“It’s a shame about the skeletons,” Knight said as he wiped the entrails of ghoul goo off on his jeans. I checked myself and was relieved to see no goo or funk had made its way near me.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “They don’t pose much of a risk. They don’t leak toxic goo everywhere. If anything, they’re just guilty of being unpleasant to look at.”
I nodded. “You have a point. Anyway, they’ll be dead soon enough. They have maybe another two hours of life left. So, maybe we focus on the ghouls and just ensure the skeletons don’t escape.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He paused for a moment and appeared to be studying me. “That mud is staying nicely.”
I’d forgotten about the spit mud all over my face. “Thanks for reminding me.”
He didn’t respond but started forward, the moonlight reflecting against his hair until it looked like it was almost blue. Knight was by far the deadliest creature in the graveyard and I was suddenly very pleased that he was on my side. With his immense height, broad stature and Loki abilities, he’d easily defeat me. Shaking off such thoughts, I started after him when I heard a ruckus from just behind me. I glanced around and felt my stomach drop as a shard of fear traveled through me. There were maybe twenty ghouls and skeletons standing just behind me, separated by five paces.
“Knight,” I whispered, turning to face him before realizing he was nowhere to be found. “Knight!” I screamed louder and apparently awakened the ghouls because they scattered. Ghouls and skeletons aren’t capable of reason but it seemed as if they were capable of reason enough to realize I was alone because they suddenly stopped their scattering and looked at me. They watched me for a few seconds, as if unsure what to do next. Then a largish ghoul who looked like he could have been a football player in life, elbowed his way to the front of the crowd and started forward, moaning and dragging his foot behind him. The others followed suit and began making their uneven way towards me, rotting flesh dripping off their bodies. It was enough to make me retch right there. The skeletons continued to wander, tripping over tree roots and gravestones in their blind migration.
I held the Op 6 up against my face and then aimed, shooting Mr. Quarterback in the chest. He fell and three others surged forward. The Op 6 took them out easily with the dragon blood bullets. Dragon’s blood is lethal to any Netherworld creatures. And to the undead, Dragon’s blood is even more powerful—the ghouls dropped to the ground and any life in them dissipated instantly. Good as that might have been, I was out of ammunition so the Op 6 was basically useless to me. I tossed the gun to the ground and grabbed the KG from my waist holster. My hands shook as I aimed it, pulling the trigger. The yellow liquid squirted angrily and missed the ghoul before me by mere inches. That was when I remembered I was supposed to hold the trigger down only partially, so I could get a read on how far away the ghouls were. Problem was, I didn’t really have the space nor the time to get a read. I had to get them dead.
I backed up and held the gun out before me, aiming at two ghouls and depressed the trigger only halfway. At the sign of the red light, I depressed it fully and they both went down. Two down and a crap load more to go. It seemed as soon as their brethren fell, three or four suddenly replaced them. I needed to get to higher ground where I could take them out, one at a time.
Glancing behind me for something that might offer the benefit of height, the white of the tomb’s walls stuck out like a vampire at a blood bank. But how to get up on the roof? I eyed the skeletal outline of a dead tree nearby and figured if I could climb the tree, I could jump atop the tomb and take out as many ghouls as I pleased. It sounded like a good plan but I didn’t have the time necessary to run to the tree and climb it—not when I had fifteen or so ghouls closing in on me. I needed to create a diversion—something to keep them at bay and I wasn’t going to be able to do that with the KG. Nope, I’d need some good ol’ fashioned fairy dust.
I shook my palm until a mound of dust appeared then I opened my hand wide, blowing the glittering particles from left to right in front of the ghouls. The ethereal particles shimmered in the moonlight and caught the attention of the ghouls who just stared at them intently, no doubt captivated by the sparkle. Not wasting any time, I imagined a flame lighting the particles and was rewarded when a blast of light signaled the fact that the particles had caught fire, burning an arc of safety around me. The ghouls reeled back against the fire, just as I imagined they’d do. I turned around, bolting for the tomb while ramming the KG into my waistline. Reaching the bedraggled tree, I grabbed hold of the highest branch while hoisting myself up. My foot found purchase on the rough bark and I glanced back at the ghouls, noticing my fire was slowly dwindling and dying into reddish embers. The ghouls started forward again, making the strangest growling sound—like tires driving over rocks.
I grasped another tree branch and pulled myself up, until I was maybe another foot from the roof of the tomb. The ghouls surrounded my tree, grasping at the tree bark. Some fell down and the others appeared to use them as stepping stools, reaching their rotting flesh closer to me. One ghoul attempted to grasp my pant leg so I kicked at it, managing to knock it down. The others just stomped on it, their groans growing increasingly louder. They were nearing the end of their Gorm induced re-life which meant their need for life sustenance—for live flesh—was becoming more urgent.
