wrap around me for the second time tonight, but these squeeze all the air out of me. His body envelops me. I panic. I kick his shins as hard as I can, but he squeezes harder. The towel loosens but doesn’t fall. My arms, pinned by his, keep it up. “You must calm down,” he whispers into my ear. I stop kicking and bucking. “You are upset, you are exhausted, and now is not the time for mindless action you will regret later. Now, I will let you go, but remember I can crush you with little effort and will, if I must.” He releases me. I clutch at the towels as I jump away, securing them as best I can. For once, there isn’t a hint of a smirk, just a total lack of emotion. “Now tell me why you wish to leave.”
“I just do, and I can if I want to.” Jeez, I sound like a fourth grader.
“Yes, you can. Quitting is always an option. But I have a feeling this is not something you would do in a right mind. You do not strike me as someone who gives up so easily.”
“And you’ve known me how long? Like, forty-eight hours?”
“You were the one who insisted on returning to town despite my protests.”
“Well, look how that turned out. Two people died.”
“And a dozen more did not because of you. Remember them. Mourn the dead but, more important, celebrate the living.” He steps toward me. “They live. As do you.” Another step. “You were spectacular tonight. Cool, calm … ,” he takes another step, “and going into that hardware store for weapons was inspired. Not to mention the way you dealt with Will … ”
“Nancy was the one who shot him.”
“You faced a werewolf and both of you remained intact. Very few can claim that. For your first time in the field, you showed immense level-headedness and bravery.”
“Don’t say that! You don’t—” I stop myself. “Will you please just leave? Please? Nothing you can say will change my mind, so just leave me alone!” I scream. Stupid tears fall, but I swipe them away so he won’t see them.
“Has something occurred?” he asks like a concerned older brother in the movies. “Did Will do something?”
“What? No! What would he … never mind.” I don’t think I want to know.
“But something happened.” He takes another step. “I am not leaving until you tell me what is troubling you.”
“I—I can’t,” I say, voice trembling.
He takes another step. “There is nothing you can say that will lower my high regard for you.”
“Oh yeah? And if I told you I almost killed an innocent woman tonight, you wouldn’t lower your regard? That I squeezed blood vessels in her brain and made her blind with pain, that wouldn’t make me less of a person? Huh?” I’m screaming now. “Then that makes you pretty messed up, because if I were you, I’d spit on the freak in front of me! I’d curse her and despise her and pray that the ground would swallow her whole! So just leave before I hurt you too! Just leave!”
A sharp pain rockets through my head like a white-hot poker, and my legs collapse out from under me. But I don’t hit the floor. I fall into Oliver’s chest, and his arms encircle me again. He lowers us both to the floor so I’m sitting in his lap. He smells terrible but I don’t care, not even when he pulls me tight to his chest, holding me, rocking me. I couldn’t push him away if I wanted to. Something broke. I’m broken. And he has me. My ears pound in time with the pain. “Shush now,” he whispers, smoothing my wet hair. “Shush, shush, shush. Please do not cry. I cannot bear to see you cry. Shush.”
“My head hurts,” I weep into his shoulder. “It really hurts.”
“That will pass,” he whispers. “It will all pass. Do not cry, my darling.”
“I can’t do this, I just can’t. I can’t. Oh God—” His body jerks—“please help me. Please. I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. Please forgive me.”
“Shush my dear, your—deity—knows. He does not blame you.”
“I was so scared,” I bawl. “I didn’t know what to do. She died. I couldn’t save her. It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. I hate this. I hate it.”
“I know. I know, my darling. It will be all right.” He kisses the top of my head. “You are safe now. I will not allow anyone or anything to harm you. I have you. You are safe.” He kisses my temple. “You are safe.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, embracing him as hard as he is me. My fingers run into his thick hair that is so soft it’s like feathers. He hugs me tighter, stroking my hair and rocking me as my head rests on his shoulder. He’s warmer than I imagined. Feels almost human. And wonderful. I haven’t been touched in months, let alone held. I’ve missed it. We could stay like this forever and I wouldn’t mind. I clutch him tighter, wanting to be absorbed by him. I should be tense, hours ago I would have clawed his eyes out for touching me like this, but with each of my sobs and dulcet whispered promise of his, it flows out of me. This is how I fall asleep some time later. In the arms of a vampire.
I can’t remember ever feeling so safe.
TWELVE
OCCAM’SRAZOR
I wake naked in my bed with what feels like a killer hangover, though I’ve only had that wonderful experience once before. This is so unfair, I didn’t touch a drop. All the pain, none of the fun. Headache, body aches, slight nausea—all present and accounted for. I groan and pull the covers over my head.
Wait, I don’t remember getting into bed. Last thing I remember is … I groan again. I must have fallen asleep. God, how embarrassing. He must have picked me up and put me in bed like a small child. Normally I’d be panicking having fallen asleep in the arms of an amorous man and waking up naked, but for some reason I don’t. Heck, he didn’t even try to cop a feel last night. Well, why not? In my state last night I probably would have let him … okay, why am I upset? Get a grip, Bea.
