Ghost Moon

by Rebecca York

  He’d done it in a regular rhythm, and Quinn had no idea what the interval should be. But she silently said a prayer to the Great Mother as she blew into the man’s mouth, then pressed on his chest.

  When she did it several times and nothing happened, she wanted to blast air into his lungs. But she was sure that was the wrong way to do it. So she kept silently praying and kept up the steady, even breaths and the alternating pressure on his chest.

  It felt like centuries were dragging by as she prayed and continued to give the man the treatment she’d seen in the televisionprogram.

  She pressed against his hard muscles, but the damp earth had given his skin a clammy chill.

  He was already dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to scream at Caleb for putting her in this impossible situation. Yet she couldn’t scream and administerthe treatment.

  Then, when she had just about given up, he sucked in a breath on his own.

  Startled, she jerked her head away in time to see his eyes open. They were icy blue and fringed with dark lashes. But they were also unfocused with no intelligence behind them.

  As she stared into those flat, dead surfaces, she felt her heart sink. She was too late. All her work had been for nothing.

  What if she hadn’t stopped to talk to Zarah? Would she have been in time to save this man?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Quinn made a high keening sound as she hovered over the man.

  She’d worked so hard to save him, and she might as well have stayed back at Logan’s house. He was breathing, but his mind was gone.

  Then, from one second to the next, the world turned upsidedown.

  The man’s body jerked, and the blue eyes changed. They had been dead. Now they were infused with a spark of life.

  He started coughing, and her hand went to his shoulder as the spasms made him rear up off the ground.

  He kept it up, his face turning red with the effort. Each time he coughed, his eyes squeezed closed. Then they immediatelyblinked open and focused on her with an unnerving intensity.

  He tried to speak, but the terrible coughing kept him from getting any words past his throat.

  When he couldn’t talk, he raised his hand, pressing his palm over the hand that rested on his shoulder, his fingers stroking against hers.

  From the way he was touching her, staring at her, it seemed like he knew her. Intimately.

  He knew her? But she had never seen him before she’d shoveled the dirt off his body.

  Panic made her try to jerk away. In response, he tightened his hand on her shoulder. Then he wheezed her name.

  “Quinn.”

  A shock wave went through her. “How do you know me?”

  He took several breaths, dragging air into his lungs and expelling it before he was able to dredge enough breath to answer.

  His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “I know you because I am Caleb.”

  She tried to wrap her head around his words. “Caleb is a ghost.”

  “I was. This man died, and he passed me as he went upwardinto the afterlife. He told me to take this body before it was too late.”

  “He told you? Why? Why didn’t he come back?”

  “He did not want to stay here.”

  She couldn’t take in the words. Not really. Rearing away, she scrambled to her feet, backing up as he peeled away the tarp from his body. Dirt fell away from the sides of the tarp as he slowly heaved himself to a sitting position. Then, like something out of a horror movie she’d seen on late-night TV, he clambered to his feet. He was wearing a beige shirt, beige pants, and leather boots.

  This was Caleb? A man with blond hair and blue eyes?

  Was he telling her the truth?

  Her mind scrambled for an explanation and came up with something concrete. How else could he have known her name?

  She couldn’t move. She could only watch him.

  He groaned, and the sound tore at her. What other bruises did he have on his body in places she couldn’t see?

  She braced for him to step toward her. But to her vast reliefhe staggered in the other direction, his movements jerky, as though it was difficult for him to work his muscles.

  His muscles! No. He was in the body of another man. No wonder he was having trouble walking.

  Did she believe what he’d told her—what she’d just seen? Or was she going mad?

  He propped his shoulder against the tree trunk. “You wanted me to be alive.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

  “So you stole a body!” she gasped out.

  “No.” The syllable rang in the morning air. “Two men buried him alive. He was dead when you uncovered his face. He left his body, and he told me I could have it.”

  She struggled to find the truth in his words. “What did you do, stand there and watch them bury him?”

  “No! That would not be honorable. I called you when I figured out what they were going to do.”

  She was still having trouble believing any of this.

  “Who were they?”

  He raised one hand in a jerky motion and raked stiff fingersthrough his hair. “I don’t know more than what I said before. They came here because they thought this was a safe place for . . . murder.”

  She brought the conversation back to the most important point. “When Zarah and I came through the portal, you scared the soldier away. You said you keep hunters away from this part of the forest. Why didn’t you scare the men away—before they killed him?”

  His gaze turned fierce. “I couldn’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “The soldier from your world had belief in me. He had that blue stone to ward off spirits. He was tuned to the invisibleworld, so a ghost could scare him. The men who came here were frightened of someone else. Someone they called the colonel. They were too focused on him and on their task to pay any attention to me.”

  Truth or lies?

  “You wanted a body,” she accused.

