The Resurrectionist
The Resurrectionist
Sierra Woods
This resurrectionist needs his protection!Dani is tough…even the grave couldn’t keep her down. Ever since mysterious beings brought her back from her tragic murder, she’s been using her newfound powers to restore justice. It’s dangerous work and backup doesn’t hurt – especially when it’s from hunky cop Sam Lopez.There’s only one catch: after what her ex-husband did, Dani can never trust another man. She’ll just have to keep ignoring the heat sizzling between them. But as a great evil begins to rise, Dani and Sam must get closer than they’ve ever been before.
“The only person I trust to protect you is me. Don’t ever forget that, Dani.”
I held his gaze. “Why is that?” Taking a chance, I placed my hands on Sam’s face, wanting to connect with this warrior. I wanted to know what went on inside him, what made him so fierce.
“Why only you?”
Terror filled him. I felt it throb into my hands, and I almost pulled away, the feelings were so intense. Something had happened to him. He’d never forgotten it and never forgiven himself.
“Listen to me, Dani. I’m the only one who can protect you. We’re connected like never before.”
He couldn’t put it into words any better than I could, but I knew what he meant.
“The Resurrectionist is a wildly sexy thriller that breathes new life into the paranormal genre. Literally.” —New York Times bestselling author Darynda Jones
SIERRA WOODS grew up in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains where folklore, mysteries and superstition surrounded everyday life. Sierra’s interest in the paranormal began in her childhood and hasn’t stopped yet. Today she works in health care, where interesting and unusual situations may be taken and used in her fiction writing.
She lives in New Mexico, in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains. If you’d like to drop Sierra a line, she’d love to hear from you at sierrawoodswriter@gmail.com (mailto:sierrawoodswriter@gmail.com).
The Resurrectionist
Sierra Woods
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#u38b9fd15-1b51-596e-947b-12fedfa29081),
Thank you for picking up The Resurrectionist. The world of the paranormal has been a favorite of mine for many years. I still have the original copy of Dracula that I read when I was in eighth grade. Another important area of my life has been about doing the right thing. In this book I have combined the two into a story about justice for victims who can no longer speak for themselves. I hope that you enjoy the way I have created this world and I would love to hear from you!
Sierra Woods
This book is dedicated to the victims of crime who can no longer speak for themselves.
The inspiration for this book was yet another news story about a murder for which the motivation was pitiful. I so wanted there to be justice for this victim whose killer was caught in just a few days.
My wish is that all victims find justice for crimes committed against them.
Resurrectionists are a breed all their own. Some are born into it, some are called into it and some are murdered into it. Resurrectionists have been a constant presence on the earth plane since humanity learned right from wrong. During ancient times, superstitions forced resurrectionists to remain hidden, secretive and fiercely protective of their rituals. Over the centuries, superstition battled religious fervor, and resurrectionists remained underground.
Teachings passed from one generation to another, then the information was destroyed for the safety of all. Zombies and witches took much of the blame for the good deeds of resurrectionists, who only sought to right the wrongs humans committed against one another. With no support for their efforts, resurrectionists stayed hidden.
In this century, technology, the Age of Aquarius and an opening in global consciousness have enabled a few gifted resurrectionists to forge new trails, bringing their fight for justice into the light.
Albuquerque, NM
September
Office of Dani Wright, Resurrectionist
Contents
Cover (#u865482e6-ef9e-5d48-b090-069c194fc9fe)
Introduction (#uf7b54764-5546-54c3-bb35-6829b50b5714)
About the Author (#u675eda8d-63c1-5fe8-b12d-1be03830f8f0)
Title Page (#u0d58d6ef-5c33-5d90-8e48-5e649310ec54)
Dear Reader (#ua41f258b-8451-5598-9004-90c78e0041ba)
Dedication (#u7df0c0cb-c950-5577-8ecc-36ef75093574)
Epigraph (#u84669df5-bd24-5c57-a53a-59ba5d2e3b8d)
Chapter One (#ulink_31b43e95-5107-5d51-9e12-881d3685eeb0)
Chapter Two (#ulink_da681619-6565-576f-a8c8-0e65504861eb)
Chapter Three (#ulink_863f3603-ec9e-5e8c-b551-275bee8add7f)
Chapter Four (#ulink_1d598ef9-f388-5039-8279-c8b0e9f67a17)
Chapter Five (#ulink_9d554f27-ae50-5dab-89c3-744f70f97eb5)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_fbb0b080-9e5b-5d1b-b0f6-64e4e8db88ee)
“I’m not going to have to walk around with a bullet wound in my forehead forever, am I?” Betsy Capella looked at me, her eyes not quite focused. After being deceased and in cold storage for nearly a year, it was understandable. The senses take a little while to warm up and remember what they’re supposed to do.
“I don’t think so. It should fade as you recover more fully. These things take a little time.” Not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth, and I hope I interjected enough sympathy into my voice. I don’t know the answer to her question, as I’ve been performing resurrections for only a year or so. Not long enough to come up with a stat sheet. Each resurrection is different, just as each death is different. The state and success of recovery depends on how long the deceased has been gone, and on whether we’ve stored the body or it was buried in a traditional manner. Embalming is not a good thing if you intend to return to a living state. Yeah. Cremation is a bad idea, too. Way bad.
Betsy sat more upright and smiled, the corners of her mouth a little tight and dry. “I’ll bet some makeup will help.”
Yeah, and a spackling trowel to slap it on with. “Give it a go. I hear there are sales on this week.” Looking down at the contract she signed, I added the date. Having been dead and on ice, she wasn’t up on current events. “Do you want to go with us to the ’yard? You don’t have to, but if you’d like to, someone can drive you and follow us to the site.”
“The yard? What’s that?” A frown of confusion made the bullet wound between her eyes pucker. S-o-o not attractive.
“Graveyard.” Where the life-swap rituals are completed, sending killers where they belong. A one-way ticket to the nebula. Looking away, I tried not to focus on her wound, like a deadly zit on her forehead.
Before answering, Betsy put away the compact someone had given her. Most newly resurrected have a difficult transition at first, which is why I don’t keep mirrors around the office. Let ’em get used to the idea of being awake and alive again before they wonder what they look like. Sometimes it ain’t pretty.
“No. I just want to go home, see the kids and take a shower.” Rubbing her hands on her arms, she shivered. You go a year without a shower and see how you feel. I’d recommend a good exfoliant, like steel wool. Maybe I could come up with a gift bag for the newly resurrected. Steel wool and a mild bleach solution. That would be good PR, wouldn’t it? I should write that down.
Betsy looked at her ex-husband across the room and dismissed him as if he meant nothing to her. I suppose that’s the best attitude. He’s the one who put her in the ground, so she obviously meant nothing to him. In my book, turnaround is simply justice, served neat.
She rose from the chair and wobbled a little, then got her land legs again. I don’t know quite what to call it when they’ve been in containment. Grave legs? Jeez. This job just gets freakier all the time. Every day is Halloween around here. We just need some candy; we’ve already got the nuts.
