Graveyard Shift

by Jenn Burke

  I leaned my head against the headrest in Hudson’s car as he navigated through the city to our area of town—the upscale neighborhood of Bridle Path, if you could believe it. Between selling my apartment building, the funds I’d put aside, and the insurance money Hudson had received for his burned-down house, plus the hefty price he’d gotten from a developer for the land—we’d bought a house I never dreamed I’d be able to own. It was made of gray stone, with a sprawling footprint and a turret breaking up its curving roofline, with five bedrooms and a living room, a dining room, an enormous kitchen and family room, a study, a breakfast nook—so much space. Oh, and a separate garage with an apartment over it. Plus a three-acre lot. Hudson had wanted space for his band—his family—and we’d certainly achieved that.

  Hudson pulled into the cobblestone driveway and headed for the garage and its rising door—only to guide the car to a gentle stop before he reached it. “Shit.”

  I caught sight of what Hudson had, and groaned. Four people loitered at our front door. Three of them—a young woman and an older couple—I didn’t recognize, but the fourth was our neighbor Marcus Kenworth, who stuck his nose in everyone’s business. He was a pompous, controlling asshole who thought his neighborhood should be one thing and one thing only—upscale and classy. We apparently didn’t fit into this mold. He didn’t like us, the hours we kept, or the fact that we were gay. I suspected he wasn’t a fan of Hudson’s tan skin, either.

  Hudson pulled the car into the open garage and by the time we got out, Marcus was standing on the other side of the door. He was a short, lithe guy, smaller than me, even, and personally, I thought that was where a lot of his animosity came from. I considered having a short-guy-to-short-guy talk on how being short was a state of mind, but somehow I didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

  “Mr. Cooper, Mr. Rojas,” Marcus greeted us, his voice icy. “I thought I told you we don’t appreciate random people wandering the neighborhood.” He glanced pointedly over his shoulder at the guests waiting on the front step, who were watching us with cautious interest.

  “Did they damage any property?” Hudson asked, all business. “Did they disturb the peace? Are they undertaking any suspicious activity?”

  “Well...no,” Marcus sputtered. “But they’re clearly not the sort of people who have any business here.” And neither do you, his pained expression shouted.

  “Why, because they didn’t pull up in a BMW?” I challenged. “Or because they’re brown?”

  Marcus’s pale skin reddened at my not-so-subtle insinuation. “I am not racist,” he hissed. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to Mr. Rojas, would I?”

  He pronounced Hudson’s name “Roe-Ass,” not even attempting to put a Spanish spin on it. I gritted my teeth, and the ever-present magic in my head crackled. Over the past eight months, I’d gained significantly more control over it, so there was no danger it would burst out, but man, I wanted it to.

  “You’re trespassing, Mr. Kenworth,” Hudson said in a flat tone. “I’d thank you to mind your own business in the future.”

  “One day, one of these random visitors of yours are going to be responsible for something terrible happening to you,” Marcus said. “And then you’ll wish you listened to me.”

  “Not bloody likely,” I muttered as he stalked down the driveway and across the street.

  I expected Hudson to start toward the house, but he was motionless, looking at me. “You know, he’s not entirely wrong,” he said after a moment.

  “What, Kenworth?” I scoffed. “He’s so totally wrong. The people who come here looking for me—”

  “Want something from you. Some of them are desperate.”

  “Yeah, and I’m a god.” I didn’t stutter over that word anymore, which I counted as a significant victory. But my stomach still wobbled when I said it. “None of them are going to be able to hurt me.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  I tilted my head, because yeah, I knew what he was saying. I was technically dead and had been for almost ninety years. I could become a ghost and slip into another realm of existence. On top of that, a magical artifact had turned me into a god more than a year ago. Add it all together, and I was pretty sure there was very little out there that could hurt me—but there was still a tiny bit of doubt that I could survive everything.

  Nobody had tried to cut my head off yet, for instance.

  Oh, bad thought, Wes.

  I stepped up to Hudson’s side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Let’s go see what they need.”

  As we approached, I could see what I hadn’t earlier—the girl and the couple weren’t together. They stood out of reach of each other. The girl—young woman was more accurate, actually—had sepia skin and long, glossy, wavy black hair with an undercut on one side that made her look younger and edgier than her jeans and sweatshirt suggested. Her eyes were a rich chestnut brown that reminded me of Hudson’s from before he’d become a vampire. A hiking-style backpack rested on the cobblestones beside her, and she twisted her hands together as we walked up.

  But she wasn’t the one who spoke first.

  “Mr. Cooper?” The female half of the couple stepped toward me. She wore a simple dress without a jacket, despite the fact that the day’s heat was falling off rapidly now that the sun was heading toward the horizon. Her dark brown hair was gathered up into a bun at the crown of her head, with fuzzies emanating from the hairline like a halo. Her skin was tan, like Hudson’s, but a shade lighter. She looked tired, as did the man beside her. He had darker skin, and wore a plain but clean T-shirt and well-worn jeans that had no holes in them. They looked to be in their late thirties or early forties, but their age could be much higher, given that they were almost certainly paranormals of some kind.

