by Lori Drake
“Enough!” I shouted. The word rolled through the room, leaving silence in its wake. Blessed silence, aside from the noisy thump of my heart in my ears and Sadie’s barking and scratching at the door. I followed up with, “Get out!”
And they did. The spirits vanished as one, leaving me alone in the room. A moment later, Sadie settled down, too. Relief flooded me once the peace and quiet was restored, and my heartbeat gradually slowed to normal. Wide awake and alert thanks to lingering adrenaline, I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, I glanced outside. There was no trace of the spirits out there, just an expanse of weedy lawn that I really needed to get out and mow soon.
A headache started to throb behind my eyes, and I let the curtain fall back in place. This was getting out of hand. It had been getting out of hand for the last four days, if I was being honest with myself. I stumbled to my dresser for the aspirin, shook a couple out into one trembling hand, and dry swallowed them.
I needed to talk to Harper. I’d been trying to avoid it, hoping the problem would solve itself, that whatever was happening to me was some kind of brief surge and would go away. Instead, it was getting worse.
I showered and packed a bag before heading downstairs. By then, my headache had dulled to a low roar. Lucy and Jessica sat at the table in the kitchen, their heads together over something or another. They straightened as if caught in the act when I walked in, but I didn’t so much as bat an eye as I dumped my bag inside the door and headed for the coffee pot. Sadie followed me in and darted over to Lucy for attention.
“Morning, Dean. Where you headed?” Lucy asked, both hands cupped around a mug of java.
I grabbed a disposable cup and helped myself to some brew, hoping the caffeine combined with the aspirin would further diminish my headache. “Mexico.”
They laughed, then paused awkwardly when it became obvious I wasn’t joking.
“What’s in Mexico?” Jessica asked.
“Nothing, just… a friend. I need to take care of some personal business.” I blew on the hot coffee a bit, then took a sip.
“Oh,” Lucy said. “What kind of personal business?”
“The personal kind,” I snapped.
Lucy cringed, making me feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
Jessica shot me a glare. “What’s gotten into you?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve got a massive headache and a long drive ahead of me.”
“You’re driving to Mexico? You know you’re not in SoCal anymore, right?” Jessica said, giving me the hairy eyeball.
I struggled to reconcile what she said with what I’d been thinking. It felt like I had cotton stuffed behind my eyes. The pressure was intense. But she was right. Harper’s place may have been only a couple hours’ drive from San Diego, but from Seattle… not so much. My knees buckled. I angled for a chair but missed and ended up crashing down onto the floor, spilling hot coffee all over the floor and myself.
I vaguely remember them getting me cleaned up and helping me to lie down on the couch. I must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing I remember is waking up with a damp rag across my forehead. Trish sat on the coffee table, her elbows on her knees and her chin propped in her hands, watching me.
I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth, like the cotton from my head had relocated. “You know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep, right?” I croaked.
An answer came from an unexpected direction. “I wasn’t.”
The rag slid off my head as I lifted it to peer past Trish to where Jessica was curled up in an armchair with a tablet. The living room was dark and quiet, which I appreciated, but the headache had mostly abated. I pushed myself up and retrieved the damp rag from the floor. “Right, sorry.”
“She’s been working on the set list for the concert,” Trish said.
I barely restrained a groan. I’d forgotten all about the gig Jessica’s band was playing tonight. The one that Jessica had been so excited about for the last week, the one that she’d put on my calendar herself and reminded me of almost daily.
“How’s your head?” Jessica asked, looking up from the screen.
I folded the rag and tossed it onto the coffee table beside Trish. “Better, thanks. Sorry about earlier. I was really out of it.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Jessica uncurled and sat up, locking the tablet screen and holding it across her knees. “I booked you a flight to San Diego. It doesn’t leave for a few more hours…”
The rest of what she said was just noise. I stared at her in disbelief long after she’d finished speaking. “You booked me a flight?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
I didn’t know what to say. It didn’t help that my brain still felt sluggish, like the hamster in the wheel wasn’t fully awake. “You didn’t have to do that, Jess.”
“I know, but the trip seemed important to you. Urgent, even.”
“Even so, you shouldn’t have done it.”
She stood abruptly, tablet clutched in a white-knuckled grip. “Look, I was just trying to do something nice. You don’t want it, don’t take it.” With that said, she was off for the stairs, crossing the room with long strides.
“Wait, that’s not what I—Jess, wait!” I stood a little too quickly and the room pitched. Trish was by my side in a blink, steadying me with a hand on my arm.
Jessica stopped at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the bannister. “What?”
“Your show’s tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“And I’ll be there. The trip can wait until tomorrow, and I’ll pay you back for the ticket if it’s non-refundable. Thank you, Jess.”
She lingered where she was, then rushed over to me and gave me a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. “Okay. You should get some more rest. You look like shit.” Then she was off again, a veritable whirlwind of activity that left me standing dazed in her wake.
I eased myself down onto the sofa again and stretched out, closing my eyes. The cold, damp cloth settled across my eyes again, and fingers brushed through my hair.
“I think she likes you,” Trish said.