Betsy’s family was weepy and gathered around her, then pulled away. A few wiped their hands on their pants, grateful for, but at the same time repulsed by, her condition. If her body hadn’t been found and put in containment quickly, none of this would have been possible.
Without my death and the death of my child, it wouldn’t have been possible either. The cramp in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge surfaced, but I shoved it back as I always had. This was not the time to renew the grief of my past. This was the time to kick the ass of the guy responsible for putting my client in the grave.
Some newly resurrected have a hard time remembering what happened to them, and that’s probably for the best.
I, however, will never forget.
Three years ago my husband’s lover stuck a butcher knife in my belly and cut my child out of me, leaving me to die in the desert. Fortunately for me, there were forces at work in the universe that took exception to that act of atrocity and rescued me. It’s made me what I am now, and I can never go back to my previous life as a nurse, a wife and almost a mother.
That debt of honor can never be repaid.
Returning from the dead definitely has had some unforeseen consequences. Like the other-siders wanting something in return. Like learning how to raise the dead and performing life-swaps. Simple stuff like that.
Many of my resurrections involve women who, like me, married the wrong man and didn’t live to tell about it. Other life-swap cases I handle include cops killed in the line of duty, and kids murdered by their mothers’ new boyfriend, who just happens to be a pedophile. Fortunately, I was sent back to right the wrongs done to others just like me. It’s a living as well as a mission. There are other resurrectionists out there, but we are a small force trying to bring our abilities to the public without getting ourselves killed. Our country has already had one giant witch hunt. We don’t need another.
It was my turn to stand, and I got up from behind the desk. I’m tall, but I usually wear cowboy boots with heels. Gives me the height to look down on these assholes so they know a woman is the one putting them in the grave for good. I have long black hair I wear straight, past my shoulders, and skin that appears perfectly tanned year-round. Not my choice, but my mixed ethnicity. It’s my eyes, though, which are an odd shade of muddy green with yellow flecks, that give me the advantage over the nut jobs I deal with. Some say it’s like looking into hell when I give them the right stare. Frankly, I don’t believe in hell anymore, so I don’t know what they are talking about.
“How you doin’, Rufus? You ready for all this?” He was a weasel of a man, not much to look at. Dark brown eyes too closely set, a short, wiry frame and the disposition of a rabid coyote. Probably has a dick the size of a baby dill, too. I’ve discovered the meaner a man’s disposition, the smaller his dick. Hmm. Wonder why?
“Fuck you,” he said and spat at me.
“Sorry. I don’t fuck dead guys.” As if.
“You’re gonna pay for what you do. Someone’s going to take you down.” He made the sign of the cross as well as he could in shackles. Kinda tough, though.
The guards on each side of him just laughed, and that makes me smile. As close to a warm fuzzy as I’ll ever get. I’m not warm, and if I’m fuzzy I need to shave my legs.
“Really? Well, it ain’t gonna be you.” I let my eyes wander over his hot pink jumpsuit. I took a cue from that sheriff in Arizona who makes the inmates wear pink underwear and live in tents outside no matter how freakin’ hot it is. Unfortunately, pink is not a good color for most men, unless they’re gay or less than three years old, and Rufus was neither. “Let’s go, boys. We don’t have all night.”
The guards are equipped with a bulletproof, four-wheel-drive van. One drives, one rides with a shotgun trained on the life-swapper, and I mentally prepare for what I’m about to do. My main man, Sam Lopez, is unavailable tonight, and I actually miss his strong, hunky presence at the ’yard. He has secrets I can’t penetrate even if I wanted to, and I suppose he’s entitled to them. I don’t own him, and he isn’t obligated to have share-time with me, but his presence at the graveyard gives me strength I didn’t know I needed until he said he couldn’t be here. Each ritual takes a lot of energy, and I’m usually too wasted to drive safely back from the ’yard. Maybe it’ll get better the more resurrections I perform, but for the time being, I have guards. Men like to drive anyway, so I don’t mind having them cart my ass around once in a while.
* * *
The next morning, I felt as if someone beat the hell out of me when I wasn’t looking. Obviously, I hadn’t had enough meat yesterday. This girl needs loads of protein just to function in a normal manner. Well, my normal anyway. My stomach roars to life the second my eyes open. Dammit. I am so ruled by my appetite.
The life-swap had taken way longer than it should have last night, and as a result I was more ragged out than usual this morning. Having Sam present for the rituals obviously makes a difference, so I’m going to have to make sure he’s not out dancing naked under the full moon for the next one. My energy stores last only so long and must be replenished frequently.
After a shower I put on some jeans and a black T-shirt. The crystal amulet on a chain never leaves my neck (a little gift from the other-siders), so I tucked it inside the shirt. They didn’t give me direction on the crystal, but just said it was a source of power. Maybe it wards off bacteria, too, ’cause I haven’t been sick since I began wearing it. I tugged on scarred black cowboy boots I wouldn’t give up for anything and shoved a pair of sunglasses over my burning eyes. When I’m depleted of nutrients, my eyes turn funny colors. Scared a waitress half to death the first time that happened, hence the shades.
Coffee sustains me in my hour of need, which is every bloody hour of the day, so I swing by the coffee shop for a couple of those gallon-size coffee boxes. I keep one and share the other with the cops in the office.
They love me.
And I love ’em right back. They’re the good guys in blue. Entirely too many of them have lain down their lives for others and not been returned to this plane. My never-ending project is getting a few of them back on the force and sending their killers to the nebula instead of a cushy jail cell for twenty-to-life. Two good cops had been killed a few years back by a psych patient, and it’s been a high-profile case ever since. The venue for the trial had to be changed several times because there was such a public outcry on both sides. Fortunately, the cops have been on ice in my cryo lab since their deaths in anticipation of future resurrection, but I don’t know when, if ever, it’s going to get straightened out. Figuring out the legalities of this case still gives me a headache.
Can the mentally ill who murder be considered for life-swaps? Do they have real quality of life as they exist now? If not, then I’d like to play swap-a-cop for this particular bad boy. But how is one to know?
That’s the part that has always given me pause and a lump in my gut that won’t go away with an antacid. Truly mentally ill people may or may not be held responsible for their actions, no matter how heinous. If that’s the case, then I could not in good conscience perform a life-swap with this afflicted man and the two cops, no matter how much people begged. My personal moral code wouldn’t allow me to proceed. As far as I know, there are no Resurrectionists Guidelines to refer to in this kind of case.
Psychiatrists will fight to the death to defend either side of the fence, which leaves me sitting in the middle of it with splinters up my ass. So that’s where we sit until someone more important than me makes a decision. I’ve been trying to get the court to pass some new legislation that will speed up the decision, but so far I’m having no luck getting them even to look at it.
These are the issues we resurrectionists ponder every day. They may never be solved in my lifetime, however long that is, but I’ve got to try. Something won’t allow me to walk away from a situation I might be able to help with. Maybe it’s the way I’m made or part of being a resurrectionist. Others in my situation have few answers, either. Those of us who have heard the battle cry for resurrections always feel alone, even though there is a small group of support available.