  If Marcus only knew the type of people these random visitors were, he’d piss himself.

  “That’s me,” I said gently. “And you are?”

  “Juanita Garcia, and this is my husband, Victor.” She reached out blindly for her husband’s hand and gripped it hard. “Can—may we speak with you, please?”

  “Of course.” I turned to Hudson to make sure he was handling the other girl okay, and froze when I saw him staring at her, his bronze skin tinged gray.

  Like he’d seen a ghost.

  “Hud?”

  He blinked and shook his head. “Yeah. Um. Priya, this is Wes Cooper, my, uh...my friend.”

  Wait, what? Friend?

  “Wes,” Hudson continued, oblivious to the death stare I was giving him, “this is Priya Rojas. My niece.”

  Chapter Two

  As much as I wanted to dig into the family drama—and find out what the hell Hud had been thinking with that friend label—I had two people who’d come to me for help, and I couldn’t put them off because I was curious.

  I left Hudson and Priya on the doorstep and escorted Mr. and Mrs. Garcia into the living room. I invited them to take a seat on the couch and I grabbed one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table. They turned down my offer of a drink and clutched each other’s hands tight enough that their knuckles turned white.

  I made sure to keep my voice low and compassionate, because whatever had brought them to my door was clearly difficult. “What can I help you with?”

  Juanita opened her mouth but her voice failed her. She shook her head and leaned into her husband, who cleared his throat. “Our daughter, Isabel, is missing.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I reached into one of the drawers in the coffee table and pulled out a notepad and pen, feeling very Hudson-like. “Can you give me some details about her and what happened?”

  “We—we’re shifters,” Juanita said.

  “Oh?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wasn’t easy. Of all the paranormal creatures who had crossed my path in the past couple of years, I’d only heard of shifter
s—I hadn’t met any.

  “Yes.” Juanita turned her head and pressed her ear lobe forward, toward her cheek, so I could see a small brand etched into the skin of her neck. It was a circle bisected by a diagonal line with two small offshoot lines.

  “That means you’re a shifter?” I asked.

  “It identifies what clan we’re from. Our birth clan, usually.”

  “Okay, so Isabel is a shifter. Uh, is it rude to ask...”

  Victor smiled. “What animal? No, it’s fine. We’re foxes.”

  “Foxes.” I made a note. “Cool. Okay, tell me everything I need to know.”

  There wasn’t much.

  Isabel had disappeared two days before. Juanita had gotten concerned when Isabel didn’t check in—she’d received no phone calls or texts from her at all, which was unusual, and she hadn’t returned home to her apartment in her parents’ basement. Juanita and Victor had searched for her—in both human and fox form—to no avail.

  “What does she do for a living?”

  “She’s a student at Seneca in North York. Studying graphic design. She freelances design work too—you should see her Instagram.” Victor pulled a phone out of his pocket, fiddled with the screen, and handed it over.

  I flipped through a few of the pictures—everything from logos to social media advertising to sketches to cartoon characters. I was no expert, but it looked high-end to me. Then I came upon a selfie. A young woman with long, brown, highlighted hair and light brown skin was giving the phone an exaggerated wink and peace finger gesture, a pair of aviator sunglasses propped on top of her head. Beside her was a white guy wearing a tank top to show off the full-sleeve tattoos on both of his arms. He wore a ball cap with a straight bill, so I couldn’t tell what color hair he had.

  “Is this Isabel?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Victor said, his voice choked.

  “And who’s with her?”

  “Her boyfriend, Logan.” From the way Juanita wrinkled her nose as she said his name, she wasn’t a fan.

  “Do you think he could have had something to do with her disappearance?”

  “That’s what we told the police, but they waved it off.” Juanita brushed tears away from her eyes. “They said she was nineteen and an adult, so missing a few phone calls was no big deal.”

  I was pretty sure Hudson would be growling at that news. He hated it when cops fell down on the job. “So what did they do?”

  “Nothing,” Victor scoffed. “They told us to come back if she didn’t turn up in another day or two.”

  Yep. Definitely growling.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” I put my notepad and pen on the table. “I’m going to try to find Isabel through her connection with you. But to do that, I need you to agree to be mine.”

  “Yes,” Juanita said instantly, but Victor put his hand on his wife’s arm.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” he asked.

  “You know what I am?”

  “I...” He hesitated. “I know what I’ve heard.”

  “You’re a god,” Juanita whispered.

  “I am.” I let my power flow forward, enough to light up my skin and make my blue eyes glow. Juanita and Victor went very still, frozen so thoroughly I had no doubt of their animal natures, until I smiled and let the power ebb. “My magic comes from my believers—my friends,” I clarified, and let my smile widen. “Before you ask, no, I don’t need any sacrifices or prayers or worship. All I need is for you to believe I am who I say I am, and to believe that I will protect you as best as I am able to, and to believe me when I say I promise to do my best to find Isabel.” I held out my hands, one toward Juanita, and one toward Victor.

  Juanita shared a look with her husband. As one, they said, “I believe,” and grasped my outstretched palms.