I lifted a corner of the rag and peeked at her. “Are you trying to set me up again?”
She smiled. “You could do worse.”
“I’ve done better.”
“Damn right.”
The club was already packed when I arrived an hour before show time. The Elbow Room was a popular venue for local musicians, the sort of place one had to book months in advance. It was a known haunt for talent scouts, and rumor had it, countless careers had been launched there with a handshake backstage after a show. Or, at least that’s what Jessica told me, and I had no reason to doubt her. It was a relatively small venue. The sign by the door said the maximum capacity was 225, but there were easily 300 people packed into the club. It was standing room only, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Jessica’s band had more of a following than I’d realized or if the club was so popular that it’d be packed to the rafters on any given weeknight with hipsters desperate to be able to claim they’d seen the next big thing before they were famous.
I spotted Lucy’s blue hair easily from the front door and wove my way through the crowd toward the table she and the others had staked out. The whole pack had turned out for the show—minus their Alpha, anyway. Chris had regretfully bowed out due to a familial obligation. No one could hold it against him, given what the Grants were currently dealing with. None of the wolves clustered around the table were strangers to loss. I’ve heard stories, but they aren’t mine to share.
“There he is!” Lucy exclaimed as I drew near, sparking a chorus of welcomes and waves.
Itsuo rose and offered me a handshake, which I accepted as I met the Japanese man’s wizened gaze. He looked to be in his sixties, but he was apparently pushing two hundred. Something about his eyes weirded me out, and I could never hold his gaze for long. I could only imagine what
he’d seen in his long life and, frankly, I didn’t want to. I patted his much younger granddaughter’s shoulder on the way past, winking at Jenny as she smiled at me. She was a Freshman at the university, so shy that I was surprised to see her at all. Lucy hopped up to give me a hug, and Adam and I exchanged a brief hand slap and squeeze. The other wolf at the table was Colt, whom I was barely acquainted with. He was an accountant, and I’d moved to Seattle during tax season. He’d been pretty damn scarce ever since, scarce enough that I was surprised to see him, but he was there nonetheless.
Lucy leaned over to holler at me around her brother. “Jess says hi!” She motioned with her phone.
“Tell her I said break a leg, or whatever is appropriate for live music.”
Applause picked up as members of the warm-up band started making their way onstage. The wolves passed around an aluminum tin with ear plugs, which confused me at first until I realized just how unpleasant loud music might be to those with ultra-sensitive hearing. Since mine was of the plain ol’ human variety, I passed on the plugs and leaned back in my chair to enjoy the show.
The opening band wasn’t bad and did a good job of warming up the audience, but I’ll admit I was impatient to get on with the show I’d come to see. Jessica had been talking it up for over a week. They’d been down a guitarist for a while and had only recently replaced him. They’d done a much smaller gig a few days ago, but I’d had to bail before they even got through the first song to deal with a spirit-related emergency. Hopefully, tonight I could simply enjoy the show in peace. It was a lot to hope for, the way things had been going lately.
I saw my first ghost of the evening as the opening band was making their way offstage. She hovered near the emergency exit, looking around. I pretended not to notice. One hour of peace to support my friend. That’s all I asked. One hour.
Soon Jessica’s group took the stage, and I applauded along with the others, even going so far as to put my fingers in my mouth and whistle sharply. Jessica grinned and waved at us, then focused on settling her guitar strap across her shoulder and making sure she was properly plugged in and mic’ed up.
By the time the band was settled and Jessica stepped center stage, the crowd was clapping their hands and stomping their feet. She grinned and leaned in to the mic. “You guys ready to rock?”
A cheer rolled through the room. There was a certain energy to a live show like this, and Jess seemed to feed off it. Even offstage, she had a presence about her that dominated a room. Onstage, it was amplified tenfold. She signaled the band, and they kicked off their set with a guitar-driven anthem to rock and roll. The crowd ate it up, and pretty soon most everyone in the place was on their feet, myself included. I don’t dance, as a general rule, but I can stand and bob my head with the best of them.
I’d managed to forget all about that ghost I’d seen by the time I noticed the second one. He drifted onto the stage through the wall behind the band and eyed them critically as they performed. He looked like a classic grunge guy in his denim and flannel. I suddenly wondered if Cobain’s ghost lurked around Seattle. It’d be my first celebrity ghost sighting, but I wasn’t in any rush. Really. I’d had more than my share of spooks lately.
The ghost looked out across the crowd and met my eyes. I looked away quickly, and he spent the next few minutes meandering around the stage checking out the band’s equipment—fortunately not tampering with anything, as far as I could tell.
I’d gotten so distracted by the ghost that it took me a minute to realize that the music had stopped. On stage, Jess took a swig from a dark brown bottle, then motioned for the audience to simmer down. One of her bandmates brought out a couple of stools and she settled on one with her new guitarist by her side. He’d traded his electric guitar for an acoustic, and Jess swapped hers for a shaker before settling on the stool. She adjusted the mic, lowering it and moving it so that it was between them.
