Graveyard Shift

by Jenn Burke

  “So still a surprise.”

  She grunted.

  “If you need a place to stay—”

  “Thanks.” She straightened, though her shoulders were still bowed with the weight of the world on them. “But no offense, I don’t think I could stomach paranormal 24-7.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Fuck yeah.” Hudson appeared in the office doorway. “I was right.”

  “About what?” Kat turned slightly so she could see him.

  Hudson brought the envelope and its contents to the island and spread them out—contents that I recognized. They were the murder-scene pictures we’d examined at police headquarters not too long ago.

  I pushed Kat’s cup in front of her and gave Hudson the evil eye. “Really?”

  “Sorry. But look.” He laid out the pictures from the old cases. “See anything unusual?”

  “Other than missing throats?” I arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

  He narrowed his eyes and arranged the newer pictures. “See?”

  Kat’s eyes flicked from one set of pictures to the other. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  Hudson made his can’t react don’t react noise, an exasperated huff, and pointed out something on one of the newer pictures. “That.”

  I leaned forward and tried to ignore the gore lingering in my peripheral vision. “Is that a shifter mark?”

  Hud poked the image. “Bingo. After we rescued Colin and we had our chat with the vampires—”

  “Huh?” Kat interrupted.

  He briefly explained the events of Thursday evening, leaving Kat with pinched lines around her eyes. “I thought it sounded like whoever sired them wanted them to attack shifters. And it looks like I was right.”

  Kat focused on the pictures. “They all have marks?”

  “Two of them are too damaged to tell, but the others? Yeah.”

  She flipped through the pictures, back and forth, back and forth, comparing them, then put them down and finally took a sip of her coffee. “Nice catch. Even if it’s more paranormal shit.”

  I leaned an elbow on the counter. “So what do we do with that information?”

  Hud gathered up the photos and put them back in the envelope. “Not a hell of a lot. It doesn’t tell us anything about how to find the vamps’ sire, or who he might be. It just confirms my thoughts.” He handed the package back to Kat. “Thanks for bringing them over.”

  She grunted and got up, slowly, looking every year of—how old was she, anyway? Forty? “You’re welcome.”

  “Like I said, if you need somewhere to stay, just let us know. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  It was Hudson’s turn to say, “Huh?”

  She grimaced. “Devon asked for a divorce.”

  “No,” he gasped. “For real? But you two have been together forever.”

  “Yeah, well.” She lifted the envelope, and I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to fend Hudson off or explain the divorce, but it did a good job of both. “Keep me posted, eh?”

  As we opened the front door, noise from the neighborhood swelled to rush inside the house. My eyes widened. “What time is it?”

  Kat checked her watch. “Uh, four. Why?”

  “Crap!” I scrambled away from my desk. “It’s the neighborhood Halloween street party.”

  Hudson frowned. “The what?”

  I gestured at the street. “The thing! I told you about it.”

  “You definitely did not.”

  “I promised we’d put out punch. And I asked you what you wanted to dress up as.”

  “Uh, no, you didn’t. I would remember that.”

  I squinted at him. “I asked you, seventies or eighties. You said seventies because you hated the neon fad.”

  “Yeah, that’s my cue. Good call, Hud—neon is dumb. Have fun, gentlemen.” Kat headed off to her car with a wave.

  Hudson waved back and pushed the door shut. “I thought you were asking me in general which era I preferred! I’m not dressing up like John Travolta.”

  “Of course not.”

  It was his turn to squint. “Wes.”

  “I mean, let’s face it—you haven’t got Travolta’s disco moves.”

  “Wes!”

  “We’re going as the Village People.”

  He groaned. “Oh, crap, really?”

  “You’re the cop, of course.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I ordered the costume months ago. I meant to have you try it on but—”

  “I am not wearing a vinyl cop uniform.”

  I smirked. “I think you’d look hot in it.”

  “And what are you going to be?”

  “The cowboy.”

  “Why do you get to be the cowboy?”

  “Uh, because I was one?” I rolled my eyes, because really, it was obvious.

  “Give me a break. You were never a cowboy.”

  “We had cows and I rode a horse to herd them. Therefore, cowboy.” I twisted my lips. “It would’ve been better if Isk and Evan joined us, so we were four, but, uh, Isk didn’t want to.”

  He’d laughed for a good five minutes when I suggested it, but I wasn’t going to tell Hudson that.

  Hud let out a resigned sigh. “Where’s my costume?”

  “In our closet, on the shelf. I’ve got to make the punch.”

  Luckily I’d chosen an easy-to-make recipe and gotten the ingredients last week, so it didn’t take long for me to get the nonalcoholic mixture ready for consumption. Then I headed upstairs to get into my costume, which was bits and pieces I already had in my wardrobe. Cowboy hats and boots were never going to be a staple of TO fashionistas, but I’d invested in good ones decades ago and refused to get rid of them. I added a pair of well-worn bootcut jeans, a white cotton button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and an orange kerchief at my neck, and I was all set.

  The bathroom door—which had been closed when I entered the bedroom—was still closed as I was putting the finishing touches on my outfit.

  “Hud?”