  “No. I didn’t think about a body—until you tried to bring this man back to life. You couldn’t do it because he didn’t want to live. Then I realized he had offered me an opportunity.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “It is the truth,” he said in a hard voice. Pushing away from the tree, he moved his arms and legs and winced. Then he looked down at his right forearm.

  “They beat him.”

  “Who is he?”

  His brow wrinkled, and his gaze turned inward.

  He didn’t speak for several seconds, and she waited with her breath frozen in her lungs.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why? You have his body.”

  “But I do not have his memories.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he is dead! So I do not know.” He raised his head and looked directly at her. “I called you—to save him. But you didn’t get here in time.”

  He had succeeded in turning the tables and putting her on the defensive. And she couldn’t help crying out, “I tried!”

  “You got him out in time for me.”

  “Yes.”

  She was still having trouble coping with truth and reality. “Tell me something you wouldn’t know unless you really are Caleb.”

  He kept his gaze firmly on her. “You came here to bury the soldier who followed you from the other . . . universe. But a bear took him away and tore him apart.” His voice turned husky. “You and I were alone in the clearing. I took your clothes off and started kissing you and touching you . . .”

  “Stop.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Yes!”

  She stood there, staring at him, thinking he looked so differentfrom the man who had undressed her in the woods. Caleb had dark hair and dark eyes. This man was blond. With blue eyes. And he was a couple of inches shorter than Caleb.

  “What’s your name?” she threw at him.

  “This man’s name? I told you, I don’t know.”

&n
bsp; She kept up a rapid series of questions.

  “What’s the name of my pregnant friend?”

  “Zarah.”

  “What happened to the other soldier from my universe?”

  “The wolf chased him over a cliff.”

  She was about to ask another question when the sound of voices made her go rigid.

  Who was that? She strained her ears and heard men arguing.

  One of them said, “Was that someone talking?”

  “You’re hearing things.” He made an angry sound. “Listen,Spencer, let’s get the fucking shovel and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

  “You left the damn thing.”

  “Me—it was you. You drug it from the car.”

  “You were in such a goddamn hurry to get out of here.”

  On wavering legs, Caleb shambled toward her and grabbed her arm. “It must be the men who buried the body. They are . . . bad. They will hurt you—or kill you. You have to hide.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as he tugged on her arm but let him lead her behind the trunk of a large oak tree about twenty feet away. He kept his arm protectively around her, and she felt the tension in his muscles.

  Neither of them spoke.

  Moments later, two men walked onto the scene. One was about six feet tall with a barrel chest, coarse features, and thinning hair. He looked like he was in his late thirties. The other was younger, maybe midtwenties, with wiry dark hair, deep-set eyes, a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. Both of them were dressed like the man besideher, in heavy leather boots, beige pants and shirts, givingthe impression that they were all in uniform.

  They walked into the clearing and stopped short when they saw the empty hole where the grave had been.

  “Holy shit!” the bigger one shouted as they both ran towardthe open grave.

  “We just left him here. Where the fuck is he?”

  “Gone, you moron.”

  “Yeah. But it’s impossible.”

  “I told you we should shoot him, Portland.”

  “Don’t blame this on me. It was the colonel’s call. He told the troops he wanted him alive when he went in the ground, so he could think about why he was getting the ultimatepunishment.”

  As though he could change reality, the smaller one picked up the shovel and began poking in the hole. “He’s gone, all right.”

  The bigger one balled his hands into fists, and for a momentit looked like he was going to hit his partner. “You jerk. Stop digging. You can see he’s gone.”

  “I told you I heard voices. Somebody was here.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what we gotta find out. And make sure they don’t live to talk about it.”

  Caleb gripped Quinn’s shoulder and brought his mouth close to her ear. “Stay here.”

  She turned her head to whisper back. “You can’t fight both of them—not in your condition.”

  “I won’t. I’ll haunt them.”

  “You said they couldn’t sense the ghost.”

  “They couldn’t. But I’ll give them something to see. Like Frankenstein.”

  “What?”

  “A monster I saw in a movie.”

  She held on to his arm. “You just . . . woke up . . .”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Her pulse was pounding in her ears as she watched him step away from her, out from behind the tree. “Spencer. Portland. Over here,” he called in a high, wailing voice that hardly sounded human.

  The two men’s heads jerked toward him, and they stared at him in frozen silence.

  He kept his gaze fixed on them, his voice booming out. “Spencer. Portland. You killed me and gave me power over this place. Now I will drag you to hell.”

  “What the shit?” the bigger one wheezed.

  Caleb stiffened his legs and stretched his arms in front of him as he began walking toward them with wide, jerky steps. “You cannot escape me.”

  “Get away.”

  Both men backed up as Caleb kept walking toward them like some kind of unstoppable supernatural creature.

  As he came closer, the men turned and ran flat out across the clearing to the trail where they’d come from. Caleb followedthem, disappearing from sight.

