Night Terror (The Lazarus Codex Book 7)

by E. A. Copen

  So, with Remy in the seat next to me, I drove my little car across town with the windows down and the stereo on. Remy didn’t care for the cold or the noise, and she let me know the entire ride home by screaming about it. I tried to calm her by shoving a pacifier in her mouth, but she spat it out with enough force to make it bounce against the seat and just screamed louder.

  I scowled at her bright red angry face. “This is why some animals eat their young, you know.”

  Once I got her in the house, I was even more tired. Not just normal tired, either. The kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones and makes them ache. My face was numb and my head throbbing. It was like a hangover except without all the fun. Dammit, I was too old to feel that bad.

  While I forced myself through another feeding and yet another diaper change, I mused that I should visit the local cemetery and grab a couple bodies to make some zombies. The help around the house would be worth the stench. I’d raise their ghosts and ask first, of course, but who didn’t want a second lease at life as a zombie nanny to a fairy princess?

  “How do you smell this bad when all you eat is powdered formula?” I wrinkled my nose and deposited the dirty diaper in a plastic bag before putting it in another plastic bag and then dropping it in the trash. In the process, I got a whiff of myself and gagged. Running into yet another burning building hadn’t done me any favors either. “How do I smell this bad?”

  Didn’t matter since I was the only one who had to live with me, I guessed. Sleep first. Shower later.

  I made sure Remy was safe in her crib before falling into bed face-first. As much as I would’ve liked to just pass out like that, I couldn’t trust myself. I had to secure my hands somehow to make sure I didn’t throw any spells around. With a groan, I sat up and grabbed the pair of fuzzy handcuffs hanging on the post. And here I thought I’d bought those for pleasure, not business.

  I got my dominant hand secured to the headboard, but that left me with the other one. I lifted it in front of my face and frowned. “This’d be easier if I had help.” But, alas, it was not meant to be. The best I could do was secure it with something.

  I uncuffed my hand and looked around the room, eventually settling on the only tie I owned. I had been planning to wear it to Thanksgiving dinner—Emma would want me to dress up. At least I knew where it was now.

  One arm secured with handcuffs, I tied the necktie with my teeth and hoped it would hold. At the very least, the resistance should wake me. I hoped.

  Chapter Twelve

  I had a fitful sleep, jerking awake every time I seemed to start dreaming. Specifics of the nightmare I kept sinking into evaded my recollection and I was left with only the fleeting memory of shadows darting around the room and shrill sounds. The presence I had felt the night before didn’t appear, at least not that I was aware of.

  During my four-hour nap, I’d pulled my left arm free. Apparently, the necktie wasn’t a great restraint. That or I needed to learn how to tie better knots. Difficult to do when you’ve only got one hand.

  It was early afternoon by the time I’d dragged myself through my usual morning routine and gotten Remy settled. I sat down with my cell phone on the coffee table in front of me, staring at it. There were only a few leads to follow, and I didn’t like any of them. The easiest, and maybe the most helpful would be to speak to my father’s ghost. No matter how much it helped, I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. My hatred for the man exceeded all reason. Though, as I watched Remy swatting at the hanging plastic shapes on her mobile, my resolve melted a little.

  The longer this dragged, the higher the chances that she’d get caught in the crossfire. I could stay awake and fight this, but she was a baby. What if this thing snacked on her instead? She was half-fae. That meant magic, right?

  Rather than dive right into it, I tackled the internet, browsing various blogs on dream interpretation and myth. The closest I came in my search to matching all the elements was a myth about a succubus, but I knew that didn’t fit. Khaleda didn’t sit on people’s chests and haunt their nightmares. Not usually anyway. No, this had to be something else. Something powerful, and it was getting more powerful with each feeding.

  My phone buzzed, and I nearly jumped out of my skin before I realized what it was. Nate’s number danced across the screen before I answered, “What’s up, Doc?”

  “Turn on the news,” he said excitedly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just do it, Laz.”