“Hey, Dani.” A deep voice that gives me shivers at night got my immediate attention. Though I could have just sighed and listened to him talk, I have a reputation to uphold. Tough chicks aren’t just born. They’re cultivated.
It’s a lot of work.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” I usually leave the door propped open with a large piece of petrified wood, about the size of a bowling ball, I had found in my yard. Here in the desert, the stuff’s everywhere, and someday when he’s being a butt head (and you know he will be no matter how hot he is now), I’ll probably have to clobber him with it.
“Just reviewed your notes on the cop-killer case.” He held several files in one hand that contained my attempts to outline the legislation. In his other hand was a cup of coffee I’d brought. See? Bringing coffee is a good thing, no matter what it costs my budget. Makes for good relationships with smart men who carry big guns. Here was one with a 9 mil on his hip, and he ain’t afraid to use it. That’s yummy, in my book.
“Take a seat and tell me what you think.” Although I have my suspicions, I want to hear it from him. My powers don’t extend to mind reading, but I know Sam pretty well, and he’s giving off a negative vibe. Could be his years as an army Ranger, though. He’s one tough dude. That makes him a good resource for me, but he’s hell on relationships.
With a sigh he sat and parked the files on my desk. “I’m not a lawyer, but I don’t think they’re going to make a decision. At least not yet. The public isn’t ready for it.”
“Yeah.” Running my hands through my hair is a habit, and one I engage in now. One I’ll probably regret down the line when I experience androgenic alopecia and there’s more hair in my brush than on my head. “I wish there was a way around this. It could be the start of something big here. I hate waiting for New York and California to set the bar, and then we catch up later.” I wanted this, bad. Not just for me and setting a precedent in New Mexico, but setting one for all resurrectionists. We need to know. The families of those we resurrect need it, too. I tried not to think of how badly the families of the cops needed it.
Sam’s dark, dark gaze roamed over my chest and lingered for a second before his attention returned to my face. Not that I dislike that sort of attention, especially from him, but we have bigger things to focus on than the bumps under my shirt.
He pushed the files back to my side of the ugly desk that was a recycle from the precinct. “Sorry, babe.”
You know, I’m a fully liberated woman, but for some reason, I don’t mind him calling me babe. Mostly because he does it with affection, and knows that if he ever gets in my pants we’ll set the desert on fire. If anyone else tries it, I’ll rip their tongue out. Sometimes the sparks between Sam and me are visible at night. In a graveyard. Woo-hoo. How romantic is that?
“Thanks for taking a look at it.” Trying not to be disgusted and impatient, I shoved the file into a drawer.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” He’s got dark, dark eyes that don’t miss much. Of course the bags under my eyes are probably as big as sopaipillas and just as puffy.
“Some. I never get enough.” Never, never enough rest. Someone needs to invent a pill to replenish lost sleep. I’ll buy stock in the company.
“Did you eat this morning?” He was starting to get bossy, which I didn’t like. I’d gotten out of a controlling relationship with my ex-husband. I didn’t need a lecture from Sam. Having been born the oldest in a house full of women, he was born bossy. They let him get away with entirely too much and ruined him for any other women, hence his track record of disastrous relationships.
I shrugged, noncommittal. Something I learned from him. “Yep. The usual.”
Sam grinned. The man has a smile that could set me on fire. I must resist. “You’re the only woman I know who has steak for breakfast.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Hardly. I know better, but can’t resist teasing him sometimes, and my irritation disappeared. There’s so little joy in my life, I have to take it where I can get it.
He rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. Having known him for a year or so, I picked up on little nonverbal signals, and this was one of them. Something was up that he didn’t like and didn’t want to talk about. Wonder what it was? He’d eventually talk, but until then, he’d stay clammed up. I should start calling him Sam-The-Clam.
After getting up from the chair, he strolled around to my side of the desk and leaned a hip on the edge. Hmm. Our flirtations over the past year have always been restricted to arm’s length. This was new. Wonder if it had anything to do with that neck issue of his and the one growing between my shoulder blades? There was either something coming, or my gallbladder was having an attack.
“You need more sleep.” He ran a finger down the side of my face. “The rings under your eyes aren’t going away.”
“I don’t wear much makeup, so they’re easier to see.” Maybe that makeup sale was still on. I could pick up a spackling tool on the way back.
“You’re beautiful with or without makeup, but you’re also damned tired. I can see it every time you walk in here that you’re burning out. Can you take a week off and get out of town? Relax on a beach with a fruity drink and a book somewhere?”
“Could you?” As if. We’re both chained to our work.
“Is that a proposition?” There was that damned grin again and a new tingle in my stomach to go with it. Interesting, but it ain’t gonna happen.
“Hardly.” I shoved him off my desk. When he’s too close to me I get distracted, and sometimes I think that’s what he’s after. “Go arrest someone, will you?”
He took a step away and rubbed the back of his neck. “No rituals tonight?”
“None so far.”
“Make sure you call me if anything comes up.” That dark, guarded look was back in his eyes. There was something behind it. Something he hid that crept out at times despite his efforts to bury it.
“You’re taking the bossy thing to a new level today.” I glared. I didn’t need a babysitter.
“It’s my job, babe.” Serious now, he held my gaze as if he wanted to say something else, but held back. Yeah, he was a man of secrets, and I wasn’t likely to penetrate that barrier he erected every time I asked him a personal question. Sometimes I just can’t help myself and must ask. Just makes my day to irritate other people.
“So what’s going on with you today? I’m getting a weird vibe from you.” I raised my brows and waited for the answer I knew wasn’t coming.
“Nothing.” Slam. That door in his eyes closed, but I knew something was bothering him.
“You’re lying, I can see it. If something’s up, I need to know. If you don’t share, dude, then neither do I.” That broke all the rules of my agreement with the P.D., but right now I didn’t care. Something was up.
Narrowing his eyes, he tried to stare me down, but failed. I know his tricks, and he sighed. “There’s something I can’t get a hold on. Something in the air.”
“In the air? Could you be vaguer?” My turn to frown.
He stood and spun away. “Never mind. If anything concrete shows up, I’ll let you know.”
“If you’ve got a feeling about something, I want to know, even if you think it’s nothing.”
“Like I said, when it’s concrete, I’ll let you know.” His hand drifted to his neck again, but I kept silent. Miracles do happen. Sam gave me a crumb.
He’s my assigned protector from the P.D. I’ve been through private training like you wouldn’t believe. I know a thing or two about guns and how to protect myself, but when I perform the rituals my focus is internal. That’s when I’m vulnerable and need someone to watch over me. A big, bad, hunky cop like Sam will do. Sometimes I resent that I need one, but it’s become obvious I do. The security guards offer some protection, but there’s something about Sam in particular that needs to be there. I don’t know what yet, and it’s pissing me off.
“Like I said, it’s my job.” He gave that tight little smile he has when he has to do something he doesn’t want to. Talk about control issues.