“So, this is Craig,” Jess said. “Everyone say hi to Craig.” The audience complied and she grinned, tucking the shaker under her arm to clap her hands. “Craig’s the newest member of Tripwire, and we’ve been working on something a little different. Wanna hear it?”
The audience boomed an enthusiastic yes, and the drummer started them off with a thumping bass line punctuated by occasional snare. Jess lifted her instrument after a few bars and shook it with the beat, adding another layer to the sound. Once the rhythm was established, the four bandmates began to chant, low notes combining with the drums in a tribal sort of tune. The acoustic guitar joined in, and then the chanting fell away as Craig began to sing. Until this song, Jessica had been doing the heavy lifting with vocals—and well she should have, her voice was amazing. Craig was a little rougher around the edges. His voice cracked a little with nerves, but he gained confidence when Jess joined him. Their voices blended in perfect harmony, and I found myself smiling as I drank in the music, letting the melody wash over me.
The tone of the song shifted from tribal to more of a folk rock feel as they dug into it. It was a song about those inevitable missteps in life—sins, regrets, and a longing for redemption that may never come. I identified with it maybe a little too much. I thought Jess did too, because there was something in her eyes, in the way her honeyed voice poured into the harmony that made me suspect the song was as much hers as it was Craig’s. In fact, by the time the chorus came around the second time, I suspected she’d propped him up as a shield to hide behind. I knew a little of her past, of how she’d done some pretty dirty work for a former Alpha, not always realizing just how dirty it was. It would take years for the scars to heal, but she was her own worst critic.
The crowd was mesmerized. There was a heavy silence as the final beats faded, leaving the space so quiet you could’ve heard a fly fart. Jessica and Craig exchanged a nervous glance just before the room erupted in thunderous applause. I lent my voice to the roar of approval, grinning from ear to ear as the performers took a bow and began rearranging themselves into their more customary plugged-in configuration.
“Ohmygod that was amazing!” Lucy squealed. She and Jenny were both jumping up and down like hyper-caffeinated ferrets, and I laughed, briefly overcome by delight that I’d pushed my trip back a day and come to the concert. That was a performance I would’ve regretted missing.
While the band started up another heavy rock song, I leaned over and squeezed Colt’s shoulder. “I’m going to grab a beer. You want another?”
“Sure,” he called back and reached for his wallet. I waved him off and turned to slip in the crowd but stopped in my tracks when I came face to face with the ghost of Mindi Masterson.
7
A ghost retains the appearance of its body at the time of death, from the clothes he or she was wearing to any wounds they’d sustained before death. Some, like Trish, didn’t have a mark on them.
Mindi was another story. Mindi looked like shit. No, Mindi looked like shit that’d been put in a paper bag, stepped on, and poured back out again.
Someone had cut on her face, giving her a perversely wide red smile that glistened wetly along the edges of the curled flesh. One of her lips was split. Her eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown. It wasn’t obvious what exactly had killed her, but it was clear she’d suffered. My stomach managed to tighten and turn over at the same time. Guilt and anger came at me from different directions, colliding with enough violence to curl my hands into fists and steal my breath.
“Now will you help me?” she asked, glaring at me with accusing eyes.
I heard her as clear as day, as if Jessica’s band wasn’t filling the room with their amplifiers. A cold chill went down my spine. The implications of Mindi’s statement weren’t lost on me. I didn’t have to blame myself for her death; she was happy to do it for me.
I motioned for her to join me and made a beeline for the exit. It was raining, so I pulled up my collar before stepping out from under the postage stamp-sized awning outside. Rain notwithstanding, the street outside seemed unnaturally quiet compared
to the loud music in the club. My ears rang as I walked down the row of buildings to get out of earshot of the bouncer stationed by the door. The ghost kept up with me easily, but she wasn’t the only one. The two ghosts I’d noticed in the club followed us out into the rain, though they kept their distance.
The rain pattered down on my head, dampening my hair but doing little to cool my rising anger. “Trish, I need you.”
She materialized in front of me, and I had to step aside quickly to avoid bumping into her or walking through her. With Trish, I just never knew which it would be. Her presence usually calmed me, and I needed every edge I could get.
Trish, of course, paid me little attention. Instead, she gaped at Mindi. “Holy shit! What happened to you?”
“I’m trying to have a private conversation, here.” Mindi folded her arms and huffed, ruined features twisting in an even more unappealing manner.
I cast a quick glance around the area, then turned to face Mindi. “Who did this to you?” I had to find him. I didn’t know what I was going to do when that happened, but I knew it had to happen.
She shrank away until her back was pressed against the brick wall behind her. “I don’t… don’t remember.”
Trish grumbled. “Of course you don’t. That’d be useful.”
Mindi shot her a glare.
I held up a hand. “Ladies, focus please. Mindi, what’s the last thing you remember?”
The newly dead woman nibbled the inside of her split lip. “I remember getting ready for bed. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I brushed my hair as usual, and I went to bed and… that’s it.”
Post-mortem amnesia wasn’t uncommon. It’d fade, and Mindi would either make peace with it or become hell-bent on revenge. Had I been a betting man, my money would’ve been on the latter. The only problem was that no matter how much revenge she got, it might never be enough.