Seventh Grave and No Body

by Darynda Jones

  I walked forward and stopped at the edge of the bed. “You. Reading. That is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a man do.”

  His mouth widened and he finally looked up at me, closing the book in his hand and setting it aside. “Clearly you’ve never seen me pole dance.”

  A bubble of laughter burst out before I could stop it. “I think you and your pole should keep your dancing private. It sounds like a very intimate act.”

  “You’re probably right.” He let his gaze travel over me, and I wished I hadn’t chosen to sleep in the shirt that said FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.

  I snapped out of my trance and said, “By the way, I’m very angry with you.”

  He raised a knee and draped an arm over it. “Are you?”

  “Yes. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’ve been spying on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Who is she?” I asked as I crawled onto the bed, kneeling at the foot of it, well out of his reach.

  “What makes you think I have only one?”

  I raised my brow, impressed. “The one I saw was beautiful.”

  “I think she drowned at a dinner party.”

  “That explains the evening gown.”

  “Her makeup is smeared.”

  “Yeah, but you like that kind of thing.”

  “Only on you.” He grinned and reached for me anyway.

  I slid off the bed and sidestepped past him to gather my dirty clothes and toss them in the laundry basket. “How many do you have?”

  “What would you like me to tell you?”

  I wondered why that was a difficult question to answer. “The truth would be nice.”

  “I have an army, then. Is that what you want to hear?”

  I walked to my dresser and scooted onto it. “If that’s the truth, then yeah. How many is in an army, exactly.”

  “I have several,” he said, acquiescing. “Seven or so. You’re getting stronger. She knew you’d detected her today at the coffee shop.”

  “I smelled her perfume. I’ve never done that with a departed.”

  “Your senses are heightening. Good.”

  “What exactly does your army of spies do? I don’t like being watched.”

  “Then perhaps I shouldn’t tell you.”

  I didn’t know how to take that.

  “I’m not risking you just because you don’t want to be guarded, Dutch. It’s like you said earlier. It’s not just about you anymore.”

  He had a point.

  “Let me see what you’re capable of,” he said.

  “You know what I’m capable of. I seem to be the only one who doesn’t. And from what I understand, if you tell me my real name, my celestial name, I will just know what to do.”

  “Yes, but it will also change everything. We can’t use that card unless we absolutely have to.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s really going on?”

  He glanced down. “I’m not sure that if you learn your celestial name, you won’t become the grim reaper completely.”

  “Do you mean, you’re afraid my physical body will pass? That I’ll become the reaper and —”

  “You’ll forget about me. You’ll have a job to do. Reapers aren’t known for their social skills. They do their duty. Period. They become, how do I say it? Void of emotion.”

  I could tell it actually worried him, though I knew in my heart I would never, no matter what happened, no matter what I knew, forget him. It was as improbable a scenario as the world turning to dust. But I let it drop for now. “Fine. That can be our ace in the hole should we ever need it.”

  “Now, let’s see what you’re capable of.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. His hair curled around his ears, the thick dark mass shimmering in the low light. “Just play along for a minute.”

  “Okay, what do I do?”

  He lowered his head and gazed at me from underneath his lashes. “Imagine I’m one of the Twelve,” he said, his voice soft, smooth.

  “One of the Twelve. Got it.”

  “Now drop me.”

  “Drop you.”

  “Like you did today.”

  “No,” I said. “What I did this morning was not okay. You couldn’t breathe.”

  “It was brilliant.”

  “It was reckless,” I argued.

  “Dutch,” he said in warning.

  “Fine.” I lowered my lids and morphed into a lean mean fighting machine. I’d imagined myself as a coffee machine for so long, it was difficult, but I managed it. I opened my eyes and bore my gaze into his. “You are the disease and I’m the viral inhibitor that blocks attachment to the host cell and prevents the release of cloned viral particles, attacking from both ends.”

  He fought a smile, then asked, “Where’d you get that?”

  “Theraflu commercial, mostly.”

  “Dutch,” he said in warning again, “drop me or you’ll wish you had.”

  I didn’t doubt his words, though I had no idea what he would do to make me wish I had. After drawing in a lungful of air, I concentrated, ordered myself to drop him.

  He kept his gaze locked on mine. “Dutch,” he growled, giving me one more warning.

  But I couldn’t figure out what to do to drop him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to put him through what I’d put him through that morning.

  I blinked, and in that instant, he was on me. He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me as though to body-slam me on the bed. Without thought, I slowed time to his speed, then slowed it more, until I had the advantage. Until I had the strength to break free from his hold, to twist my legs around, to grab him by the throat, and to use time itself to help me force him over my shoulder, to flip him and slam his body onto the ground.

  As I allowed time to grab its footing again, the sound deafening as it ricocheted into place, I said one simple word to make sure I kept the advantage for a few seconds more.

  “Excruci.”

  Reyes’s back arched as the pain hit him. He threw his head back in agony and growled between clenched teeth, his muscles tense as though seizing. I watched for a split second and wondered, as time settled around us, if I could cause pain, could I do the reverse? Could I cause pleasure?