“Yes, I know. You’re the liaison, blah, blah, blah.” I get so tired of the blah, blah, blah sometimes. “But you’re off your game, and that affects me whether you know it or not.” Well, I guess he knows now.
“Yes, I am. One of these nights we’re going to have more trouble than we bargained for.” Concern emanated from his eyes and a little something twisted between my shoulder blades. That’s my signal something is wrong.
I hope it isn’t an omen. Not that I believe in them, not seriously, but I sort of wish for a bit more protection at times. Something small and inconspicuous, like the Spear of Isis. That’s all.
With a nod he left, and I tried to return to the work in front of me, but it didn’t keep my attention.
I’d had a sense of foreboding for a week now and didn’t know why. Maybe that’s what I was getting from Sam. He has senses finely tuned from his military service that I’ll never get close to, but he’s so damned closed-mouthed sometimes, I just want to strangle him.
I must resist.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_821bc690-6676-5582-a9f3-5f1760348b74)
The sound of a skateboard on the sidewalk always gets on my nerves. I never know whether I’m going to get run down by a herd of teenagers, or if there is a message from my mentor, Burton. This time it was Burton and the muscles in my back tensed. I’m going to need a painkiller by the end of the day if this keeps up.
“Where you been, chica?” He knows that any reference to my ethnic backgrounds will get my immediate attention. When I went to nursing school, I applied for scholarships based on my three ethnic groups, but was denied two of them. Bastards.
“Oh, get off it, Burton. What do you want?” Sometimes I have no patience for the man. Sometimes I want to cuff him just because he’s such a piece of work. Any spiritual entity that’s four thousand years old shouldn’t be such a smart-ass. There’s just something wrong with that.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay? I’m fine.” I narrowed my eyes, immediately suspicious. Him, I never quite trust. “You’ve never asked me how I am before. What’s up?” That niggle between my shoulders was aching again.
“The other-siders have a sense something’s changing in the universe. They want to make sure you and other resurrectionists are unharmed.”
“Unharmed?” Maybe that was why Sam and I had had uncomfortable feelings we couldn’t name. “Who would want to harm us?” Aside from the obvious.
“The Dark.”
“What the hell is that?” As if I needed something to screw up my life more. The judicial system was enough.
“The entity who has disrupted the balance, and grows larger and more dangerous every time evil wins out over good. It is a congealed group of dark souls that has banded together from the deepest part of the nebula. They had been banished for their misdeeds while earthbound and have gathered to form a darker, stronger being. It’s made a declaration to stop the resurrectionists, but most especially you.”
“Me? Why me? What about the others out there?” He said it as if this thing had challenged me to a game of checkers. Was he serious?
“Of that we are uncertain. They ask that you take no unnecessary risks until the threat has passed.”
Jeez. Could they be more nebulous? Unnecessary risks? What the hell was that? Every day I take on a case, and the risk I take with my body and my life to send killers to the nebula is a huge risk. What about that seems unnecessary? I thought they were out there to help me. And I know that most threats generally don’t just pass by without slapping you upside the head.
“Uh, how will I know when that happens?”
“That is unknown. At this time we are offering the warning to all.”
“Well, that’s some comfort, I suppose.”
“Do not underestimate the power of this entity. It has been dormant for millennia and now seeks its vengeance.” For a moment I saw every one of his four thousand years revealed in his eyes, and a chill rose over me as the full effect of his warning got to me. Then the moment was gone, and the teenager with a goofy grin returned. “Man, this is just too much fun.” Hopping on his board, he was off in a flash and a whoop of delight. Too bad more people aren’t pleased so easily. I’m certainly not, though a big gun and a frozen margarita come close.
“I don’t understand what you see in that kid. He’s nothing but trouble.” Sam was right behind me, and I nearly jumped, but I controlled the urge to clobber him. My instincts are finely tuned, and I could have given him a bloody lip just then, or driven his testicles up into his eye sockets, but I restrained myself. Turning, I gave him a glare instead, but the sunglasses made it less effective. Sometimes I’m just too nice.
“What are you doing? You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” Especially now with universal warnings of doom and gloom on the horizon.
“I know, but with you?” The shrug said it all and his army Ranger training proved it. He liked to live dangerously around me. “That kid’s trouble.”
If he only knew. “He’s harmless. He’s probably just like you were at that age.” Yeah, right.
Sam glared down at me, and I was surprised his shades didn’t melt. “Don’t ever compare me to that kid. Ever.”
O-o-o-kay. An unintended arrow hit a tender spot I hadn’t known existed. “Why not?” I just had to know.
“Don’t go there, Dani. It’s none of your business.”
“You’re the one who made it my business by giving me a bone with nothing on it.”
“Forget it. I heard him mention not taking any risks right now. Is he threatening you?” Sam stepped forward, violating my personal space and trying to pressure me into telling him something I don’t want to. Won’t work on me. I’m immune to that sort of pressure.
I almost laughed. Burton? Threatening me? Pfft. But this new thing? Had me thinking. “It’s fine. See you later.” Some secrets are mine to keep, and I don’t have to explain them to anyone. Not even the man who watches my back.
“Dammit, Dani, if something’s going on I need to know about it. If I’m to protect you, I need to know what’s going on.” He followed me at the pace I set.
“You need to trust me, that’s what you need to do.” I won’t be controlled. After one disastrous relationship like that, I was never doing another, not even with Sam.
He said nothing because he knew I was right and wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t trust anyone. Me more than most, but not enough to sit down and have share-time over coffee. That pissed me off, so this conversation was over. We were at a stalemate on the issue, but at the moment it didn’t matter. I knew he had his reasons that were related to his military service and probably his life growing up in the barrio. These were areas of his life he spoke little of, and I respected that, but I didn’t like it. “Catch you later.”
As I walked away I felt Sam’s eyes watching my ass, not my back, so I put a deliberate saunter in my stride and took a quick look over my shoulder. There he was, feet spread apart, arms crossed over the chest I’d like to spend some time crawling across. Seriously, there ought to be a cartography class for women who want to map out a man’s geography to remember fondly later. Then, I caught his gaze over the rim of my sunglasses, and there was nothing except complete male appreciation in those eyes. The look said he’d have me on my back with my feet in the air if he thought he could do it without getting his jewels crushed. That made me laugh, and I turned around again, leaving him with his tongue hanging out.
It’s good to know that there are some consistencies in life I can depend on and for some men to behave like men. That thought made me smile a little bigger, and the tension of the day eased a bit. Sam was nothing if not dependable.
* * *
There’s only one thing I hate worse than weepy women, and that’s weepy men. Today, I had ’em both. They’re manipulative, whether they mean to be or not. People come to me all the time to resurrect their loved ones, but if it isn’t for the right reasons, I won’t help them no matter how much they cry. I hate being manipulated.
A young couple, Juanita and Julio Ramirez, sat across the desk from me in my office. The pain in her eyes reached out to me. “Please, please, Miss Wright. You have to help us.”
