Grave Sacrifice

by Russ Linton

  “That way!” he snarled, pointing to the far corner of the courtyard.

  In full, cleansing sunlight and not the dim light of a pub, his skin looked sickly. Not just pale but an unnatural gray. The bristly mustache on his upper lip looked frayed, his cheeks sporting an ungentlemanly five o’clock shadow. He was gaunt. Unhealthy. A body dragged from a coffin a week after being embalmed.

  He made another threatening swat with the sword. Araceli watched blandly and shrugged. Was she enjoying this? I flexed my jaw and did what I’d done so often before — I complied.

  Soldier boy marched me across the lush green grass. I searched for signs of other people. Movement past the gates and the moat caught my eye, but the sword tip in my back kept me moving.

  We entered a room beneath one of the corner bastions. Another roped display, this time a storeroom filled with barrels and crates. He nudged me toward a narrow opening at the back with only darkness beyond. Waist-high, the metal door was little more than a hatch. Reminded me of a corpse cold storage at the coroner.

  My feet scuffed, daring the blade to run me through. Tina’s little room had fucked me up. I just didn’t know how bad. I turned to Araceli, ignoring the threat of my new warden.

  “Could be this is a bad idea.”

  The officer shoved me into the brick wall and drove a bony elbow into the base of my skull. Police power moves 101. I took it, no complaints as my face ground against the cold, abrasive coquina.

  “I’ll tell you when to speak, prisoner!”

  I clenched my teeth and checked my anger. “Delores, dear, stab this clown. I’ll look by myself.”

  That sharp elbow dug deep again and I winced. “Do you have some affection for this man?” the officer spat, jabbing into my back with every syllable. Figures he’d be the jealous type.

  “Absolutely not!” She said it so quick, I believed her. “But I want to see you throw him in the dungeon, l’amor, not kill him in the hallway. We must prove we aren’t the savages in this wretched colony.”

  She was giving him all that and then some. Close, whispering in the dead man’s ear, the sultry sway of her hips might be enough to make a stiff stiff.

  “Of course, my dear.” He eased up enough I could peel my face off the rough wall. “Just please, listen to my instructions.”

  “Anything for you,” she replied.

  Soldier boy jerked me toward the middle of the room and I got dragged toward the dark opening with a fist bundled in my collar. A shove and I stumbled to face the crawlspace.

  “In,” he said.

  Light penetrated a foot or less into the empty space. A shiny rim of steel surrounded the dense darkness and the hatch had the solid look of a ship bulkhead. No strong pull from the Below, but that space was tight. Hands and knees only. Once in, I wasn’t getting out.

  “Go!” Another shove.

  I bowed up. That smart fear had settled in. The one telling me the hole was a bad place, and time would be better spent curb stomping the dead guy. I’d decided to turn and bounce this joker’s head off the wall when the rapid clopping of dress shoes echoed across the stones of the storeroom.

  “Oh, there you are!” Caleb burst into the room. “I’m so glad I found you!”

  He hadn’t seen me yet, but he’d found Araceli in the main chamber. Without thinking he’d rushed up and grabbed her hand. The smile she wore crept from the pseudo sultry airs to something more genuine.

  “I was worried,” he said, maybe trying to explain his sudden hands-on approach. “They had a stray powder discharge earlier and evacuated the building.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” she said.

  Sweet. Sure. Here I was about to be stuffed in a dungeon and they’re over there being all sweet.

  But I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Araceli’s corpse bae was mean muggin’ the public display of affection. He cleared his ghostly throat and Caleb turned.

  “Oh, hi. Do I know you,” he scanned the uniform, “Colonel?”

  The officer’s lip curled. “No. But now, now I know you.”

  There’s the beat drop. The bottom falling out of this freak show. The Below reached up, desperate and clutching. My stomach plunged, a free fall into the Abyss. I heard screams coming from the small room behind me.

  The officer’s form went hazy. His limbs extended with a dry cracking, layer upon layer, grave dust scattering with each chilling twist. Flesh slopped to the floor in ragged strips. His face slid off in one piece to expose dripping bones beneath.

