Fragile Spirits

  “How did he die?” Vivienne asked.

  He put his head down and took some deep breaths and rocked, then began again in the same flat tone, as if he were reading from a textbook or reciting a memorized passage. “In 1863, Nicaragua Smith was court-martialed by the Confederate Army stationed on Galveston Island. They loaded him on a wagon with his coffin and took him to the cemetery for his execution. He stood next to his grave and tapped his foot on his coffin, grinning like it was a party while he waited to be shot by a firing squad. He vowed revenge from the grave and refused a blindfold, saying he wanted to look at his killers’ faces as he died. He demanded to be buried facedown, looking toward hell.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m all for sending him there,” Vivienne said.

  The cemetery was on our right, its monuments visible through the iron fence standing at odd angles in the moonlight.

  “We need a strategy,” I said.

  “There are too many unknowns to formulate any plans. We’re going to have to make it up as we go along.” Race pulled onto the street in front of the cemetery entrance and parked at the curb. The iron gates that were closed at night had been smashed open by an old blue Ford Mustang that stood in the middle of the road that ran through the cemetery. “There’s how your grandmother got here.”

  “She’s never driven a car in her life,” Vivienne said.

  Maddi unsnapped her buckle. “Showtime, kiddies.”

  “Stop,” Alden said. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait.” He turned in his seat to face us. “Vivienne’s new,” he said directly to Maddi, who took her hand off the door handle. “There are some things we can do to help her. Basic things that Vivienne needs to know.”

  “I read the manual,” Vivienne said. “I get how it works.”

  I took her hand and transferred calm to her. She yanked her hand away. “Cut it with the calming crap, Paul.” She crossed her arms in front of her body. Her anger was palpable, and being Protectors, everyone else in the car felt it too. “I’m new at this, but I’m not stupid. And I’m not a wimp.”

  “No one ever said you were,” Race said.

  “I’m all you’ve got, remember!” she snapped.

  “You are,” Race said calmly. “So you’d better cool down. Anger weakens your soul, and you’re going to need all the strength you’ve got.”

  She grabbed my hand. “Do it.”

  Immediately, I transferred calm to her, and her emotions dialed down significantly.

  “Okay, I suggest we assess the injuries to the hostage or hostages first,” Alden said. “It would make sense if he forced someone else to drive him here since Vivienne’s grandmother doesn’t know how.”

  “He’d better not have hurt her. She’s diabetic, and her wounds don’t heal easily. She’ll probably die if he cuts her up.”

  “She’s diabetic? Really? She drinks sweet tea like crazy,” I said.

  “Artificial sweetener. So we check out the hostage situation and then what?”

  Maddi rolled her eyes. “Then you weaken him until you think you’re stronger than him and are ready to let him into the Vessel so you can finally beat him down to where he leaves forever. They have to be too weak to stay behind or they have to choose to move on voluntarily.”

  I could feel Vivienne bristling at Maddi’s condescension, so I spoke before it got worse. “Possessing a body uses a ton of his energy. He will also lose energy when he gets mad or remorseful.”

  “Forget the remorse,” Alden said. “He doesn’t have any.”

  Vivienne nodded. “Okay, so the plan is to keep him talking and piss him off in my grandmother’s body without letting him hurt her, until he’s weakened. Then I have him possess me and because my soul will be much stronger, I kick his butt to oblivion or hell or whatever.”

  “Yeah, while we put our souls wherever they’re needed to protect vulnerable bodies. Even yours,” Maddi added.

  “Especially yours, Vivienne,” Race said, glaring at Maddi.

  “What? You’re pissed at me? Really?” Maddi said. “This is a suicide mission. She doesn’t stand a chance. We need Rose.”

  I held my breath as Alden turned in his car seat to stare directly at Maddi. “We don’t have Rose, Maddi. Rose is dead.” He glared at her a long time. “Again,” he said quietly, as if to himself. He faced front, ran both hands through his hair, and then flung the door open. “Let’s get this over with.” He slammed his door and strode into the cemetery.