  I tabbed over to a local news website to play the live feed. The video showed some footage from the early hours of the morning, firetrucks pulled up outside Tim’s house. In the background, if I looked close enough, I could see me sitting on the grass with him. The camera zoomed in on me. I had Remy in my arms and one hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim nodded in the recording, looking relieved. The headline read: UNIDENTIFIED MAN SAVES FAMILY FROM HOUSE FIRE. The news anchor was lauding me as a hero.

  “Shit, I didn’t know anyone was recording anything,” I growled in Nate’s ear. “Don’t they need my permission to use my image or something? I didn’t sign any release forms.”

  “Not if you’re over eighteen and it’s not monetized,” Nate answered, sounding cheerful. “So I take it you found the next victim in time?”

  “Sort of.” I sighed and cringed at the recording of my exhausted face. “I still don’t know what’s behind all this, and I don’t know how to stop it. Worse, I’m starting to be affected. I’ve barely slept in days.”

  He hesitated. “Is Remy safe?”

  I didn’t answer right away, stopping to watch her grab one of the plastic toys. She stared at the blue star in her hand, amazed. “I handcuffed myself to the bed last night. The simple answer is, I don’t know.”

  “Lazarus, you need to speak with your father. He might have answers.”

  “I know. I just…” I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to face him. How am I supposed to do that? Just pretend like everything that happened when I was younger didn’t really happen? I don’t know if I can. I hate him.”

  My phone beeped. I pulled it away from my ear to see I had another call. “I’ll take care of it, Nate. I’ll be with Emma tonight, so don’t worry about me. Remy will be okay.”

  “Did you meet her parents?”

  The memory of my brief encounter with Mr. and Ms. Knight made me cringe. I hadn’t exactly been charming. Maybe this hero business would actually help me with them. “Yeah. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve got another call. Happy Thanksgiving, Nate.”

  “You too. And good luck.” He hung up.

  I rushed to answer the other call before I missed it and didn’t get a single word in before Emma shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sitting on my couch. Why?”

  “The news, Laz! Turn it on!”

  I leaned back, scratching my head. Why would she be mad at me over that? “I saw. I didn’t know anyone was recording or I’d have cleaned up a bit.”

  “How did you even get his address? I told you that was in a sealed case file. The captain is going to have my ass!”

  Oh. Oops.

  “Calm down. It’s not that big a deal. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them I was in the neighborhood, driving around with Remy to get her to sleep.”

  For the young men in the audience, a helpful tip. There are two things you never tell a woman. The first is that yes, those pants do make her butt look big. I promise you, she will not take it as a compliment, even if that’s how it’s meant. Second, never tell a woman to calm down when she’s angry.

  “I just got back on the job!” she shouted so loud I had to jerk the phone away from my ear. “Not only have I had to deal with Drake and Codey sniffing around, trying to steal cases from under me, but I’ve had to deal with them making a big deal about you. About us. About me dating an ex-con running a curio shop. They’re going to see this and think I’m abusing my position, feeding privileged information to a civilian! I’m about to get kicked off
this case and to desk duty for the rest of my natural life!”

  I rubbed my aching forehead. “I thought you said there was no case?”

  “That’s not the point!”

  I didn’t see how there could both be a case and not a case, but maybe it was because I was too exhausted to think. “What do you want me to do here? I’m doing my best. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be watching a story about bodies and not a rescue!”

  “I think you’ve done enough. You know what, I’ve got to go see if I can salvage my career. On Thanksgiving, no less. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate today with my parents at each other’s throats and Grammy being Grammy. Now I have to clean up your messes too.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. I know you’re pissed at me, but I did what I could. How was I supposed to know some asshole with a cell phone was recording me?”

  She sighed loudly, and some of the tension was gone from her voice when she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Laz. It’s been a stressful few days. I barely slept, and every time I did, I had another nightmare.”