  Caleb screamed, nothing but sheer panic. Araceli had already pushed him behind her, wielding her knife and Atofo’s. She brought them together in a cross and began her Latin chant.

  “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino!”

  Damned if I’d wait to see if an exorcism worked. No gun, no knife, I’d have to get medieval, too. The officer made a move for the room, nothing but pure hatred aimed at Caleb.

  I launched and wrapped up the walking dead, trying to pin his arms. He thrashed in uncontrolled fury. Araceli’s words were doing something. Light from the courtyard came creeping in, growing. The undead soldier hissed and clawed, sword clattering to the ground. Unarmed, he still had mad strength.

  “I...can’t...hold him.”

  He spun, sloughing off the uniform which had become a rotting, reeking mess. I raised the jacket remnants like a flimsy shield and a rotted boot heel crushed into my chest.

  The mule kick struck the golden breastplate with an off-chorus note. I doubled over, feet leaving the ground. A short hop and I came crashing down, skidding through the dungeon chute, the steel hatch clanging shut behind.

  I groaned, the sound a faraway murmur. Araceli’s chants, the scream of the beast, and Caleb’s shrill cries echoed in the chamber like I’d been punted to the bottom of a well.

  Scouring radiance of the Above burned through a tiny window in the hatch like a cremator. I tried the handle but it wouldn’t budge. Squinting through the tiny window, I saw the dark figure of the officer growing thinner, ashes flying apart then whited out.

  “Get me out of here!” I shouted, pounding on the door.

  I’ve tried all my life to never let panic take over. On the beat, in the trenches, walking the realms of demons and spirits. But there wouldn’t be any crazy hallway I could navigate here to come back from the dead. Alone, locked away, a voice inside my head said the beatings would soon start. She’d be standing over me, her wings spread, her fists dropping like sledgehammers.

  “GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” I screamed, pounding on the door.

  A frantic tapping started behind me. No echo, I froze up, fear finally taking over. A muffled scream came and I whirled, pressed up against the hatch.

  My burned out vision followed the revealing beam of light. Solid brick on the far wall had been burned away, flakes drifting to the ground. The tapping got louder. Screams rose. I shook off my own fear because of what I heard. A voice. A familiar one.

  Like the steady work of a drill, the ray from the Above peeled back reality beyond the bricks. Through a perfectly framed portal, slamming his fist on a transparent veil, I saw Kitterling, his face twisted in fear.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What was that?” Caleb panted. “No! No! Don’t tell me!”

  He’d collapsed. Araceli squatted beside him, her arm around him while she wafted a bead under his nose.

  “Alchemical essential oils?” I asked from where I was sprawled on the floor. I’d only just been able to get up the nerve to talk after crawling out of that hole.

  “Smelling salts,” she said. Her hand went to Caleb’s forehead and she ran her fingers through his mussed hair. “He passed out.”

  “I did?” he asked, quietly.

  Caleb felt around for his hat, but I could tell he didn’t want to move too far from Araceli. I spotted it behind a barrel and used that as an excuse to get off my own ass. He smiled loosely when I brought the hat over. He didn’t put it on, just clutched it in his lap.


  “What was that?” he repeated.

  Araceli and I exchanged a glance.

  “An undead,” she said.

  He swallowed, eyes glazing over. “Like...like zombies?”

  She started to gently explain more and I cut in, still rattled. “Yeah, like zombies. Things that aren’t supposed to be alive but are despite how much the world keeps curb-stomping them.” I took a deep breath and brought the volume down. “I saw Kitterling. He’s in there.”

  Araceli looked at me, puzzled. “Couldn’t you get him out?”

  I’d stayed in there long as I could, testing the bricks. All seemed solid, no obvious way inside, magic or otherwise.

  “Your little blast of the Above revealed him.” I stopped, struck by something. “Wait. How did an Exorcism do that? Not using your non-patron patronizing Alchemy for the win?”