I reached the top of the tree and pulled against the branch that would allow me to drop onto the top of the tomb. Even though the tree was long dead, the branch still seemed strong enough to support my lithe weight…or so I hoped. I took the branch in both hands and propelled myself forward until I was hanging between the tree and the tomb. There was a definite cracking sound and I glanced at the junction of the tree and my branch, noticing the bark beginning to split away. Dammit, I’d been wrong. The branch couldn’t support my weight and was probably seconds from falling off and dropping me to the hungry ghouls below. I began swinging my feet, the top of the tomb so close I could feel it with my toes. I needed to get to end of the branch—that way I could just swing myself to the tomb. But, the farther I went out on the branch, the more unstable and precarious my position. I glanced down and watched the ghouls staring up at me, as if realizing their dinner was currently playing the part of monkey in a tree. Fall and I was as good as dead.
I edged myself down the tree branch, my legs flailing in the air. Hearing the unmistakable sound of tree branches cracking, I swung myself again and my knees struck the top of the tomb just as the tree branch gave way and landed on the ghouls below. I felt my cheek smack against the top of the tomb and was momentarily stunned, bright lights dancing before my eyes. I shook my head, hoping the damage wasn’t permanent. Able to shake the stars out of my vision, I reached inside my holster and grasped the KG. I aimed at the ghouls below, depressed, caught the red light and fired. One went down. I repeated the process and another went down. Followed by another and another until every last one was down.
I leaned back against the roof and breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call. A large shadow making its way underneath a nearby tree caught my attention and I felt my heartbeat starting to race. It slowed once I recognized Knight.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, glaring down at him, the beginnings of a headache pounding through my temples.
“Fighting ghouls—nice of you to hide up there!” he yelled back at me, leaning his sword against the tree that had very nearly failed me.
I shook my head and turned to the task of getting myself down from the tomb. “I wasn’t hiding.”
Knight glanced down at the heap of recently undead before looking back up at me with an appreciative smile. “Nicely done.”
“Yeah, no help from you,” I muttered before reaching the conclusion that there was no way I was going to be able to get down. “How about helping me down from here?”
“Drop your legs off the edge and I’ll grab you.”
I dropped to my stomach and tri
ed to grab onto the sides of the tomb but there really wasn’t anything to hold onto. Instead, I maintained my balance with my waist against the tomb’s roof and dangled my legs over the side.
“Gotta drop lower.”
“I can’t,” I yelled. “There’s nothing to hold onto.”
“Just trust me. I’ll catch you.”
Famous last words. I muttered something unintelligible even to my own ears and pushed away from the tomb, hoping this little stunt wouldn’t result in catastrophe. The headache coursing through my head was pain enough. I dropped for maybe a second before I felt his large hands around my waist as he caught me and hoisted me down to my feet.
“We make a good team,” he started, his hands still encircling my waist.
I gave myself a second or two to catch my breath. This had been a long ass night. “Let me guess…”
“I still want that Valentine’s Day kiss you owe me,” Knight finished, the smile gone from his lips.
I laughed. “As if I owe you anything.”
He shrugged. “You say potato; I say I want my kiss.”
I could feel mirth welling up inside me. Oh, he was going to get his kiss alright, a kiss that just happened to be from someone covered in mud and spit. I grabbed his head and stood up on my tip toes as he bent down. His mouth was warm and his lips so incredibly soft as they touched mine. I opened my mouth and his tongue was hot, demanding in the way it mated with mine.
I pulled away and smiled up at him. “Consider that payment in full.”
Then I tapped him on the chest and walked away, leaving him in the middle of the graveyard, covered with ghoul slime while a skeleton limped toward him and tripped over his foot.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM HP MALLORY...
FIRE BURN AND
CAULDRON BUBBLE
Book 1 of the Jolie Wilkins series
(Continue on for Chapter One)
ONE
It’s not every day you see a ghost.
On this particular day, I’d been minding my own business, tidying up the shop for the night while listening to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (guilty as charged). It was late—maybe 9:00 p.m. A light bulb had burnt out in my tarot reading room a few days ago, and I still hadn’t changed it. I have a tendency to overlook the menial details of life. Now, a small red bulb fought against the otherwise pitch darkness of the room, lending it a certain macabre feel.
In search of a replacement bulb, I attempted to sort through my “if it doesn’t have a home, put it in here” box when I heard the front door open. Odd—I could’ve sworn I’d locked it.
“We’re closed,” I yelled.
I didn’t hear the door closing, so I put Cyndi Lauper on mute and strolled out to inquire. The streetlamps reflected through the shop windows, the glare so intense, I had to remind myself they were just lights and not some alien spacecraft come to whisk me away.
The room was empty.
Considering the possibility that someone might be hiding, I swallowed the dread climbing up my throat. Glancing around, I searched for something to protect myself with in case said breaker-and-enterer decided to attack. My eyes rested on a solitary broom standing in the corner of the Spartan room. The broom was maybe two steps from me. That might not sound like much, but my fear had me by the ankles and wouldn’t let go.
Jolie, get the damned broom.
Thank God for that little internal voice of sensibility that always seems to visit at just the right time.
Freeing my feet from the fear tar, I grabbed the broom and neared my desk. It was a good place for someone to hide—well, really, the only place to hide. When it comes to furnishings, I’m a minimalist.
