The Trouble With Twelfth Grave

by Darynda Jones

  “She’s cool,” he said when I was finished. “But this won’t work.”

  “Why not?” I asked, offended.

  “Just because you call her asking about this Judianna Ayers doesn’t mean she’s going to jump in her car and drive to where they’re keeping her.”

  “True, but maybe she’ll bring something up or make a call I can trace. Just take note of any addresses or phone numbers after we hang up.”

  “Will do.”

  He vanished just as my phone rang. Cookie was calling back, hopefully with the location of our girl and I could pull the plug on the sting.

  “Charley’s House of Snake Venom.”

  “I had a thought.”

  “Just one?”

  “You said that this priest—”

  “If it is the priest.”

  “Right, if it is this priest and he’s attacking people who can see into the supernatural realm—”

  “Exactly, but why? Why would he attack people at all?”

  “More importantly, what’s to keep him from attacking Quentin? I mean, Quentin doesn’t just see into the supernatural realm. He can communicate with them.”

  “Oh, Cook,” I said, my pulse suddenly rushing in my ears. “I didn’t even think. Can you call Amber and have her get him a message?”

  “Of course. But, not to shine a glaring light on the obvious, what’s to keep the priest from attacking you?”

  “I can handle him. Don’t you dare worry about me. But Quentin…”

  “I’ll take care of it. Maybe we need to send him away for a while, too.”

  I bit my bottom lip in thought. “I wonder if he would be safer at the convent. You know, that whole sacred ground thing?”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  “Okay, have Amber tell him to get his butt home pronto. Oh, and Pari,” I added. “Can you call her? I’m about to sting Kit.”

  “Sounds … painful. I can definitely call her. Should I tell her to leave town?”

  “Yes. She won’t, but tell her to. In fact, send Garrett to watch her if he’s finished with his skip.”

  “You got it. Any excuse to talk to that man.”

  “Right? Have you seen his abs lately?” A heat washed over me with the statement and it wasn’t coming from inside me. I ignored it. Jealously was so unbecoming.

  We hung up, and I set up the sting, otherwise known as Operation Spy on Kit and Get Her to Reveal the Whereabouts of a Certain Witness to a Crime Perpetrated by the Newly Departed Hector Felix. I was so bad at naming operations.

  I dialed Kit’s number and waited. She didn’t pick up the first time, so I tried again. She was an FBI agent. She had important shit to do. Important shit I had no problem interrupting, so I tried again.

  After the fifth call, she finally picked up. “Davidson,” she said, her voice a little edgy. A little sharp. A little irked.

  “Carson,” I said back. “’Sup?”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there,” she said to someone other than me. I hoped. “I’m headed into a meeting, Davidson. Is this business or pleasure?”

  “It’s always pleasure when you’re involved, Kit.”

  “So, business. What do you need?”

  “Oh, nothing too urgent. It’s just, this woman came in with fresh cuts all over her face. It was awful, Kit. She wants to hire me, but I told her to go to the police. She said she’d already been talking to the FBI, but she was afraid for her life. She wants me to find her attacker.”

  “What?” Kit said, taken aback. “We already know who attacked her. Damn it. I’ll call you right back.”

  She hung up before I could say, “Okeydokey.” Thirty seconds later, Angel was back with a stunned expression on his face.

  “I can’t believe that worked.”

  “Told you. I should’ve gone to Hollywood. I could’ve been a contender.”

  “She just dialed the number to one of the agents watching your witness.”

  “In her defense, not many of their enemies can send in a departed teenager to spy on them and intercept the numbers of their outgoing calls.”

  “True.” He repeated the number Kit had dialed to check on Judianna Ayers.

  I called Cookie, relayed the message, then told her to work her magic. Five minutes later, as horrible as the truth of what we’d done felt, we had a location.

  “No way could it have been that easy,” I said, growing worried.

  “I know, right? But this is the address that came up. That number is sitting pretty right there.”

  “But it’s a witness protection gig. It can’t have been that easy to get this information.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “You know what? I’m punching a hole in their security measures. Teaching them where they went wrong. Where they need to tighten up.”

  “Better you than a real enemy. Be careful, hon.”

  “Okay. I’ll check it out. Thanks, Cook.”

  I headed to the address Cookie gave me in the South Valley off Fourth Street. Not the best part of town. Not the worst, either. There were some really cool historic houses in the district. It gave the area a certain charm not afforded the worse parts of Albuquerque. The war zones.

  Knowing I’d never get through security to see Judianna and could be arrested just for trying, I did the next best thing. I bypassed security. I shifted onto the celestial plane, straddling the two realms, and walked through an exterior wall of the residence and into the bathroom, hoping beyond hope we had the right address.

  I cracked open the door and listened. A TV blared from the living room, and two agents sat at a table nearby. Relief washed over me. We definitely had the right address. Now to find Judianna.

  I started to sneak down the hall when I heard a soft voice behind me.

  “I’ll scream,” it said.

  I froze, then slowly turned to see the once-beautiful Judianna Ayers standing behind me with a toothbrush in her hand.

  “I will stab you in the face.”