The towel lies underneath me, which means he didn’t see anything. I wrap it around me before the covers come off. Nancy and Irie are asleep in their beds. Wonder what time everyone got in. Tiptoeing to my suitcase, I grab my neatly folded clothes on top—I don’t remember doing that—and go to the bathroom. Big shock, I look like heck. Frizzy hair, bruises all over, dark circles under my eyes. I hope no one mistakes me for a zombie. No wonder Oliver was a perfect gentleman! After re-bandaging my seeping wounds, I toss on the clothes, put my hair in a ponytail, and leave, grabbing my purse on the way out.
I hobble like an old woman complete with creaking joints to the diner, inwardly moaning with each movement. The sleep worsened the soreness so now even my eyelids ache. Okay, the second I get back to Kansas I’m starting a new exercise regimen. I will run three miles, use weights, and practice kung fu every day, no excuses. Of course, if there is a Gary Cooper or Clark Gable marathon on or … yeah, it�
�s never going to happen.
The diner parking lot is filled with semis and, no surprise, a dozen truck drivers sit inside guzzling coffee and downing bacon strips. After a few minutes, I’m in a booth ordering a huge breakfast and a chocolate milkshake. Nausea be darned, I deserve a treat. A newspaper rests on the other side of the booth, so I grab it. Sure enough last night’s fiasco made the headline, but not the one I would have thought. “Satanic Cult Wanted in Three States Attacks Locals.” Okay …
Last night, twenty members of “Lucifer’s Hand,” a satanic cult based out of Albuquerque, New Mexico, entered the town of Bridge Stone, killing two and
injuring over a dozen more. Dressed in rags and wearing Halloween masks, the members bit their victims in a ritualized attack. “We believe they bite their victims to use the flesh in their rituals,” Special Agent Paul Chandler of the FBI stated. The FBI were called in earlier this week to investigate the deaths of Valerie Wayland, 37, and Davis Wynn, 43, both killed in a
similar fashion to the night’s attack. According to a source inside the FBI, Lucifer’s Hand has been linked to similar attacks in Kansas and Oklahoma. Their leader, the Rev. Damien Nightshade, a.k.a. James Dike, was elevated to the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list last night. “He is a top priority,” Special Agent Chandler said. “We do not think he is in the area, but his followers may still be.”
The article goes on to give a number to call if they spot a smelly, ratty-clothed person. Then there are a few eyewitness accounts about how scared they were and how the authorities apprehended several members. No mention of machetes, flamethrowers, or people still moving when they have no limbs. I don’t know how, but we may have gotten away with it.
My purse begins to vibrate before I finish the article. “Hello?”
“Is this Beatrice?” Andrew asks.
“Yes, Andrew.”
“I thought I heard you leave. I’m sorry to trouble you, but the police keep calling Carl’s cellular phone asking to speak to a member of the FBI. He’s honestly in no shape to help. I’ve been going up and down Carl’s call list. You’re the first one who answered.”
“Everyone else probably got in late.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m afraid they may send someone to the hotel. Everyone really needs their sleep if Carl is any example.”
“I so don’t think I’m the right person to go and lie to the police. I only just found out what the cover story is.”
“You’ll do fine. Keys for the SUV are on the undercarriage.” He hangs up. Perfect. The world’s worst liar now has to sell a doozy to trained professionals. My food arrives and I inhale it while reading the article again. Twice. Okay, Lucifer’s Hand, flesh for rituals, dress up to scare people, wanted in three states. If they don’t ask specifics, I’ll be fine. Huh. Nice to see I still have some optimism left.
——
The once-quiet sheriff’s station is now the place to be in Bridge Stone. People sit and stand three deep in the reception area, most bandaged from last night’s “satanic cult attack.” None of the victims looks at me as I make my way through them. They don’t recognize me. One would think machete girl would leave an impression. The phones ring faster than the already overwhelmed deputies can handle. “No comment,” they all say. About half a dozen news vans and pushy reporters lie in wait outside, shouting at anyone coming in or out. I just keep my head down and don’t say a word.
Just as I am buzzed back by the frazzled receptionist, Sheriff Graham leaves his office as if he was watching for me. “About fucking time. Get in here!” Assuming he means me, I follow him in. “Shut the door,” he says when I enter. “Where’s the other one? The tall one with you yesterday.”
“He’s busy. You’re stuck with me.”
“It’s been nuts around here and you people haven’t been answering your fucking phones and—”
“I’m sorry. I’m here now, okay? What do you need?”
“You can start by telling me what the hell is going on in my town and why the hell you fuckers didn’t warn us!”
I worked out this one on the drive over. “We weren’t sure the deaths were related, so we didn’t want to cause a panic. In hindsight we should have shared our suspicions, and I do apologize, but right now we need to concentrate on finding the rest of the members that may still be around.”