“But this isn’t what I do. You need a psychic, not me. I come in at the end when everything is settled. I don’t find lost people.” I charge in on my white steed and send the bad guy away, but not till all the shootin’s done.
“No one else can do it. He’s our only child, and he’s gone!”
That did it. I was on the job, whether it was normally my job or not. I couldn’t not help, even if all I did was offer comfort.
I have an unfortunate kinship to these people, but they’ll never know it. My personal loss must stay buried in order for me to work successfully with others like me.
Before I could move away, Juanita took my hand in hers. Unable to remove my hand from her grip without looking totally stupid, I had to sit there while she cried onto my skin. My nerves are raw and the sensations I pick up are extreme. That’s why I don’t touch people very often. I pick up their vibes, their emotions, and their life force if I’m not careful. The skin reveals a lot in the sweat, the texture, the nerve endings that send out little pulses, and we just don’t realize it. If people knew others picked up all of that information, we’d never touch each other. Don’t get me started on the bacterial transmission.
With Juanita hanging over my arm and sobbing on the desk, I had no choice except to ingest the energy she put off, and I tried to resist it as much as possible. It was like being simmered in menudo. A greasy soup of animal parts you don’t want to have identified.
“Juanita.” I tried to focus and push away the overload oozing out of her. She was a terrified mother, and I felt every emotion, every pulse of her terror knifing through my head. I had to get the woman off me or we were both going to be on the floor sobbing and nothing would get done to save her son. “Sit up and tell me what’s going on.”
After one last wail, she sat and released my arm. Oh! What a relief. I could breathe again. I couldn’t think without having her emotions bleed into my brain. It was sad enough in there. It didn’t need any help.
Juanita was one of those unfortunate women who were too caught up in appearances. At around age twenty-four or so, she was truly beautiful, her skin flawless, her hair shoulder length and a thick, dark brown. It was the makeup that killed the effect. She’d shaved off her brows completely and drawn them in with a pencil in an unnaturally high arch on her forehead.
Maybe she thought it looked good. Maybe Julio liked her that way, but the effect made her look overly alert, as if she were questioning everything you say.
“Well.” She looked to her husband, who had yet to say a word. “Our son, Roberto, has been missing for two days. Two days! The police are too slow. He’s out there by himself.” The implication being that if he weren’t found immediately, he was going to die. The bigger implication was that he was already dead. I recalled hearing something about this case and feeling the urgent energy of the cops, but I tried not to watch or listen to the news too much. It overwhelms and depresses me.
With trembling hands, she slid a picture of an engaging-looking, happy little boy, about the age of six or so, with one front tooth missing. I didn’t touch the photo because I was certain I would end up on my knees in pain. I don’t like to do that in front of clients. Kinda puts people off when the expert loses her mind.
“When did you last see him? Is it possible he’s simply run away?” The truth is, if the cops don’t find a kidnapped child right away, the kid is probably already dead or out of state and unlikely to be recovered.
“He didn’t run away. He didn’t come home from school. My cousin, Filberto, was to get him because I had a dentist appointment, but Roberto never came out of the school.” She covered her face with her hands. “He’s gone!”
Never came home, my ass. If I had hackles they’d be standing straight up. You didn’t need to be a resurrectionist to smell something foul in the story. “Was Filberto questioned by the police?” Something in me sizzled when I said his name, and I jumped as if I’d been stuck with a cattle prod. Bad sign for Filberto’s team.
“Oh, sure, I know what you think, but he’d never hurt my baby. Never.” Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she was careful not to disturb the black mascara topping off her wide-eye look.
The skin on my back began to itch and crawl, as if maggots had already begun to eat my flesh. Not a good sign, either. Everyone has a sixth sense; some are just more highly developed than others.
Mine was on fire.
“I need to meet with your family. Can you set that up for tonight?” I looked at my watch. It was almost 6 p.m. “In a few hours, please. We have to move fast.” I was fairly certain it wasn’t going to be fast enough.
“We’ll do anything to get our baby back.”
Leaning forward over the desk, I focused on Juanita, cupped my hands around her face, and held her gaze for a few seconds. At first she was startled, but then she held my gaze. That’s not easy. I’m a little scary sometimes. She was true, and I released her. “Are you certain you’ll do anything to find him?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t blinked and neither had I. You’d be surprised what shit could happen in the blink of an eye.
“I’ll see you around eight.” I slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Write down your address.”
I walked them to the door with a mental sigh. It was going to be a long night. Calling Sam occurred to me, but after our conversation this morning I was feeling ornery. Besides, I wasn’t doing a resurrection. Just information gathering, so technically I didn’t have to call him.
I just love technicalities when they work in my favor.
* * *
I arrived at the Ramirez house a few minutes early. I like to watch a house for a little while before walking in. Opening the door for a person I didn’t know got me killed once. It ain’t happening again.
Instincts on full alert, I approached the door. Letting my senses reach out, I felt for imminent danger, but found nothing, so I rang the doorbell. Burton and the other-siders had to be mistaken. There was no big, bad darkness out to get me, just a missing boy who needed to be found. Looking overhead, I saw no threat. I was just a simple resurrectionist doing a job. I wasn’t any threat to a universal force.
But I kept my right hand free to grab my gun, anyway. I carry a 9mm semiauto. I also tuck a derringer in the top of my boot, but that requires a little extra maneuvering to get to. Most people aren’t used to women carrying weapons openly, so I wear a light blazer over my shirt and shoulder holster. Basic black, goes with everything. And hides the dagger strapped to my left wrist too.
“Miss Wright, please come in.” Julio opened the door and ushered me in. Here, everyone says Miss, not Ms., but it means the same thing. “We’re here, like you said. Tell us what we need to do.”
Oh, he might not like what I was suspecting he had to do. “Thank you. How about I just talk to everyone, and we go from there?”
“I don’t know if it will help.” He swayed slightly as he held on to the door, and I detected the faint odor of tequila leaking from his pores. After what he’d been through, I couldn’t begrudge him a shot or two of fortitude.
“Someone knows something.” He shrugged, but led me to the kitchen table, which was the hub of the family activity. This was a typical Catholic-Hispanic household with crosses of various sizes around the house and a small shrine in the living room. My grandmother’s house is nearly identical, except she has a shrine to Buddha. No matter, same deal.
“We’re here because I believe someone here may have information about Roberto they haven’t told the police. On his own he’s not going to survive for long.”
“You think he’s still alive? After all this time can he be alive?”
This question was posed by one of the family matriarchs. Although only two days had passed since his disappearance, I was certain it felt like an eternity. Anger and grief warred for control in her eyes. She was afraid to hope, afraid to believe he would be found, and terrified something she didn’t want to think about had already happened. I wanted to help this family, but I knew I was going to bring more bad news. That part wasn’t my problem to deal with. Recovering a child was. I hoped.
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Are you a curandera?” she asked, watchful and suspicious.