  “Yeah?” came the muffled response through the door.

  “Everything okay?”

  “No. No, Wes, everything is decidedly not okay.”

  The door opened to reveal a sight I had never expected to see: Hudson Rojas’s hard, firm, incredibly muscular body barely contained in a black vinyl shirt and hot pants. The shirt was open to his sternum, revealing a significant amount of chest hair, and the shorts...

  “This is obscene.” He gestured at his crotch. “It’s perfectly outlined!”

  Oh, yeah. Was it ever. If anyone wondered if Hudson was cut or not, those shorts would give them their answer. And tell them which way he tucked. And also let them know how endowed Rojas Junior was.

  “Wes!”

  I jerked my eyes upward. “What?”

  “I’m not going outside like this.”

  “But it’s the—”

  “No one will give a shit if I don’t follow the look of the Village People to a T, but I’m going to care if someone calls the cops on me for indecent exposure.” He crossed his arms, which made the short black sleeves even tighter. Good god. “I’ll wear jeans.”

  “I love you,” I declared.

  “Why? Because you think I look good in black vinyl?”

  “No.” I stepped up to him and lifted my lips for a kiss, which he obliged. “Because you’re a good sport.”

  “And you like the shirt.”

  “I like the shorts too, but I get why you don’t want to wear them out of this room. And admit it—you do like the shirt.”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “I didn’t think we had the ‘fifth’ in Canada, Detective.” I kissed his chin.

  He grumbled. “Go away before you make these pants harder to t
ake off.”

  * * *

  By the time we got the tables out of the garage and I brought out the giant punch bowl, the street was packed. Someone had set up a decent sound system at the end of one of the neighboring driveways and was playing Halloween classics mixed in with anything horror-sounding.

  I waved at my neighbors and their guests and handed out plastic glasses of punch and...honestly, had a better time than I thought I was going to. It didn’t hurt that Hudson was right there in his skintight black shirt and shiny vinyl cop hat, giving me a boost of happiness whenever I looked at him. He helped hand out drinks, joined me in an impromptu “YMCA” dance when the DJ across the street figured out who we were supposed to be, and even socialized—gasp!—having an in-depth conversation with the hockey mom from a few doors down about the Leafs’ chances this year.

  When someone new stopped in front of the table, I turned to offer them a cup of punch.

  I wasn’t expecting to see Priya standing there. “What the hell?”

  “Wes, I know. I’m sorry. I can explain.”

  “Hud!”

  “Shit,” she muttered as Hudson started toward us.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled. “And who are you? I called Lance and he told me—”

  “That I’m dead. I know. That’s what he thinks. Look—”

  Hudson gripped Priya’s chin and turned her face to the side, and I saw the ugly bruise marring her cheek and temple. “Who hit you?”

  “Can we go inside? I’ll explain, I swear.”

  “People were looking for you,” I said. “European guys with tactical vests and giant guns.”

  “Fuck. Here? Really?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  The fact that she knew exactly what I was talking about was not reassuring. Not asking who the guys were or why they were after her meant there were no questions in her mind. And if she knew about paranormal cops...who the hell was she?

  “Let’s go inside.” She was starting to sound more desperate. Hudson moved to the side slightly so he could get a better view of the crowd behind her, probably tipped off by how nervous she was. “I promise I’ll tell you everything—”

  Her eyes flashed black and she stepped sideways. Before I could understand what I’d seen, something slammed into my forehead and the world disappeared.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Arr, matey, it’s to the plank wit’ ye!”

  I blinked stupidly at the pirate poking a hook hand in my direction. He was a strange combination of Geoffrey Rush from Pirates of the Caribbean and Captain Hook from the Peter Pan cartoon, with long, straggly hair and a moustache that extended on both sides of his lips in long strings that somehow defied gravity. In addition to the hook hand, he had an eyepatch, a peg leg, and a parrot sitting on his shoulder.

  “Awk!” it squawked. “Walk the fucking plank! Awk!”

  I dared a look behind me and sure enough, there was the plank, extended out over a smooth, waveless ocean. “But I don’t want to walk the plank.”

  “Arr, I don’t care what ye want, do I?” He shoved the hook hand in my direction again. “Ye fucked up!”

  “Awk! Fucked up!”

  “Wait—how did I fuck up?” I couldn’t remember how I got here—wherever here was—or what had happened. Last I remembered was...

  The Halloween street party.

  “He’s not dead!”

  The familiar voice jerked my attention away from the pirate. On the mid-deck, Lexi stood in front of Hudson, her hands on her hips, while Hudson sat on our living room couch, bent at the waist. I got the sense other people stood around them, but I couldn’t see them clearly.

  Hudson looked up at her, and my heart stuttered—a distant feeling, like I was wrapped in cotton—at his shattered expression. “It—you weren’t there. You don’t know.”

  “No, I wasn’t, but I know Wes. He’s come back from so much.”

  Hudson shook his head...and kept on shaking it. “Not from a high-powered rifle shot to the head. He was shot by a sniper. A fucking sniper. What the—” He swallowed hard. “I had his—his blood all over me. The back of his skull was gone. Don’t you get it?”