  She held it like a weapon, her toothbrush, all piss and vinegar.

  She was scared. Anyone would be. But she had not done as I’d feared. She had not withdrawn inside herself and given up. She was a fighter. And she was threatening to stab my face with her toothbrush.

  I liked her.

  I glanced around, wondering where she’d been thirty seconds ago. So I asked. “Where were you thirty seconds ago?”

  “In the shower.”

  Noting her fully clothed state, I looked her up and down, suspicion kneading my brows.

  “The water in the sink doesn’t work,” she explained. “I have to brush my teeth in the bathtub.”

  “So, you climbed in?”

  “Okay, fine, I was reading. Do you know how loud that stupid TV is? I have to come in here to read, and, well, throw in a couple of pillows and the bathtub is pretty comfortable.” She turned on me as though snapping to attention. “But how did you get in here, and what do you want?”

  Her stitches had been removed some time back. God only knew how long she’d been holed up in this tiny house with FBI agents dogging her every move.

  “I was going to ask you if you killed Hector, but I can see that’s fairly doubtful considering the bodyguards.”

  “Killed Hector?” she asked. She straightened her shoulders. After a moment of thought, she sank down onto the side of the tub. “Hector’s dead?”

  That was a definite no to the kill theory. “Yes, hon. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. He was an ass. It’s just … shocking.”

  “I’m sure.” I sat next to her and checked out the book she’d been reading: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I knew I liked her.

  “Wait, you thought I killed him?” Her skin stretched when she spoke, and some words were harder for her to pronounce, but she was healing remarkably well.

  “Not anymore. And, no, not really. I just needed to make certain. But can you tell me about Hector?”

  Sh
e lifted a shoulder. “He was violent, unpredictable, sociopathic.”

  “Besides that? He was apparently poisoned, and if you’d keep that to yourself for a bit, I’d appreciate it. I’m not sure I’m supposed to be repeating that. Did anything unusual happen while you were together? Besides the obvious.”

  “He’d been acting strange for about a month before I tried to break it off with him. Secret phone calls and meetings.”

  “Another woman?”

  “Oh, no.” She waved a dismissive hand. “That was a given with Hector. He never kept his liaisons a secret. No, this was different. He was … stressed. Worried. And believe you me, Hector didn’t worry about anything.”

  “And you have no idea what was going on?”

  “Not a clue. He never talked business in front of me.”

  I was having a hard time picturing this levelheaded girl, so smart and courageous, ending up with someone like Hector Felix. “How did you meet him?”

  She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, full of resentment. “I was a model. He came to a show, flirted a little, and the next day I had a dozen roses show up on my doorstep along with a note saying that I was his.”

  “Ah. A traditional guy.”

  “It was so strange. At first it made me feel, I don’t know, wanted. Safe, even.”

  “I understand that. But once you found out what he was like, why did you put up with it? With him?”

  “Hector didn’t give me much of a choice. I would still be with him if he hadn’t tried to kill me one night. I decided nothing could be worse than living in fear. Not even death. So, I left him.”

  “He didn’t take it well?”

  “No. He did not. But I still had my career.” She lowered her head as tears formed between her lashes. “I was a model.”

  I closed my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Judianna. I’m sorry Hector did this to you.”

  She glanced back at me in surprise. “Hector didn’t do this to me.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, no. This was a message from his mother.”

  I sat there speechless for a full minute until a knock sounded at the door.

  One of the agents shouted through the door. “Judianna? Is everything okay?”

  Hector’s mother. I had to meet this woman.

  “Everything is fine. I’m just talking to—” She looked at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Let me guess,” a startlingly familiar female voice said. “Charley Davidson?”

  Judianna lifted her brows in question. I could hardly shift now. I had no choice but to face the bleak, dead-of-winter music.

  I nodded and stood to open the door.

  “Carson!” I said a microsecond before a male agent slammed my face into the floor and cuffed me. That was so going to hurt in the morning.

  16

  It just occurred to me that you could substitute

  Miranda rights for wedding vows. Verbatim.

  —TRUE FACT

  Thirty minutes later, I sat in the back of Kit’s SUV with a bag of ice on my face. Not that I needed it. I’d heal almost instantly, but it looked good.

  Kit climbed in the backseat with me while her partner in crime … solving, Special Agent Nguyen, sat in front.

  “Charley Davidson,” she said, opening a file she held, “as I live and breathe. You tricked me.”

  “Tricked is a strong word.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting an old friend.”

  “An old friend who just happens to be in protective custody?”

  “Weird, right?”

  “I would ask how you found her, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “You probably don’t.”

  “What about how you got inside the house? A house, mind you, that has been completely compromised.”

  “I wouldn’t go there, either.”

  “Okay, how about why are you here? Only the truth this time, yeah?”

  “I’m trying to solve Hector Felix’s death. A friend of mine, a friend other than this one, is a person of interest in it, and I want to make sure her name is cleared.”

  She nodded and opened the file.

  “Do you have any clues into his death?” I asked, hopeful.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “Really? Why? Isn’t that, like, your job?”