  Every time I heard the word nightmare, alarm bells went off in my head. But Emma’s nightmares couldn’t be related to what was going on with the supernatural community. She wasn’t connected to the prison, and she didn’t have an ounce of magic. The monster would have no reason to feed on her, nothing to gain from it.

  And I really needed a word better than “monster” for that thing.

  Maybe she was picking up my nightmares through our shared psychic connection. “What kind of nightmares?” I asked. “Still Hell?”

  “No, these were different. It was the city. It wasn’t bad. It was just empty. Like a ghost town.”

  A chill worked its way down my spine, making the little hairs on my arms stand on end. That was exactly the same dream I’d been having, the same one I’d seen the monster in. It should’ve been a relief to hear that since it probably meant she was just picking up on my dreams, except now I was worried the monster would notice her. Maybe it’d hurt her to get to me.

  “We can talk about it more when you get here,” Emma continued.

  I frowned as Remy pulled hard on the plastic toy she had in her hand. The frame it was attached to bowed, but didn’t break. She was getting stronger. “You sure you still want us to come after I ruined your career?”

  She was quiet a minute. “Maybe I over-reacted. How’d you find out about Tim anyway? I didn’t give you that info.”

  “I kinda made a promise not to tell on who told me, Emma. And telling you would be telling.”

  “Moses, god dammit!”

  I smiled at the unintentional irony and imagined her pacing in the kitchen with that cute pissed-off look she got sometimes. If I ever let it slip I thought her angry face was cute, she’d break my legs like toothpicks. “What time should I show up?”

  “Dinner’s on the table at six.” Something banged in the background. It sounded like she was moving around in the kitchen. Distant voices rose and fell. “But you should come before that. You like football, don’t you? Dad and Curtis are watching the game. Maybe you three can find some common ground.”

  I had to hand it to Emma. At least she was trying. This had to be as awkward for her as it was for me. Maybe more so. I got to leave at the end while she still had to put up with them. While football wasn’t my favorite sport, I could put up with it, especially if it gave me a chance to make a good impression. “Sure. Just let me get cleaned up and I’ll be over. Want me to bring anything? Besides my dashing self and adorable daughter, that is.”

  “No, I think we’re good. See you in a few.” She hung up in a much better mood than when she called.

  I’d never understand that. It was like yelling at me was therapeutic. Maybe it was, and I should try it sometime.

  I took my time getting ready, not because I didn’t want to rush over there and pretend to like football. Actually, I was dying to see Emma and make sure I’d adequately patched things up. But I wasn’t going over there without a thorough shower, a shave, and careful wardrobe choices. Last night hadn’t been my best first impression with her family and I needed to remedy that. Everyday clothes wouldn’t be good enough, so I put on a nice black button down and dug out a pair of dress slacks. They were wrinkled of course, which led to me tearing through the house in search of an iron. Apparently, neither Pony nor I owned one, so I resorted to tossing them into the dryer for a spell while I dressed Remy.

  For all my threats to put her in that pink dress she hated, I chose a fuzzy red one because she looked better in it and because it came with a matching red bow on a headband.

  When we were both finally dressed, I went to double-check myself in the mirror. I cleaned up nice when I felt like it. Now, if only I could’ve done something about those dark circles under my eyes. Too bad I wasn’t one of those wizards who could alter his appearance on a whim.

  “Well, no one said I had to be pretty.” I sighed and probed the swollen, slate-colored lower eyelids. If this dinner went anything like the initial introduction I’d had to the Knight family, at least I wouldn’t be comfortable enough to fall asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It opened with an interrogation.

  The three of us sat in Emma’s living room, awkwardly ignoring each other in favor of watching men in shoulder pads ram into each other like bulls fighting over a patch of grass. Perry, Emma’s dad, took the armchair while Curtis and I sat on opposite ends of the sofa, a big comfortable space between us. Emma, her mom, and Grammy were all banging around in the kitchen, getting things ready while we were supposed to be getting to know each other. So far, that had consisted of me wishing I had a beer and a quip while they glared at the screen. Until the Falcons coach called for a time out and the sports commentators came on.