  “Laetitia sine poena non habet,” I said. “There is no pleasure without pain.” I released a steady stream of air as he lay beneath me. After a moment, I said softly, “Voluptas.”

  He threw back his head again with a loud gasp, only this time I felt the purest, most ethereal form of pleasure I’d ever felt radiate out of him. He grabbed my leg as I knelt beside him, his other hand going to the bed, blindly grasping at the comforter as wave after wave of unimaginable pleasure coursed through him. I should have stopped it, I should have released him, but I was riding the wave as exquisitely as he was. Just as it pulsed inside him, it pulsed inside me, pooling between my legs, hardening my nipples until I gasped at the tightness of my skin as it shrank around me.

  I couldn’t tear my gaze off him. He was so beautiful, writhing in a combination of pain and pleasure like I had never felt before. The force I’d created urged my legs apart and pushed into my abdomen, growing and spreading like molten lava, scorching me from the inside out. I guided it deeper, and in an act of pure lust, I reached into his bottoms and wrapped my hand around his rock-hard cock. Blood rushed beneath my fingers, the power coursing through me more delicious than anything I’d ever tasted.

  “Dutch,” he said, the agonizing ecstasy racing through his veins and swarming his nerve endings as painfully as it was mine, the sting as sweet as fruit off the vine.

  But I wanted more. I ripped down his bottoms and swallowed every inch of him as he groaned and plunged his fingers into my hair. He tried to push me back, to slow my attack, but with one simple thought, I disabled him. Helpless, he threw his hands over his face as his climax neared.

  “Dutch, please,” he begged through gritted teeth, and I doubted he knew what he was begging for. An end to
the pleasure or its indefinite continuation?

  I tasted a droplet of salt on my tongue and knew he was close. Skimming my teeth along the underside of his cock, I silently ordered his release.

  “Fuck,” he said, crying out as he exploded inside my mouth. He bucked against my hold, driving himself deeper. At that exact moment, my own orgasm surged up in one giant wave. It lanced straight to my core and burst in white hot light as I dug my nails into his flesh.

  The sweet sting pulsed inside me for several fleeting moments before my heart slowed and the afterglow of ecstasy warmed me through to my marrow.

  I fell against him, more sated than I’d ever been. And more powerful.

  “How was that?” I asked, genuinely wanting his assessment of my performance.

  His gaze spoke volumes. Mostly shock. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

  “Me neither,” I said, snuggling against his rib cage.

  “Dutch,” he said, taking my chin in his hand and lifting my gaze to his again. “I’m serious. I never knew anything like that existed. I knew you would be powerful, but you completely disabled me with a thought. You took me out with the force of your mind. And you used time to your advantage. You used everything you had at your disposal to incapacitate your opponent. You’re a warrior. You really are the Val-Eeth.”

  I leaned up onto an elbow. “What’s a Val-Eeth?”

  After running one hand down his face in astonishment, he said, “Do you remember when I told you that you were different, special, even among your own kind? Your own species?”

  “Yes. You said I was royalty.”

  “No, you are so much more than that. You’re the Val-Eeth. Throughout time, since before the creation of Earth, even before the creation of your sun, there have been only twelve Val-Eeth. One is born into your world every few million years. You’re the thirteenth.”

  “I’m the thirteenth?” I asked. “Like the prophecy you read about the thirteenth warrior.”

  “I’m not sure. Prophecies are so open to interpretation, but —”

  “I’m going to be my own undoing?” I asked. “Not Antonio Banderas?” That was disappointing, to say the least.

  He took my chin into his hand again. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  “Not especially.”

  He lay back, his brows furrowing in thought. “But why would they let you go to become the reaper? It’s almost —” He fought for the word he was looking for. “It’s almost beneath you. In fact, it’s very much beneath you. You’re destined to be their leader for millions of years. You’re destined to be a god. I don’t understand.”

  “Unless they knew about the prophecies. Maybe they knew our daughter would be an absolute badass. She would have to be to take on your dad.”

  “I’m dumbfounded at their sacrifice. To finally have another Val-Eeth born among them after who knows how many millions of years, and then to give her up to this dimension? This plane?”

  “I’m glad they did, either way.”

  He shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t have.” He leveed a heated gaze on me. “They would never have sent you. Never. You must have volunteered. You must have insisted. You hadn’t ascended to the throne yet, but pretty much anything you would have said would be law. It must’ve been you.”

  “Cool. So this is like when I volunteered for the Peace Corps. It’s like a temporary venture to better myself and to aid other people in their time of need.”

  A dimple appeared beside his mouth. “Exactly.” He said it, but not without adding a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “Okay, so getting back to what I can do, clearly I have power over you while you are flesh and blood, but what about something that is incorporeal, like a hellhound?”

  “That, my dear, is the million-dollar question.”

  I beamed at him and snuggled closer, ignoring the corner of the dresser in my back, and giggled softly. He called me dear.

  I felt a cool touch on my shoulder as I slept in Reyes’s arms, but after the night we’d had, I wasn’t terribly inclined to respond to the summons. Our training session had exhausted me. I’d have to practice more, learn to control myself and not ravish my affianced every time I had the upper hand. He was just so darned delicious. And Reyes Farrow vulnerable? Too tempting to resist, not that I had the best self-control as it was.