  Race unbuckled. “Keep your eye on him, guys,” he said. “He’s likely to do something really reckless.”

  Maddi opened her door. “Yeah, like get himself killed.”

  After they had closed their doors, I remained in the car, holding Vivienne’s hand for a few moments in the welcome silence.

  “He has Grandma,” she said. “What if they’re right? What if I can’t do it?”

  I sent as much calm her way as I could conjure, but it was hard because my own emotions wanted to surface. I was terrified for her. I also understood her anger and fear. “You can do this. They don’t know you. They’ve underestimated you.”

  “Everyone underestimates me. It’s one of my weapons. Nobody sees it coming until it’s too late.”

  I took her face in my hands. “I don’t underestimate you. You’re powerful and smart. Go in there and take charge. You’re the Speaker. We’re just Protectors at your command. Our only purpose is to facilitate your success.” I kissed her. “Remember that.” I kissed her again, and this time, she kissed me back so hard I thought the windows would fog up.

  She pulled away and stared into my eyes a long time. “I have to be successful, because that is way too good to put off doing again until the next lifetime. Let’s go get rid of this demon.”

  I opened my door, and she slid out after me. She took my hand as we entered the cemetery together. “Game on!” she said to the others, pumping her fist in the air.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The motor was still running,” Alden said from the driver’s side of the Mustang, holding up a set of keys on a long smiley-face lanyard.

  Vivienne leaned in through the passenger window. “Grandma’s tarot deck is on the backseat.” She opened the door and dug the cards out from among the fast-food wrappers and empty cigarette packs. She fanned through the deck. “Some of them are missing.”

  Maddi put her hands on her hips. “So, some game cards are missing. It’s irrelevant.”

  Vivienne got right up in her face. “Tarot is not a game, and it’s my grandmother he’s got, so to me, nothing is irrelevant. If you want to cover up your grief over Lenzi, or your fear of Smith, or your jealousy of Cinda, or whatever baggage you’ve got by being a hostile bitch, do it to someone else. I’ve got a job to do.”

  With that, Vivienne tromped down the middle of the narrow road, deeper into the cemetery. For a moment, we all stared at each other in amazement, then Maddi chuckled. “You know, I think she really might pull this off.”

  “I know she will.” I ran to catch up with Vivienne. She had slowed her pace by the time I fell in step beside her.

  She stopped and turned a full circle, eyes closed.

  “You won’t be able to feel him if he’s possessed someone,” I reminded her.

  “Well, that sucks,” she said, opening her eyes.

  Alden joined us, and not long thereafter, so did Race and Maddi.

  I scanned the north side of the cemetery, looking for any signs of life among the broken, vandalized monuments. I had to squint against the relentless salty wind blowing off the beach that made the bushes and trees sway in the moonlight as if they were human. “There!” I said, pointing to a larger mausoleum in the back corner. Its black iron doors were thrown open wide with a light coming from inside.

  “Oh, crap, I hate creepy stuff like this,” Vivienne said, striking out toward the light. We followed in silen
ce.

  “It’s probably a trap,” Maddi said.

  “It’s certainly a trap,” Alden answered. “But we’re on his turf now. His rules. He plays dirty. Even when he was alive, he played dirty.”

  “So do I,” Vivienne said.

  Our feet crunched in the long, dry grass as we passed through several rows of unkempt and neglected graves—tragic testimonials to long-forgotten lives—and I suddenly felt very small and insignificant. Just one more person.

  But I wasn’t just one more person; I’d been given a chance to make a difference. It wasn’t about being remembered, it was about being worthwhile.

  A retaining wall no more than a foot high surrounded an elevated plot on our right. Four stark white headstones with lambs on top stood between two larger headstones adorned with stone urns. I studied them as we crept past. All four in the middle marked the graves of small children ranging in age from less than a year to seven years old. That could easily have been me, had it not been for Charles and the IC.