“You people.” He shakes his head. “There is no way in hell I am taking the blame for this.”
“We will issue a statement saying it’s all our fault, okay?”
This must be what he wanted to hear because his complexion reduces from purple to red. “Fine. Don’t you have any leads, anything you think us country folk are worthy of knowing this time?”
“Carrie Ellison is no longer a suspect, but we do believe that someone in town is responsible for, um, inviting these people here and having them kill Wayland and Wynn.”
“Invited them?”
“Yes. We’ve obtained evidence that someone from town asked them to come here. That’s how they operate.”
“Who invited them?”
“We just ruled out Ellison last night, so we haven’t had time to pursue any new leads. If we do apprehend anyone, we’ll be sure to inform you.”
“Are these freaks coming back?”
“Honestly, we have no idea.”
“The ones you arrested, are they saying anything?”
They think we kept them? “Um, not really. Omertà and all that.” Graham gives me a blank look. Okay, not a fan of The Godfather. “You know, code of silence. We’ll keep trying.”
“When do we get a try?”
“Ah, never. I’m sorry but this is our investigation and we’ve brought in trained interrogators. If they can’t break them, then nobody will.” Darn, that was good. Thank you, TV.
“Now look, missy—”
“That is Special Agent Beatrice Alexander, not ‘missy.’ I get that you’re upset, and I am truly sorry this happened, but this is an FBI matter. You should be grateful we were here and did what we did; otherwise, this place would be another ghost town. You are in over your head, so back off and let us do our thing. Do you understand me?”
He lowers his eyes. “Fucking feebs.” He walks out. What a child. He had the same look my students did when I wouldn’t let them go out to recess. Men. They never grow up.
——
Back to square one. Our only suspect has an alibi. More bodies but no evidence. I go up to the whiteboard in the conference room in mobile command and write down the original victim’s names, Davis and Valerie, then their significant others: Carrie and Walter. Both had motives, but both had alibis for last night and the nights of the murders. Maybe Valerie and Davis had another connection like drugs, or they witnessed something illegal and the perp needed to silence them. Okay, I’m reaching, and I know it. I write the theories down anyway. Perhaps with more investigation we’ll find something.
Now for last night’s attack. What does it tell me? This person is mega super-duper powerful. If I’m any indication, that means he or she had serious problems controlling their gift, unless they had formal training. And they must have had training because they raised specific corpses without a ritual, and if my own experience tells me anything, it is hard to focus that kind of power. I write “trained” on the board. Okay, back to last night. Well, we were the targets, that’s obvious. But how did he or she know where we were going to be? Duh, the necromancer was following us, brainiac. They knew we were getting close to finding them, so they freaked and raised the whole cemetery. So maybe they’re still following us. I write “following us” on the board.
That’s it. That’s all I got. So yeah, back to square one. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something I learned last night. It’s in the back of my mind, I know it’s there, but it just won’t come forward. I hate when that happens. It’ll probably pop up when I don’t need it anymore.
Time to check on Dr. Neill. Poor thing’s been cooped up with a smelly zombie all day. It seems we did c
apture a “cult member,” and she’s doing all sorts of invasive tests on it.
The relatively fresh but still rank zombie lies tied to the examination table by the torso, as it has no arms or legs courtesy of my machete. The top of its head lies on the table next to it. Once again, I walk in right as Dr. Neill carries a brain across the room. Oy.
“Hello,” she says putting the brain in a bag with “Biohazard” written all over it.
“Having fun?” I ask with a grimace.
“This is absolutely fascinating,” she says walking back over to stumpy. “Its brain is removed and yet it knows we’re here and responds.” She holds out her hand and the zombie lunges at it teeth first. “I would bet that the brain, though detached, still shows electrical activity. It is almost as if each cell in this entity’s body has its own mind and energy from an outside force, yet they’re dead. All the cells are dead.”
“Do you think when this outside force no longer feeds it energy, the zombie will die?”
“With no energy, nothing runs. As best I can tell, this corpse is still drawing its energy from your necromancer, though only a tiny sum. And it will continue to carry out its main objective until it or the necromancer is destroyed.”
“So it just kills. I mean, is that all they can do, kill?”
“They do what they’re ordered to. If I had to guess, the energy given is infused with a message of some kind, and they have to do what they’re told.”
“So, basically they just act as puppets and this remote person can do anything it wants with the bodies?”
“Horrible, isn’t it?”
The corpse turns his head and looks at me through cloudy pupils. “Yeah, um … I need to get some air. Call if you need me.”
The smell follows me into the hallway even after I shut the door. Just as I reach the front door to get some air, it opens. My heart stops dead in my chest. Will stands in the doorway, the human Will. Looking at him you’d never guess that less than twelve hours ago he was a furry killing machine. A furry killing machine that licked me. His body tenses and his whole face turns deep red when he sees me. I’m hit by a wave of nervous energy that doesn’t originate from me. Oh crap, he remembers everything.
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