  The touch returned, along with a soft, “Ms. Davidson? Are you awake?”

  I couldn’t quite place the accent as I forced one lid open. Just one. I let the other rest. Our room was pitch black, but that never stopped me from seeing the departed as though they were onstage with a spotlight.

  A man stood before me, pudgy, well dressed, and looking like he’d just stepped out of the 1940s. He had round-rimmed glasses and a thin mustache that looked like an insect over his top lip.

  “Ms. Davidson, I had to see you before I left. I had no idea any of it vas real. I – I vould have come sooner had I known.” German. He had a thick German accent, and I realized who he was.

  At that same moment, I also realized I had another visitor. Osh stood beside the man, his head down, his dark gaze glaring at the departed man beside my bed.

  I sat up and rubbed my closed eye, coaxing it open to join the other. “Osh, what are you doing here?”

  “Mark him and he’ll be mine.”

  “Osh,” I said through a yawn, “I’m not marking this man’s soul for you just because you’re hungry.”

  “What do you want?” he asked the man, taking him by the collar.

  The man winced, his expression full of fear. “I just need to talk to Ms. Davidson. She is ze one, is she not? Ze daughter of light from ze prophecies?”

  Osh glanced at me, then back to him. “She is. What’s that to you?”

  “I – I have been translating zem. Ze documents. I – I zink I died before I could come to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. von Holstein,” I said. “You died two days ago.”

  “No,” he said, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. “Zat’s impossible. It vas only a moment ago.”

  I leaned forward and put an arm on his shoulder. “Time is different there.”

  “Apparently.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

  “Can you tell me what you learned?”

  He shook out of his stupor with a deep sigh. “Zere is so much I never imagined possible. If you are vat I zink you are, I can just show you, ja?”

  “You can,” I assured him.

  He put his glasses back on and slipped through me. I leaned forward, bracing my arms on my knees as his essence slid over me and his memories filled my brain to capacity. I skimmed past his childhood in West Berlin, unaware of the turmoil and strife that surrounded him. His family sent him to America as an exchange student and he’d come back to attend university here. His love of both countries was a constant struggle for him. He longed for home but loved the United States so much, he stayed and taught here.

  I scanned forward in time until he was contacted by a westerner named Garrett Swopes about an ancient text he’d come across. I had yet to find out how Garrett came across the documents containing the prophecies in the first place or how he’d stumbled upon Zeus, but I knew it had something to do with his trip to hell and back, thanks to Mr. Reyes Farrow.

  Then there it was. The doctor’s breakthrough. He’d finally found a pattern to the chaos. He had only copies to work from. Garrett must still have the originals stashed somewhere safe. But Dr. von Holstein found what he believed to be a grave error in his previous translation.

  There were twelve. We already knew that. But there were more. The phrase went something like: Twelve sent and twelve summoned. That was what we believed would be Beep’s army: the good twelve. She would handpick twelve defenders to help her fight the fallen as they rose from hell. But the army was not part of either of the twelve.

  Twelve sent and twelve summoned.

  It was hard for the doctor to make out exactly what it all m
eant. The texts were written in riddles, in much the same way Nostradamus had written his quatrains, but von Holstein had begun to believe that Beep’s hand-chosen army was in addition to the good twelve. It would be the thirteenth warrior that would tip the odds in favor or against the daughter. And the war that could tear the world asunder or bring peace for a thousand years would be decided in a split second.

  But I would never go against her, so surely I wasn’t the thirteenth in this situation. Maybe Beep herself was the warrior, but Dr. V got the distinct impression from a variety of contextual clues that the thirteenth warrior was male. And the thirteenth warrior, who had been born in darkness, would tip the scales one way or the other.

  There was a lot more – so much, it was hard to absorb it all – but when I lifted my lids, Osh was sitting in my chair in the corner, waiting patiently.

  He stood when I focused on him. “Well?” he asked.

  “You’d better tell him,” Reyes said beside me. “He wouldn’t leave until you came out of it.”

  “Out of it? How long was I in it?”

  Osh looked at the clock on my nightstand. “Three hours.”

  “Three hours?” I twisted around to see for myself. “That’s never happened before.”

  Reyes rubbed my back. “You had a lot to learn.”

  “I did, but I don’t think it’s anything that will help us with what is happening right now.”

  I called a very sleepy Garrett and explained to them what I’d learned from Dr. V. He was a nice guy in the end, and I hated that he’d died of a heart attack after finding what he considered his own personal Holy Grail. He wanted to publish eventually with the texts and make the prophet Cleosaurius as famous as Nostradamus. I doubted that would ever happen, but he did find correlations to the prophecies of Cleosaurius and things that had happened throughout history. Again, the same could be said for Nostradamus and a few other prophets, but that concept was rather cool.

  I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. I was still absorbing everything I’d learned and everything Reyes had told me. But I decided to focus on the bottom line. How were Reyes and I going to fight the Twelve and save our daughter? Nothing else really mattered at that point.