  “You say it yourself all the time, I’m a nun. Faith and reason do not have to always be at odds. With alchemy? I could’ve destroyed him. And the idiot wrapped around him.”

  We locked gazes. Nun powers. I wasn’t buying whatever she was selling. Meanwhile, Caleb had caught up to reality.

  “You’re a nun?” His eyes fell.

  She reached under his chin and lifted it up. “Not that kind of nun, baby.”

  Caleb had the look of a suicidal deer who’d found his merciful headlights, Araceli the one taking the country road at highway speeds. Never mind me and the old British poser trapped in some other dimension.

  “Nun, Alchemist, whatever, tell me how we get my business partner out of the wall.”

  She pulled away from Caleb and slumped against one of the barrels. “The Above revealed it? He’s not actually behind that wall then. He’s trapped somewhere outside this realm.”

  “And this Colonel put him there? You think he was trying to do the same to me?”

  Araceli shrugged and hopped to her feet, offering Caleb a hand. He took hold, but still in a haze, he didn’t stand. Behind the blank look, he’d started processing.

  “Colonel?” he asked.

  “That’s what you called him,” I said.

  “Couldn’t be,” he whispered.

  “No coincidences, Caleb. Spit your truth.”

  “I’m thinking that was Colonel Garcia Marti.” He realized he Araceli’s hand was still in his and he got up, clearing his throat and smoothing out his overcoat. “There was a rumor he’d once sealed prisoners behind the walls as revenge. Urban legends, you know? Stuff you hear on ghost tours.” He snorted with a nervous laugh as he walked cautiously toward the low steel hatch. “When the fort was first built, they used to store powder in there. Turned out to be a terrible place for it. Too much moisture. They started using it as a trash bin instead and during the siege in 1740, they crammed it full of cattle carcasses. I mean, they’d filled the dry moat with cows to outlast the siege!”

  Araceli was all about Caleb’s storytime. Me? I gave him a signal to wrap up the history lesson.

  “Did this Colonel put people in the wall or not?”

  “Doctors threw in an amputated hand and foot during the siege too. Then the chamber was sealed and forgotten. They didn’t find it again until renovations during World War I. An officer thought they’d found buried treasure and they started digging through it all. The hand and foot came up, rumors started.”

  “But I saw Kitterling in there. And we saw a Colonel. Maybe those urban legends aren’t legends?”

  Caleb threw up his hands. “Maybe.”

  “Ace,” Araceli said, starting to pace, her fingers toying with her necklace. “This could mean your friend Kitterling is dead.”

  That hit harder than I thought. But I tried to play it off. “We aren’t friends. Let’s get that straight. But until I see a body, I’ll assume he’s alive.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But murder investigations are your game, not mine. If he were dead, who would know where to find the body?”

  “Two people. Kitterling damn sure knows where he was last. Then the amateur necro.” I fished the business card he’d given me out of my pocket. Nothing but a fake name and the email address for contact info.

  “If Kitterling’s spirit is stranded in the Below,” Araceli sighed, being careful with her next words, “you could use your shaman’s magic and talk to him.”

  I could but the veil here felt strange. All over town, it had been wavering. And my own connection had gone shady. Balances had been upset and all, that’s what she’d said earlier. If I reach out now, I might be ringing Colonel Corpse’s doorbell again. I might end up in a dungeon. A hole.

  For the first time in a long time, I backed down.

  “We need to find that necromancer. See where he got the book he mentioned and figure out if he even started this. Caleb, are you sure you can’t track down that email address of his to a person?”

  “No way. Untraceable. And besides, I’m not a hacker.” He stared at the pile of shredded clothes where the undead officer had disappeared. “Or a beautiful nun alchemist. Or a tough shaman cop. I’m just...”

  “...doing fine,” I said. I gave him a shoulder check before he could get overwhelmed again.

  “Perfecte,” Araceli added. They were holding hands again and both had that dreamy look.

  It was getting old. I backed up though, not ready to interrupt the love connection a second time. I might’ve been jealous until I remembered an important detail.