That’s the Hispanic version of a witch-woman or a healer, depending on the interpretation. Not my gig, but most people, especially the highly superstitious, are more comfortable with that term. “No. I’m a nurse, not a healer in the way you mean.” Once a nurse, always a nurse. We’re kind of like the marines that way, but without the firepower and snappy haircuts. “Tonight I’m here to see if I can help find Roberto.” I looked away from her and the grief pouring out of her. That kind of energy messes with my mojo. “I need everyone to go outside and form a circle in the yard.”
This family understood the need for ceremony and rituals, so there were no complaints. I entered the circle the family created. Turning, I moved toward Roberto’s parents and held my hands, palms out, toward them.
I don’t have the power to see energy or auras that other resurrectionists do. I feel them, sense them, and almost taste them if they are strong enough. Not very palatable, but it’s not as if I have a choice. I’ll brush my teeth later.
The little charge of energy that flowed from Juanita and Julio was clean. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it wasn’t tainted with evil or deception. I guess I have an evil-ometer in my hands. I have to be careful of whom and what I touch because my senses pick up things when I don’t want them to. One of the undisclosed perks of coming back from the dead.
I focused on the present and the possibility of finding this child. Alive or dead, I wasn’t sure, but at least we could find out what had happened to him.
I moved around the circle with my radar on full alert. It was as if I had a bubble of energy around me with tendrils that reached out for information and drew it back to me. Kind of like an electrical octopus feeding information instead of fish. I felt the vibrations flowing around and over the bubble and absorbed some of the energy. Not unlike static feels when you rub a balloon against your hair. Assuming you have hair. You know what I mean.
One of the women shivered as I approached her and made the sign of the cross, then rubbed her arms. Whatever makes you feel better, I guess. She wasn’t my target, and I moved on. Women were rarely the perpetrators of crimes against children. Sure, you got the ones who murdered their entire families, but those people were mentally ill. They had to be or I couldn’t sleep at night. I was in search of a male. And I had found one. Possibly abused himself, but had never dealt with it.
My hands nearly glowed with golden light, and I began to sweat. Damn. I hate being right sometimes. “Filberto?” I asked. Fear and shame oozed out of this thin young man. In his early twenties, he still carried that uncoordinated stance of a teenager who hadn’t quite found his place in the world. Filberto was going to find his place in the world, and it wasn’t going to be to his liking.
The hairs on my arms stood up, and my evil-ometer went nuts. This was the guy. I knew it. Looking into his eyes, I knew that he knew that I knew it, too. He stepped back, scared shitless of me. My eyes must have been going wild again. I’d have to work on that.
“Get away from me.” He backed up. I stepped forward.
“What did you do?” I didn’t want to touch him and see every blasted detail of it in my mind. I wanted him to confess to these people. Making him tell of his crimes was so much more powerful on the universal scale. It wouldn’t balance the scale, but at least it would help add a stone or two to the side of justice. There needs to be equal parts of good to counter the evil in the world.
Gasps and screams filled the air and broke the circle apart. Juanita wailed the way only a wounded mother could, and the sound set my nerves on edge. I had made that sound once. But now I couldn’t let it or my memory interfere with what was going on in front of me. Filberto continued to back up until he stepped against a large cottonwood tree. “Get away from me. Witch!” he cried and held out his hands. Pfft. As if that was gonna stop me.
I stepped into his personal space, and we both began to glow. From my feet all the way to the top of my head, I was encased in a golden light. It was both healing and protective. Filberto, however, glowed sort of a dark green. Bad news for him. So maybe I’m seeing auras after all.
He broke into a run. Shit. That meant I had to chase him. I hate running in boots. Fortunately, all of the yards in Albuquerque have some sort of fencing. To keep things in or out, I was never sure. So I had to chase him only a few feet and caught him as he was trying to climb over the fence using the trumpet vine like a ladder.
I grabbed him by the back of his jeans and yanked. He came flying, and we landed in a heap. Screams and hysterical Spanish, most of which I didn’t want to have interpreted, landed on us as the family descended. Filberto was ripped out of my hands, and I was left in a heap all by myself. That’s sort of hard to do, so I got up and went after them.
I had to stop them before they killed him. We needed information, not another murder. That wouldn’t be justice for Roberto, and it wouldn’t balance the scale, giving evil more weight. The Dark’s been growing enough from what the other-siders have said. “No! Wait.” I squeezed through the mob and landed on my knees. Crawling forward, I maneuvered myself closer and stood again. How could I stop this before they killed the only person who knew what had happened to Roberto? I could shoot my gun into the air, but in this part of town it probably wouldn’t get any attention.
Fortunately, my years of martial arts had given me some muscle, and I used it now. Elbowing my way through, I nearly fell on top of Julio, who was pummeling his fists into Filberto’s face. The men of the family, some of whom were certainly armed, stood in a protective half circle around the two and let Julio wail on Filberto.
“Stop it!” It was like talking to a couple of pit bulls who had their teeth into each other. I tackled Julio. What else could I do? We fell to the ground, and Julio pulled back with an elbow that landed in my chest. That was gonna hurt later. “If you kill him, we’ll never know where Roberto is.” I didn’t say I thought Roberto was already dead and we needed to recover the body, if possible, for a resurrection and life-swap.
Julio stood abruptly, then I realized he had help. Sam had yanked him to his feet and shoved him into the arms of his cousins. “Hold him.” He pointed to two of the larger men. Without question, they complied and held on to Julio. Now, why don’t men react like that to my direction? That’s just disgusting. Machismo at its finest.
I grabbed hold of Filberto’s shirt, yanking him to a sitting position. He was bloody, and his eyes were swelling shut. Most of his wounds appeared superficial, like a fat lip that bled as if he’d bitten through it, but who knew about what was going on in his brain. He could have damage I couldn’t sense.
“Don’t touch me,” he cried and put his hands up like a girl.
“Oh, please, give it up. You’re caught, so just can the innocent routine.” I hated touching him, even by the shirt, but had to.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Sam, who glowed with his own sort of angry-red aura.
“I followed you.” Sam moved closer to me. “You were supposed to call me if something came up.”
“Had a late case come in.”
“What did you do to my son?” Julio cried and strained against the arms of his cousins. Though he wasn’t the biggest man in the yard, he was fueled by the need for vengeance and to tear something apart. That’s different from the need for justice, which is where I came in.
“Where’s my son?” Juanita collapsed on the ground at his feet, sobbing. The night was alive with cries.
“Yeah, Filberto. What did you do to Roberto?”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_21bc6b52-d42d-56d1-a962-73524aa84aec)
Filberto swayed back and forth. Sam and I had to hold him upright. He might be more hurt than I first thought. Although I had not been gifted with X-ray vision, I was a nurse, so I could keep his ass alive long enough to get some information out of him. He wasn’t really hurt. Not hurt like Roberto. I shook him. “Where’s Roberto?”
“Gone.”