I jammed the broom under the desk and swept vigorously.
Nothing. The hairs on my neck stood to attention as a shiver of unease coursed through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling and after deciding no one was in the room, I persuaded myself it must’ve been kids. But kids or not, I would’ve heard the door close.
I didn’t discard the broom.
Like a breath from the arctic, a chill crept up the back of my neck.
I glanced up and there he was, floating a foot or so above me. Stunned, I took a step back, my heart beating like a frantic bird in a small cage.
“Holy crap.”
The ghost drifted toward me until he and I were eye level. My mind was such a muddle, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or bat at him with the broom. Fear cemented me in place, and I did neither, just stood gaping at him.
Thinking the Mexican standoff couldn’t last forever, I replayed every fact I’d ever learned about ghosts: they have unfinished business, they’re stuck on a different plane of existence, they’re here to tell us something, and most importantly, they’re just energy.
Energy couldn’t hurt me.
My heartbeat started regulating, and I returned my gaze to the ectoplasm before me. There was no emotion on his face; he just watched me as if waiting for me to come to my senses.
“Hello,” I said, thinking how stupid I sounded—treating him like every Tom, Dick, or Harry who ventured through my door. Then I felt stupid that I felt stupid—what was wrong with greeting a ghost? Even the dead deserve standard propriety.
He wavered a bit, as if someone had turned a blow dryer on him, but didn’t say anything. He was young, maybe in his twenties. His double-breasted suit looked like it was right out of The Untouchables, from the 1930s if I had to guess.
His hair was on the blond side, sort of an ash blond. It was hard to tell because he was standing, er floating, in front of a wooden door that showed through him. Wooden door or not, his face was broad and he had a crooked nose—maybe it’d been broken in a fight. He was a good-looking ghost as ghosts go.
“Can you speak?” I asked, still in disbelief that I was attempting to converse with the dead. Well, I’d never thought I could, and I guess the day had come to prove me wrong. Still he said nothing, so I decided to continue my line of questioning.
“Do you have a message from someone?”
He shook his head. “No.”
His voice sounded like someone talking underwater.
Hmm. Well, I imagined he wasn’t here to get his future told—seeing as how he didn’t have a future. Maybe he was passing through? Going toward the light? Come to haunt my shop?
“Are you on your way somewhere?” I had so many questions for this spirit but didn’t know where to start, so all the stupid ones came out first.
“I was sent here,” he managed, and in his ghostly way, I think he smiled. Yeah, not a bad looking ghost.
“Who sent you?” It seemed the logical thing to ask.
He said nothing and like that, vanished, leaving me to wonder if I’d had something bad to eat at lunch.
Indigestion can be a bitch.
~
“So no more encounters?” Christa, my best friend and only employee, asked while leaning against the desk in our front office.
I shook my head and pooled into a chair by the door. “Maybe if you hadn’t left early to go on your date, I wouldn’t have had a visit at all.”
“Well, one of us needs to be dating,” she said, knowing full well I hadn’t had any dates for the past six months. An image of my last date fell into my head like a bomb. Let’s just say I’d never try the Internet dating route again. It wasn’t that the guy had been bad looking—he’d looked like his photo, but what I hadn’t been betting on was that he’d get wasted and proceed to tell me how he was separated from his wife and had three kids. Not even divorced! Yeah, that hadn’t been on his match.com profile.
“Let’s not get into this again …”
“Jolie, you need to get out. You’re almost thirty …”
“Two years from it, thank you very much.”
“Whatever … you’re going to end up old and alone. You’re way too pretty, and you have such a great personality, you can’t end up like that. Don’t let one bad date ruin it.” Her voice reached a crescendo. Christa has a tendency toward
s the dramatic.
“I’ve had a string of bad dates, Chris.” I didn’t know what else to say—I was terminally single. It came down to the fact that I’d rather spend time with my cat or Christa rather than face another stream of losers.
As for being attractive, Christa insisted I was pretty, but I wasn’t convinced. It’s one thing when your best friend says you’re pretty, but it’s entirely different when a man says it.
And I couldn’t remember the last time a man had said it.
I caught my reflection in the glass of the desk and studied myself while Christa rambled on about all the reasons I should be dating. I supposed my face was pleasant enough—a pert nose, cornflower blue eyes and plump lips. A spattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose interrupts an otherwise pale landscape of skin, and my shoulder length blond hair always finds itself drawn into a ponytail.
Head-turning doubtful, girl-next-door probable.
As for Christa, she doesn’t look like me at all. For one thing, she’s pretty tall and leggy, about five-eight, and four inches taller than I am. She has dark hair the color of mahogany, green eyes, and pinkish cheeks. She’s classically pretty—like cameo pretty. She’s rail skinny and has no boobs. I have a tendency to gain weight if I eat too much, I have a definite butt, and the twins are pretty ample as well. Maybe that made me sound like I’m fat—I’m not fat, but I could stand to lose five pounds.
“Are you even listening to me?” Christa asked.