  “We’re after bigger fish, Davidson.”

  “The matriarch.” It hit me why they had Judianna in protective custody. Hector’s mother had ordered the attack.

  Kit closed the file. “You are about thirty seconds away from fucking up my case.”

  “Come on, Carson. You know my record. We can work together on this.”

  “You’re good, Charley, but not this time.”

  “What? Why?”

  “We have someone on the inside. Someone with family connections. For the first time in a decade of investigations, we’ve managed to infiltrate their family. I can’t risk his life, Davidson, no matter how much I’d like you on the case.”

  I fought the disappointment bubbling inside my chest and nodded.

  “And I’m not going to arrest you even though I should. I don’t want to bring any more attention to Judianna or this case than is absolutely necessary.”

  A get-out-of-jail-free card. I’d take it.

  “But if I see you butting your nose into this case, Davidson.”

  “Kit, I’m only after Hector’s killer.”

  “That’s butting.”

  “Not this time. My case has nothing to do with Judianna, who’s totally great, by the way.”

  “I mean it, Davidson. I don’t want to see you anywhere near this family.”

  I let out a long sigh of surrender. “Fine. No going near the family.”

  “Swear to me,” she said, like she didn’t trust me.

  I held up my pinkie. She glared, then kicked me out of her SUV. Two minutes later, she absconded with Judianna, heading north with a full security detail following.

  Judianna must have had something good on Edina Felix, Hector’s mother. Something solid. I couldn’t mess that up if I just went to Hector’s funeral, could I? I hadn’t actually sworn. We never shook pinkies. And I really, really, really wanted to meet the woman Hector Felix called Mommy.

  * * *

  It seemed that shifting in and out of the celestial realm stirred up my anarchistic husband, or the anarchistic entity residing in my husband’s body, even more. I’d felt him close all day, but when I shifted to sneak into the safe house, I’d felt a stronger version of his presence. His warmth. His energy. His anger. He obviously hadn’t found what he was looking for.

  I hadn’t found what I was looking for, either, so we were even.

  I walked back to Misery, climbed inside, and picked up my phone just as it rang.

  “Hey, Cook,” I said, turning the engine over and heading back to the office.

  “Are you wearing a little black dress?”

  “Not this month.”

  “How are your clothes as far as attending a funeral? Will you blend?”

  “I won’t stick out, but I’d rather change. I take it the funeral is soon?”

  “Hon, the funeral is at two.”

  I held my phone out to check the time. “Oh, I have just under three hours.”

  “In El Paso.”

  “Texas?” I asked, appalled. “Why El Paso? I thought the Felix family was from Albuquerque.”

  “They have a few holdings here, but they’re based out of El Paso.”

  “Wonderful. Okay, I can do this. I’ll run home, grab some clothes, and change on the road.”

  “While you’re driving?” she asked, equally as appalled.

  “It’s that or miss the whole thing. El Paso is three hours away. I can make it in a little over two without killing anyone. Yeah,” I said, thinking out loud. “I can do this.”

  “Why don’t you just do that teleportation thing?”

  My shoulders sagged. “I’m just not
that good. I could end up in Scotland again. Or Siberia. Or Mars.”

  “I’ll get some clothes together and meet you out front.”

  “Thanks, Cook. I owe you.”

  “You already owed me. How’d it go with Judianna?”

  “Kid’s a survivor, through and through. And I didn’t get arrested. So, you know, that’s a plus.”

  “Good for you.”

  Ten minutes later, I sped into the parking lot of our apartment building, grabbed the bag out of Cookie’s outstretched hands like a drive-through, slowed down and backed up to grab the coffee cup she held out, then peeled out of the lot and headed back to I-25.

  The reality of what I’d done sank in about three miles later. I’d just allowed a woman with the worst fashion sense I’d ever seen pick out clothes for me. Clothes in which I’d have to appear in public. Not the best scenario, but I’d faced worse.

  I figured I could wait and change as I got a little closer, so I turned to the heat emanating from the backseat. Seeing nothing, I decided to watch the road again. Going ninety-five in a seventy-five in Albuquerque traffic took concentration. And guts. Mostly guts.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” I asked, speaking to the emptiness around me.

  Nothing.

  Either Rey’azikeen was sulking or he was figuring out how to kill me and drag me to hell. I could’ve summoned him, forced him to shift onto this plane, but I didn’t want to do something so drastic in a traveling coffin. Bad enough that I was speeding.

  “You know, you could do me a favor and keep a lookout for cops.”

  Nothing times two.

  My record was clearly not improving when it came to tall, dark, and sulky. Maybe I would summon him just to piss him off. Maybe—

  I stilled as a realization dawned. If the priest were on this plane, if he was attacking people, killing them, all I had to do to bring him forth was to summon him. But I’d need his name to do that.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t know his name. And I had no idea how to get it. He’d lived in the 1400s and had been locked in the hell dimension ever since.

  I racked my brain trying to come up with a way to learn the priest’s name. Researching something like that would take years, and there was no way to know if any of the records from his parish survived. But someone knew. Michael? Would he have that kind of information? And if so, would he share?