  When we were within several yards of the mausoleum, Vivienne stopped, tilted her head, and listened.

  Behind us, Race stepped on something that made a loud crack, and we all flinched.

  Vivienne held up her hand, and we stilled, holding our breaths, but no sound came from within the mausoleum.

  Vivienne shook her head, then moved forward.

  “You kept me waiting,” Smith’s voice called from inside the small, pale stone structure shaped like a chapel. “I don’t like to wait.”

  Race gestured to Maddi, who crept around behind the building.

  Vivienne was the first to go inside. She had to stoop to get in the arched doorway. I followed.

  Tibby sat on a stone bench at the back of the cramped space, holding a knife against the throat of a terrified girl with red hair who looked to be just out of high school. Her eyes darted to each of us as we entered, making a silent plea to save her. I kept my face emotionless and my eyes on Tibby, hoping to not agitate Smith to the point he killed the girl. He gestured for us to sit on the long concrete slabs, which had at one point held coffins.

  Vivienne positioned herself at Smith’s right side, closest to the girl. I sat next to her. Alden and Race occupied the slab on the opposite side of the space.

  In the center in front of Tibby was a small, round table covered with one of the scarves from Vivienne’s house. A candle flickered in a brass candlestick, illuminating the objects on the table: five kitchen knives and five tarot cards placed facedown in a straight line.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?” Vivienne said. “I see you’ve taken up a new occupation, Smith, besides being a thief.”

  Tibby’s head jerked toward her in an unnatural motion.

  “That’s what you were executed for, right? Being a petty thief?”

  Well, she had certainly come out of her corner swinging. Smith’s eyes narrowed, and hate seemed to ooze out of every one of his host body’s pores. “I was executed because I was betrayed.” He tightened his grip on the redheaded girl and she cried out.

  Vivienne shrugged. “Spin it however you want.”

  Through Tibby’s eyes, he looked at each one of us. “Two are missing. I want all of you, or I kill this girl.”

  The girl squeaked again and squeezed her eyes shut. The blade at her neck pressed a dent in her flesh. Any more pressure, and it would break the skin. I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was essential I stay calm in order to keep Vivienne safe.

  “Come on in, Maddi,” Race called. “The other one is back in Houston.”

  Smith grinned at him. “So you are in charge. Led by a buffoon, are we?”

  “I’m in charge,” Vivienne said.

  Tibby’s head tilted. “Ah. Much better choice. Your hate makes you a more interesting opponent.”

  Maddi ducked under the archway to the mausoleum, and after checking out the room, she sat to my right, eyes fixed on the knives on the table. Maddi was excellent at hand-to-hand combat. She had taken first place in the dagger competition at Wilkingham.

  Smith chuckled through Tibby’s tiny body. “Take one, Protector 454. You know you want one.” Maddi remained still as stone. “No, really,” Smith continued. “Every one of you take one now, or—” The girl cried out as he pushed the blade against her skin.

  Each of us took a knife from the table in silence, returned to our spots, and waited. The girl’s ragged breathing and terrified whimpers were the only sounds.

  I did a mental checklist of the environment. The structure was all stone, with the exception of the iron doors, and there were no windows or other openings. The floor was dirt. Nothing appeared flammable but the occupants. I eyed the candle. Not much risk of that. We were all armed except the redheaded girl, but having the weapon made me ill at ease.

  “Now that we are all here,” Smith said, settling back, “we can begin.”

  Vivienne’s anxiety spiked slightly, and Maddi tightened her grip on the knife.

  “I’m going to lower the knife now . . .” Tibby’s body loosened its grip on the terrified girl a bit. “But you are not going to move, do you understand?” Smith tilted Tibby’s head in that strange jerky fashion characteristic of possession victims. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name, dear.”

  The girl said something indecipherable, and Smith shook her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.”

  “Rachel,” the girl screeched in a voice bordering on hysteria.