In that word, I knew everything. Just once I’d like to be disappointed and have a happy ending, but that’s apparently not my karma this time around. “Dammit.” Focusing, I heaved out a sigh, then took a deep breath and steeled myself against the pain that was going to saturate me the second I touched his skin. I placed the heel of my hand on Filberto’s forehead and let my fingers fall over the top of his head. This was the only way I knew to access another person’s memories. It hurt me to do this. Physically, emotionally and spiritually I would suffer for days, trying to get the stench of someone else’s mind out of mine, but I had to do it. For this family to recover their loved one, I had to do it.
After a glance at Sam to link myself in the present, I closed my eyes and let it wash over me.
Flashes of light hit me first. Then I sort of saw a slow-motion movie playing, and I was the only one watching it. Filberto had picked up Roberto at the school. They got into a car and drove away. Filberto sweating and cursing himself all the way as memories of his own molestations filled him. So many years, so many hidden secrets and lies had finally bubbled up out of him. He couldn’t help it, or that’s what he told himself, as he choked the life out of Roberto’s little body and tucked it away at the edge of a rock outcropping. Then he raced away and returned to Albuquerque before he was missed.
Pulling myself out of the memory, I gritted my teeth against the impulse to pick up where Julio had left off. My stomach cramped, and I wanted to vomit.
“I know where he is.” I removed my hand from Filberto’s forehead, then wiped my palm on my jeans. They were going in the washer as soon as I got home.
“He’s alive?” Julio asked, the fragile hope in his voice staggering.
“I’m sorry, Julio.” I hated this part, but it had to be done swiftly if there was to be a chance of recovery. “No. His body is out in the lava fields between Laguna and Grants.” There was little hope of us finding his remains, but we could try. Many people had been lost out there and never recovered despite massive search operations. How was little ol’ me going to find him? Help?
“Where’s my baby?” Juanita screeched and raced at Filberto with a knife in her hand. Before I could think of moving, she reached out and struck Filberto across the face, blood spattering from the wound. “Where’s my son?”
Sam and two others tackled Juanita and divested her of the weapon. I grabbed a fistful of Filberto’s hair and held his face up as anger, hot and bright, coursed through me. “You look at these people, at that boy’s mother, and tell us what you did.”
“I killed him.” He squinted through eyes already narrowed to slits by the beating he’d taken. I wanted to reach into his head and pull his brain out through his nostrils. “I didn’t mean to, but I had to.”
“What do you mean, you had to kill him?” I asked, really not wanting to know the answer to that, but pretty certain I was going to be sick once I heard it. A quick image of The Dark flashed in my mind. Could this be the influence Burton had talked of? Could The Dark have made Filberto act when he wouldn’t have otherwise?
“He would have told. He would have told!” Filberto breathed through his mouth, as his nose was most certainly broken, if the swelling was any indication.
“Did you hurt him?” I knew he had, but I wanted him to tell the family.
Sobs made Filberto’s head wobble, and he cried, feeling sorry for himself. Not what I wanted to see, but confession was supposedly good for the soul. I’d just rather hear the story than have all the blubbering along with it. “I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Did you touch Roberto in a way you weren’t supposed to?”
“Y-e-s.”
Anguish as you’ve never heard ripped the night to shreds. Sam and I looked at each other as we were shoved out of the way. There was no reasoning with an angry mob, and certainly no reasoning with a family who was rightfully justified in tearing apart one of their own.
“We have to stop this.” I held on to Sam’s shirt. He tried to put me behind him, to protect me. He’s such a guy. But I hardly needed protecting. After dying once, I learned what to really fear, and these people weren’t it.
We shoved into the group. We needed to get to the middle of this, where the action was, and prevent them from killing him.
Dropping onto my knees, I was able to crawl through and around the others. Not as dignified as I would have liked, but I got through and pulled my weapon. “Stop it.” Sam joined me, on his feet, and drew his gun, too.
“We need him alive,” Sam said.
“He doesn’t deserve to live! He killed my baby.” Juanita dissolved into a puddle on the ground. The women surrounded her and held on to her. The atmosphere in the yard was changing, becoming darker and malignant. A dark cloud or mist appeared overhead, but failed to manifest into anything I recognized.
Julio’s fists were a mess of blood and raw flesh. He breathed heavily as the murderous light finally left his eyes.
“Julio, see to your wife,” Sam said and motioned him back with the gun.
“I will see this done now. I don’t care if I have to die for it. He’ll pay for what he’s done to my son!”
“We need him alive if there’s any chance to bring Roberto back.” I didn’t tell them I wasn’t sure I had the skills to do it, whether it could even be done, depending on the amount of decomposition that had begun, let alone animal involvement. Ew. “If you kill him now, there’s no chance, and you’ll die, too.” I reached out to Julio and touched his shoulder. I tried to resist the vibrations coming off him. I was contaminated already by Filberto, so what was a little more? “Do you want that? Your family needs you now.”
He collapsed beside his wife, and they wept together and clung to each other. I was unable to offer any solace.
Reaching out to Sam with my hand, I nearly fell face-first into him. He would have liked that too much, so I settled for dropping to my knees from fatigue.
After things settled down and a small plan for recovery took shape, Sam led me to his truck parked down the street. I got in and let him drive to the nearest diner we could find. “That was damned stupid.” Anger crackled off him, nearly lighting the night around him.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, but I didn’t need to be reminded. I survived, and no one died in the process. Bonus. “I got the information I needed.” Filberto had taken a beating, but he deserved it. Almost instant karma.
“At what cost?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you so wasted, Dani, not even after a tough life-swap.” Sam was never outright angry; he’s too controlled for that. What he does is simmer. It’s not brooding, because that’s too much like a pout for a man. But he simmers, and stews, and makes me wonder what’s going on in that mind of his. I might have to do a mind-meld someday, but not now.
Right now, I didn’t care. I needed flesh and lots of it. For whatever reason, it’s what I need to keep going. I don’t need just blood, though I do like my steaks rare. It’s not just protein, either. I tried plenty of whey protein shakes and granola bars at the beginning, and they didn’t do squat. I now despise granola. But something in a good, bloody steak does it for me. Who am I to question it? Maybe it’s in the chewing and grinding of the food in my mouth that makes it work, or part of the digestive process. Do you know what’s going on in your stomach when you’re not looking? I don’t know and don’t care, as long as it fills up whatever is depleted.
We inhaled the meal and headed out the door. This was a fuel stop for me. I was so depleted of energy, I’d have chewed my own leg off soon. We had to get to the lava fields near Grants. About an hour away, depending on who was driving. I could make it in forty-five. We had to try to recover the body tonight. Preventing further decay was essential to a successful resurrection, but as always to fully restore the body would require some sort of blood sacrifice, and there was no way to know how much blood the ritual would require.
I didn’t know if I had enough. I was exhausted enough already. However, Sam had volunteered for this duty. I didn’t want it to be his sacrifice either. Perhaps our combined forces would be enough to get the job done. There was something special about Sam that helped make the resurrections successful.
The unmistakable sound of a skateboard approaching made me step back into the doorway, into Sam, and his hands were on my hips to steady me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to really reach out to him, but I couldn’t. Touch, skin to skin, made me feel things I wasn’t prepared for, so I hung on to the wooden doorway and gasped for air.