  “I got places to be. Date tonight,” I said as I rushed outside, putting distance between myself and the hole. “Something you two might consider.”

  TO HER WORD, SHEILA picked me up in her spiffy Benz. I started to ask to drive and she shut that down with a wag of her finger. Rolling shotgun? Hey, my masculinity can handle that. At least she didn’t ask questions when I put the sword in her trunk or when I picked the restaurant.

  I’d last admired her ride on the way to the prosecutor’s office. Two-door coupe, it was like the Batmobile without all the hard edges. Clean lines, aerodynamic, a ride I could get used to. Black leather with red stitching and accents on the dash, the interior cradled me like I’d had it made custom.

  How a criminal attorney was making that kind of bread had crossed my mind. But I’d seen she represented more than just hopeless felons. Real estate tycoons called and who knew who else. When you’ve got skills, word gets around.

  We rolled into the restaurant parking lot in style. No valet, but the place I’d picked wasn’t five star. More like hipster-adjacent. And wouldn’t you know, the tearoom was right across the street.

  Their fenced patio floated like an island between two converging streets. I showed Sheila to a table at the farthest point, quiet and secluded as long as you ignored the traffic. She screwed up her face at the choice but gave in when I pulled out her chair. I took a seat and waved the waitress over.

  “Whiskey, neat,” I said. “Vodka on ice?” I asked, giving Sheila a chance to correct me. She playfully narrowed her eyes then picked up a menu.

  “I didn’t take you for the coconut shrimp type.”

  “Me?” I asked, distracted. “Seafood not okay?”

  “You never asked if it was,” she smirked.

  She was reading me, not the menu, her head tilted to one side. “It’ll do.” She lowered her eyes again. “I come here with clients from time to time.”

  From the open patio, you could see the bay and watch the sun fade into a brilliant ribbon of pink and amber. Traffic flowed on both sides, but it was background noise. The hum evolved into a pulse as mesmerizing as a drum beat in a sacred ceremony. I caught myself losing focus as I stared at the Chesterfield pub and tearoom across the street.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “All good.”

  I was lying. Kitterling stuck in a wall and no plan to free him. I could drop a serious ritual on that spot. Blood sacrifice, spirit summoning, the whole nine, but that would require dipping into the power which sustained my life and could cause more trouble than it was worth
with all these restless spirits. I’d do it if that was my only option. But if I could find this necromancer clown, there might be an easier way. So a stakeout of the tearoom it was.

  I was all about cautious after Duncan Correctional. More cautious. I needed a better understanding of the players in this Armageddon because everything I did seemed to cause a reaction.

  Then there was this MiRA thing—

  “Ace?”

  The waitress had returned to take our order. Sheila had already placed hers and she pursed her lips in disapproval as I finally picked up the menu. “He’ll have the coconut shrimp.”

  I started to argue and she shut me down. The waitress scribbled on her pad and walked away.

  “Why you gotta do me like that?” I said with a smile.

  “You’re working. I said we’d try this without working.” I started to argue while she took a swig of her drink but she cut me off again with a swat of her hand. She was like a wizard in that way — casting spells, controlling the flow of an argument with a gesture. “It’s fine. I do it all the time. You can’t always leave your work at the office.” She shifted her chair, scraping it on the brick as she half-turned toward the tearoom across the street. “What are we looking for?”

  She crossed one muscular thigh above the other, the skirt she wore inching past mid-thigh and she raised her glass to those full, pretty lips, her straightened hair a perfect frame for her face.

  I found myself laughing, head down. “Damn. Am I being that much of a clown?”

  She didn’t answer, just took another sip. “Well?” She insisted, indicating the tearoom with a pinky.

  “Okay, you want to play it that way. I’m looking for this white dude. Medium height, stocky build, wears a top hat and a monocle.”

  She looked at me over her glass. “You looking for the Monopoly man? You better sit your ass down then ‘cause you’ve got no more ‘get out of jail free’ cards.”

  I laughed again. It was good to feel relaxed, no worries. How long had that been? I raised my whiskey but stopped as she muttered a name.