  “Rachel,” Smith’s voice repeated with an eerie calm, dragging each sound out as if it tasted good on his tongue. “That’s a lovely name, and you are a lovely girl. I’ve not killed a girl named Rachel yet.” He looked straight at Vivienne. “Need to keep it fresh, you know.”

  Vivienne crossed her legs and shot him a bored look. “No doubt. Nothing worse than repetition. Good thing her name’s not Rose. Been there, done that.”

  She was brilliant. Playing this just right. She was letting him go on in Tibby’s body to wear him down. His objectives, though, were unclear, which bothered me.

  “Did you call the others to come help?” he asked, lowering the knife from Rachel’s throat. “The ones from the classroom?”

  “Nope.” Vivienne picked at her fingernails with the knife as if giving herself a manicure without a care in the world. “They can’t come in until the possession is over and the open Vessels are secured.”

  Tibby’s eyes narrowed as Smith glared at Vivienne. “If you are lying to me, I will kill you outright. All of you.”

  Vivienne met his eyes and smiled. “Promises, promises. I think you’re just screwing with us.”

  A low growl came from Tibby’s throat. “Why did you leave the other one behind? The female Speaker who can’t feel me yet?”

  Vivienne shrugged. “Who? Cinda? She had better things to do.”

  “Pity,” he said. “I wanted to initiate her into her new job in a way she’d never forget.”

  Vivienne leaned closer to him. “Well, as the Rolling Stones say, you can’t always get what you want.” She sat back up. “What do you want, by the way? What do you really want?”

  Rachel had inched away from him a short distance during the exchange. He reached over and yanked her flush against him by the hair, and she screamed.

  “I want revenge,” Smith said.

  Vivienne waved the knife she was holding in a loose grip as if it were a conductor’s baton. “For Rose ratting you out who knows how long ago for whatever may or may not have happened?”

  “I died because of it.”

  “So did she. Over and over again.” She placed the knife across her lap. “Time to move on now, dude. Give it a rest.”

  By his spastic movements, I could tell Smith was agitated. Beads of sweat broke out on Tibby’s brow and glittered in the golden candlelight. “Never.”

  Vivienne rolled her eyes.
“Ugh. Whatever. She’s dead again now, so what do you do until she turns up again in . . . oh, say, sixty to ninety years?”

  He chuckled. “I kill you.”

  She laughed and leaned back against the stone wall behind her. “Man, if it takes you sixty or more years to kill me, you’re doing it wrong.” She laughed again.

  Smith evidently didn’t like being laughed at. He shoved the girl away and stood, knife pointed at Vivienne, who didn’t even flinch. A quick look around verified that every one of us was ready to intervene, poised on the edges of the coffin slabs.

  Vivienne began cleaning under her nails again, not even looking at him as he stood, knife in hand, ready to kill her. “See, you can’t kill me right now for two reasons.”

  Rachel scooted to the corner of the mausoleum, huddled on the dirt floor, trembling.

  “First,” Vivienne continued, “these fine folks would stop you before you could get to me.” She gestured to us with a flourish of the blade. “As you know, I’m the only Speaker here, and when you go for me, two of them, Alden and Maddi, will fill the open Vessels while the other two take you down, leaving you nowhere to go but out.” She met his eyes. “And what fun would that be? You’d be right back where you started. No dead Speaker. No dead Protector. Nothing. Just you waiting again. And waiting sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Smith sat Tibby’s body back down on the concrete bench and placed the knife on the table. “And second?”

  I met Alden’s eyes briefly. He understood that she had just given us directions as to how she wanted this handled when it went down. Alden flitted his eyes to the girl huddled on the floor, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Maddi nod almost imperceptibly once, letting him know she would soul-share with Rachel or Tibby, whoever was open at the time.

  “Uh-uh,” Smith said, wagging a finger at Alden and Maddi. “Everyone stays in their own body, or I kill the girl and Grandma. Are we clear?”