  Curtis picked up the remote, crushed the mute button with a meaty finger and turned to me. “What do you do for a living, Lazarus?”

  I froze, my heart jumping into my temples to pound like a jackhammer. It was an easy question, one I shouldn’t have had to even think twice about before answering. I was a small business owner. That was an okay answer, right? But what if he wanted specifics? He’d probably ask what I did. Curio shop owner? Shit, that’d make me look like a con man who sold junk. I certainly wasn’t telling him I was a necromancer or the Pale Horseman, even though that’s where the bulk of my cash came from anymore. The stipend the Baron had hooked me up with was small but adequate.

  While my brain was working overtime in search of a socially acceptable answer, my mouth spat out the first dumb thing that bypassed my filter. “I tell fortunes and read tarot. I’m thinking about setting up my own nine-hundred-line next year. Could quadruple my income.”

  Curtis lowered the remote. His face twitched with the effort of holding back a scowl. “So, you cheat people out of their hard-earned cash?”

  My brain finally recovered enough to be useful. “I provide a sought-after service that puts people at ease. Contrary to popular belief, fortunes, palm reading, and tarot have very little to do with the mystic arts. It’s its own form of psychology.”

  “Mystic arts,” Perry huffed.

  Curtis raised an eyebrow. “Psychology? You can’t be serious.”

  I shrugged. “Most people who go to a counselor don’t need in-depth mental help. They need guidance. Someone to talk to that won’t judge them. Probably ninety percent of those people already know the right thing to do. They just don’t want to acknowledge that. They want permission from some perceived gatekeeper. Someone whose opinion they respect. Whether people place their faith in magic, God, or the dollar, who am I to judge?”

  “You’re a liar and cheat.” Curtis didn’t even try to hide the contempt in his voice. “There’s no such thing as magic. A bunch of cards can’t tell me a damn thing. And you certainly can’t. It’s all smoke and mirrors. Credit and background checks.”

  “Okay, Curtis.” I reached into my pocket and drew out my tarot deck, which I’d brought for just such
an occasion. “You willing to test that theory?”

  He scowled and opened his mouth, but it wasn’t his voice I heard next.

  “I’ll do it.” Grammy shuffled between the sofa and the armchair to plop down on the sofa next to me. She smelled like baby powder and one of those minty pain creams. Sagging, wrinkled cheeks pushed up into a wicked smile. “I ain’t had a readin’ done for thirty years.”

  “Gram, this man’s a fraud,” Curtis insisted, his frown deepening. “Don’t encourage him.”

  Grammy squinted at her grandson. “Curt, when you was little you wanted to be a magician. You remember that? They had that one on the TV that you liked.”

  “Every little boy wants to believe in magic,” Perry offered in his son’s defense. “But we grow up. We learn there’s no such thing.”

  His words sparked a raw feeling in my chest. Belief was its own power. If enough people believed in something hard enough, it could become reality. Believe something wasn’t true, and that was just as powerful. Magic was everywhere, accessible to just about anyone in some form if they wanted to see it. Even if someone was born without innate power, there were things they could do to learn to harness existing forces, though they’d never be as powerful as a natural born mage.

  As much as I wanted to prove myself, I also didn’t want to make things hard for Emma, so I bit my tongue and left the cards in their box.

  “You don’t want to believe, that’s fine,” I said, tucking the cards away. “But you can’t disparage other people for wanting to believe. The world is a hard place right now. People want distractions. They want hope that there’s something bigger than them that can make things better. If it makes them happy, why does that make it wrong?”

  “Because it’s a lie!” Curtis gestured to me. “Because little old ladies like my grandma throw their money away for scammers like you and leave their families with nothing.”

  I leveled my best glare at Curtis. “You saying Grammy shouldn’t be able to choose what she does with her own money?”