  Quinn’s heart blocked her windpipe. She had never hiddenbehind a tree while someone else was in danger. She wanted to help Caleb now. And she had to grab onto the tree bark to keep herself from stepping into the open. But she knew that if she did, she could mess up Caleb’s act. He was playing a ghost, but what if the men realized there was a live person here? They might be able to figure out that she had dug him up and saved his life.

  Only she hadn’t done that. The man they’d brought here was dead. Or that was what Caleb said. She didn’t know if it was really true. They’d have to sort this out later—if they both lived.

  Long seconds passed. Then bursts of noise rang in her ears. When she realized they were from a gun, she gasped, then took off toward the trail at a dead run.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As quinn charged through the woods, a figure clad in a beige uniform stepped into her path, blocking her. She would have screamed, but a large hand clamped over her mouth. It took her several seconds to realize it was the new Caleb, not one of the men.

  “Come on.” He knit his hand with hers and pulled her into the woods, heading away from the trail and from the clearing.

  “What the hell were you doing down here?” he asked, his voice grating against her nerve endings.

  “I heard shooting. Are you all right?”

  “The jerks finally got out their guns, but they were too scared to shoot straight and run at the same time.”

  “Thank the Great Mother.”

  “Don’t waste your breath. We’ve got to disappear in case they work up the courage to come back.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away.” He led her into the woods, in a direction she’d never been. He made her keep going until she was gasping for breath. And so was he—worse than she was herself.

  TED Spencer pulled the SUV to the side of the road and cut the engine.

  Al Portland gave him a questioning look. “What are you doing?”

  “We gotta go back to the grave.”

  “Not me.”

  “You wanna explain to the colonel what happened?” Spencer asked.

  “We don’t have to explain nothin’. We did the job we were supposed to do.”

  “Yeah, but Reynolds didn’t exactly stay put, did he?” Spencer muttered. “He turned into a ghost. Or somebody dug him up, and he wasn’t really dead.”

  “You believe in ghosts?” Portland asked.

  “I did when I saw him comin’ down the trail. Now I’m not so sure.”

  The sky had turned the color of a fresh bruise, and thunderrumbled in the distance.

  Spencer looked back the way they’d come. “The colonel could blame this on us.”

  Portland followed his gaze, then faced forward again. “Not if we go back to Flagstaff Farm and say we took care of our business. How would he find out?”

  “If Reynolds comes after the colonel?”

  “He said he had power over this place. He can’t come out to the farm.”

  “If he’s really a ghost.”

  “We shot at him.”

  “Maybe we didn’t hit him. And maybe somebody saved him. And if we go back there, they could kill us,” Portland argued. “I say we just tell the colonel we completed the mission.Then, we come back later and look around.”

  “Later when?”

  “The next time we have a job to do off the farm. Like when we pick up supplies.”

  Spencer thought about the alternatives. “It could be bad either way. But if we believe in the cause, then we should go back to the colonel and give him a choice.”

  “He wanted the bastard dead. What do you think he’s gonna do to us? Think about what he does when you don’t have your shoes shined to his specs.”


  “Yeah,” Spencer admitted. He started the engine again and continued in the direction they’d been going—back to the compound.

  QUINN watched Caleb lean over, resting his hands on his knees, sucking in great drafts of air.

  She turned to him in concern. “You . . . shouldn’t be . . . running like this.”

  “We have to get away. They could come back—with reinforcements.”

  She nodded, gasping in air.

  “You . . . took a . . . big chance, playing ghost.”

  “I . . .”

  “You weren’t thinking!” she answered for him. “You’re used to being . . . untouchable. But everything’s changed. They could have shot you and killed you.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. The rules have changed—and I haven’t caught up with them yet.” He gave a harsh laugh. “But it wasn’t as much of a risk as you think. I scared the piss out of them.” He laughed, enjoying his victory. “Come on.” He started off again, but now she saw that he was walkingmore slowly and pressing his hand against his ribs. Once or twice, he almost tripped.

  “You’re not used to this. You have to stop.”

  “I don’t want you out in the open!”

  He kept going, and she slung her arm around him, helpinghim stay on his feet, hearing the breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

  “This body’s in good shape—physically fit. Except for the bruises.”

  “But you’re not used to having a body.”

  “Yeah. And my stomach feels . . . empty.”

  “Probably they didn’t feed him before they brought him here.”

  He nodded, then clamped his teeth together and kept going.

  As she held on to him, she was aware of his solid form pressed to hers. Despite her use of the name, it was still difficult to convince herself that this was Caleb. She cut him a sidewise glance, taking in his blond hair again. She couldn’t see the blue eyes, but she remembered the moment when they had blinked open—and then focused on her with frighteningintensity.

  She wanted to ask him where they were going, but she didn’t want to make him talk. He was having enough trouble dragging himself through the woods—and she thought that only dogged determination kept him going. But he was aimingfor some destination that he knew.