  “Hudson—”

  “He’s dead. For real. I can’t—I can’t feel him anymore. And I had his blood on me...”

  Lexi knelt in front of Hudson and grabbed his hands. “You’ve got to believe.”

  “Believe in what?”

  “Him. He’s not ever going to leave you, honey.”

  Hudson jerked his hands out of her grasp. “Well, that’s a fucking lie, because he did.” His breath hitched. “Just...go.”

  “Hud—”

  “Everyone out. Everyone. Just go.”

  “Fine. You stubborn idiot. I’ll take Sam to my place. Isk, you’ve got Evan?” She must have gotten an affirmation, because she nodded and rose to her feet. “Whatever you do, don’t have him cremated.”

  Hudson and Lexi faded from view, and I watched them go without feeling the worry and panic some part of me knew I should feel. It was like I was disconnected from myself, barely feeling anything except vague confusion.

  “Fuck. Up. Fuck. Up,” the parrot sang.

  “Arr, enough lollygagging!” This time, the pirate actually connected, his hook swiping my upper arm. “Walk the plank!”

  I looked at the ocean again. It seemed to be made of glass...like a mirror. If I jumped, would I end up in Wonderland?

  “We’re all mad here,” I muttered.

  “Awk! Jump, Wes!”

  I squinted at the parrot. “How do you know my name?”

  “Because this is a dream, you moron.” I’d never thought a parrot could snarl, but there it was. “Jump! Awk!”

  “Are you—”

  The parrot burst off the pirate’s shoulder. In a flutter of feathers and claws, it dove at me, squawking the whole time. I stumbled back, throwing my hands in front of my face.

  “Jump!” it shouted. “Awk! Jump!”

  Its hooked beak aimed for one of my eyes...and I turned and ran down the plank. I didn’t jump so much as run into space. And then I was falling, falling, waiting to feel the water close over my head...

  But there was nothing except a satisfied squawk.

  I opened my eyes to blackness.

  It took me a disturbingly long time to realize my eyes were actually open. My brain did not seem to be firing on all cylinders, but I supposed that could be forgiven if what I’d seen in my dream was true. I mean, not the pirate, but Hudson and Lexi’s conversation about me being shot in the head. I lifted a hand to touch my face and verify that nothing was covering my eyes—because I seriously couldn’t see anything—but my arm was caught up in something. When I finally got free, my knuckles rapped against a solid surface not too far above me, maybe a foot, maybe less.

  And that’s when reality set in.

  I was in the fucking morgue.

  An inarticulate groan escaped me, but I immediately choked it back. If there was a pathologist around, they probably wouldn’t hear me through the door to my...shelf? Cubby? Whatever the hell these refrigerated drawers were called. Probably “refrigerated drawers,” come to think of it.

  Okay, brain, come on. Focus.

  I highly doubted I’d be able to open the drawer from the inside. If I hadn’t been shot in the head, I’d probably make some noise and try to get someone’s attention. But, if the version of Hudson in my dream were to be believed, there was no way someone would be accidentally declared dead when the back of their skull was missing.

  I really wanted to check that it had regenerated, but there wasn’t enough room in here.

  Focus.

  Getting out. Right.

  The only thing to do was to go into the otherplane. I felt kind of bad that the pathologist on duty was going to have to explain how a body d
isappeared...but, you know, not enough to stick around for my autopsy.

  Assuming I hadn’t already been autopsied...

  Something else to check once I was out of here.

  Reaching for the otherplane was normally as natural as breathing. I thought it and it was done. Not this time. It took me a minute to remember how to access that part of me, and when I did, it wasn’t an instantaneous transition, as it usually was. I could feel myself sliding from one plane to the other, a slow, viscous sort of movement, kind of like I was moving through a wall.

  And...oh. Okay. I’d sunk down through the drawers beneath me, leaving the sheet that had been covering me behind. That explained a bit. I was standing now, so I simply walked out of the wall of drawers. When I emerged into the well-lit examination area, naked and still in the otherplane, I checked my torso and was relieved to find no marks indicating I’d been cut open...though depending on how long I’d been here, they could have healed. My fingers slipped into the hair at the back of my head and prodded my skull. Oh, ow. Yeah. Still tender, even though I wasn’t on the living plane. I could only imagine how good that was going to feel when I got around to rematerializing.

  At least my sarcasm was still intact.

  When I let my hand fall back to my side, I realized I was trembling. My emotions were there, wadded up in a corner of my mind—I could feel them, quivering, waiting to be acknowledged, but I couldn’t break down here. I had to get home. To Hudson. To my mate.

  I thought about haunting him, so I could teleport through the otherplane to him...but that wasn’t happening. I couldn’t concentrate beyond the need to be with him, not enough to pull up the focus on his essence that I needed. That meant walking. Better than trying to find a phone and call without being seen by a staff member. And they might have cameras here. They probably did, and no one needed to see my supposed-to-be-dead naked ass on video.

  At least I could stay in the otherplane, so I wouldn’t have to worry about being seen or finding clothes, or whatever, but still...walking.

  If I could even remember which direction to go in.

  * * *

  It took me four hours.