  They clicked, like a couple of new switches being added to a circuit. Energy—magic—flowed from them. When I’d first done this, the magic had felt like chugging a pot of coffee. Or maybe snorting cocaine—though Hudson had given me a look when I’d suggested that. (It had happened in the eighties after we broke up, I was dead and everyone else was doing it...but it was only the once because ow.) But now the tiny bit of magic felt like a warm greeting from a friend—a slight bump to nudge my emotions upward, and a happy-glowy feeling in my tummy.

  “Good. That’s good.” I closed my eyes and didn’t let go of their hands. “I’m going to try to find Isabel now.”

  I slowed my breathing and sought out my magic...but not too much of it. I’d learned the idiom less is more applied quite well to my abilities. I’d once been told that magic needed me to shape it, but also to listen, and I had to know when which option was the best. Here, now, I listened. My magic beckoned me along the path of the connection from parents to child, a strong, loving thread that held this little family together.

  Except it led nowhere.

  I opened my eyes to a pair of hopeful looks.

  “Well?” Juanita asked in a wavery voice.

  “I couldn’t—” I held up a hand as her expression crumbled. “That doesn’t necessarily mean...that. She could be far away. She could be sleeping.”

  It didn’t have to mean she was dead.

  “I’m going to keep trying,” I promised.

  Victor pulled out his wallet. “You didn’t mention price, but we brought what we could—”

  “No.” My tone left no room for argument. “You’re mine now, and I’ll help however I can. Keep your money.”

  “Even...even if the news is...” Juanita swallowed hard. “You’ll tell us?”

  I grabbed her hand with both of mine. “I promise. Let me get your phone numbers.”

  After writing them down, I walked the Garcias to the door and bid them goodnight. I watched until they made it to the end of the driveway—I wasn’t sure if they’d parked on the street or if they’d taken public transportation, and it wasn’t my place to ask—then closed the door and leaned my head against it.

  Why didn’t I ever get happy “you’re a god, please help me” requests?

  I picked up some murmurs from the kitchen and remembered that we had another guest. To whom I’d been introduced as Hudson’s friend. Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly. I pushed off the door and made my way to the kitchen, which was as gorgeous as the rest of the place—stainless steel appliances, some sort of stone countertops, with a giant island in the middle of the space that was great when we had the gang over. A modest table and chairs sat in the breakfast nook right off the kitchen, surrounded by windows that looked out onto the backyard.

  Hudson and Priya were on opposite sides of the island. Priya sat on one of the stools while Hudson braced his hands on the countertop. Neither spoke and I could feel the awkwardness saturating the room. Two glasses of water sat untouched on the stone surface, so at least Hudson hadn’t completely forgotten his manners.

  He straightened as I walked in. “All done?”

  “Yep. Hi again, Priya.” I pasted on a fake smile that I knew he’d recognize as being fake. “Hud, can I speak to you for a minute?”

  “Sure. Be right back,” he said to his niece.

  I led Hudson to our home office off the kitchen and closed the door. Before I could say anything, he asked, “How was your meeting?”

  “Fine,” I answered automatically, then sighed. “No, not really. Their daughter is missing.” I filled him in on the details. His expression darkened and grew downright thunderous when I got to the part about the cops being assholes.

  “You’re going to look at her social media tonight? Try to track her that way?”

  I arched a brow. “I have learned a few tricks over the past year, you know.”

  He smiled proudly. “I know. Sorry.”

  “Speaking of sorry...” I folded my arms. “Your friend?”

  His grin acquired a sheepish til
t. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I know!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated grunt. “I’m sorry. I haven’t come out to anyone in a long time and—”

  “Your family doesn’t know?”

  He scoffed. “No. Are you kidding me?”

  “You came out to a department full of cops, but not your family.”

  “I never see my family—I saw the cops every day.”

  “But I mean...not even your brother?” I could see why he wouldn’t have rushed to come out to his father—since they didn’t have the best relationship to start with—but Lance was Hudson’s sole sibling, and his only living relative.

  “I haven’t seen him since he graduated from university. He came back to Toronto for a visit.”

  “When was that?”

  “1992.”

  I blinked at him. “You haven’t seen your brother in nearly thirty years?”

  “Well...yeah. I mean, after I—” He made a pointy teeth gesture with his fingers, which was both adorable and a little heartbreaking. He still wasn’t totally comfortable with that side of himself. “Me visiting him wasn’t a good idea, and him visiting me was even worse. He sends me pictures and we call each other on holidays and birthdays.” He shrugged. “It’s enough. He’s built a life for himself in London—got married, had a kid, got divorced. It’s full, you know? He doesn’t need me in it like that.”

  Jesus. I knew Hud’s childhood wasn’t golden—his mom had died when he was five and his dad had turned into an abusive drunk who went through wives like most people changed their socks. The only stepmother who’d stuck around for any length of time had been Lance’s mom. So yeah... I knew all of this, but it was still a shock to hear it and be reminded that Hudson had become the man he was despite his upbringing and not because of it.

  I stepped up to Hudson, propped myself up on my tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. A gentle peck to pull him out of his thoughts and remind him that while he might have been alone for the majority of his life, he wasn’t now.