“Hey, you okay, chica?” Burton asked and flipped his board to a stop beside us. My little mentor. At first I was always surprised to see him, but then I figured he knew things I didn’t and let it slide.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Don’t you listen to anything I tell you?”
“Huh?”
“I just told you not to take any extra chances. Maybe your brain is going bad or something.”
“Hardly. But I couldn’t not take this case, you know that.” Or at least he should. “Go away. I’m fine.”
“Cool. But heed the warning.” He tossed the skateboard onto the sidewalk and leaped onto it, disappearing into the shadows as only he could.
“That kid drives me crazy. How did he know you were here? We didn’t even know we were coming here.” Sam stepped up beside me to watch Burton zip away.
“I don’t know. I think he has some sort of radar.” Yeah, four-thousand-year-old radar.
“Has he been following you?”
“What, like you did?” Bingo.
Sam didn’t answer, but just stared down at me with a perturbed glint in his eyes. As a rule, I do not enjoy being looked down upon, but with Sam, I make the exception. When he looks down at me, I almost feel petite and feminine. I need to avoid that feeling. I’m not petite or particularly feminine. I’m strong and in charge of myself. Softer feelings aren’t in my job description and could get me killed again if I allow them.
“I tell you that kid is trouble.”
“How can a kid with his pants halfway down his ass be trouble?” I mean, really. Who takes a person like that seriously?
“You do have a point,” Sam said and watched as Burton skateboarded back to us.
“Later, dudes,” he yelled.
“See ya, Burton. Pull your damned pants up!” I called over the rush of the night. He raised his arm and flipped me off. Typical teenager. “He’s harmless.”
Sam shook his head, not convinced with my judgment of character. If he only knew how far I’d come, he wouldn’t question me now. “If you say so, but that’s the future of this country riding away on a piece of wood.”
If he only knew. Burton was a piece of the past trying to hold on to a future for the entire universe, and I was helping him. No wonder I was tired all the time.
“Let’s go.”
* * *
Two nights later we were back in Albuquerque. We had searched for two days before finding Roberto’s remains. It was a shame, too. All I could do was put what was left of this young boy on ice and see if we could figure out how to bring him back. The reverence that surged through me as I touched the small bones, placing them into the little cooler that would become his temporary coffin, surprised me. I pulled back and closed the lid as a wave of unwanted emotion washed over me. There was no time now for emotion.
The balance in this case was only partially restored. The crime had been committed, the criminal caught and the body recovered. Filberto was in a coma on life support with a significant brain injury and not expected to survive. I suppose that made my job easier. This was one case where a life-swap was certainly warranted, but the method by which to create the swap wasn’t in my hands yet. Paperwork and red tape. It all came down to who could argue better, your lawyer or theirs. I was betting on Liz, my little Chihuahua with the heart of a Rottweiler. All I had to do was wait.
I hate waiting.
* * *
Sometimes, I simply don’t understand the universe. Today is one of those days. Before I left the house, I spilled water three different times and in three different ways. That either meant something significant or my kitchen was more cluttered than I thought. But I made it in, coffee in hand, ready for all of the really important stuff I do around here.
I sat behind my desk trying not to laugh at the plight of the poor woman sitting across the desk from me. She could have been anyone’s auntie or grandmother, sitting there all prim and proper with her Sunday best on, and her glasses shoved pertly on her nose. There she sat, with pictures of Fluffy, her four-legged canine companion. Recently deceased. This wasn’t boding well for an improvement in my day.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chapman, but I simply can’t help you.” Not entirely certain I would, even if I could. I wasn’t trying to be mean; it simply comes out of me that way sometimes.
“But you can do it. I know you can.” She held out a flier I had mistakenly made when I first started out. It was somewhat unclear, and I now regretted ever putting those pages together. One came back to haunt me now and then, and this was one of those times. Maybe this was where the spilled water came in. An omen. “It says so right here.” She shoved the thing across the desk to me.
“I know what it says, but this is old and the wording was poor. It doesn’t say that we life-swap animals.”
“It doesn’t say you don’t, either. I want my Fluffy back.” She was on the verge of tears, and I pushed a box of tissues toward her. Here we go again with the tears. “I’ll give you every last penny I have. My entire savings, if you’ll bring back my dog!”
“Please calm down, Mrs. Chapman, and take a few breaths.” I didn’t want to have her stroke out right in front of me, ’cause then I’d have to go back to nurse mode and do something heroic. I wasn’t in the mood. “Even though we know who killed your dog, in this case, Cesar, the Doberman next door, and you’ve kept Fluffy in your freezer, that doesn’t change anything. I simply don’t perform canine resurrections.” That was to the point and not quite as tactful as I could have made it, but the woman was wearing me down. I should have done it just to get her out of my office.
“It was my neighbor’s damned dog.” Her lips pressed tightly together. No love lost there. She’d run him down if she got the chance.
“Yes. Weren’t there numerous noise complaints made by that particular neighbor about Fluffy’s incessant barking?” I had the file in front of me and pushed that toward her, too. Not that she picked it up. She knew what was in it.
“It doesn’t justify murder. Fluffy was a terrier, and it’s part of the breed. Anyone who owns terriers accepts that.” She said it as if everyone in the world ought to know that terriers are barking maniacs. As everyone knows that fast food makes you fat. (Everyone knows that, right?)
“Yes, I know, but it doesn’t mean your neighbors do. And it still doesn’t give me the power to bring him back.” I stood. Fortunately, Mrs. Chapman took the hint. She gathered her tote bag against her middle as if it were a priceless object. The bag was about the right size for... Oh, gag. The smile on my face melted as another thought occurred to me. If she had Fluffy in there, I was gonna puke. After the last night I had, it wouldn’t take much. I was still trying to clean Filberto out of my brain. “If our conditions change, then I’ll be in touch.” I patted the file, indicating I had her contact information. I was going to shred it the second she left.
She nodded, didn’t say thank you, because she had nothing to thank me for. I wish she’d just go to the pound and get a replacement dog.
Kind of like boyfriends were for some women. When you lost one, you just went to the pound (the bar) and brought another one home. He could make you happy for a while, but may have a straying problem and some were better trained than others. There was just that pesky neutering issue...
I sat and dropped my head into my hands, closed my eyes and groaned.
“Tough day?” Sam asked from the doorway.
I didn’t even have to look up, but I did. “Understatement of the century.”
“Wanna go shoot something?” There was a grin hiding behind that well-controlled expression of his. There was a little secret behind his eyes, too, and I definitely wanted to know what it was. The temptation of having him around for so long was beginning to wear on my defenses.
“You got a new toy?” He’d mentioned something about it.
A twitch of the brows was all I got. Intriguing.
“Get me outta here before I shoot something I’m not supposed to.” I stood and grabbed my bag that was equally as large as Mrs. Chapman’s, but there was no frozen dog in it.
* * *
The firing range was a great place to let off some steam. It was a safe environment where no one was going to shoot back, and you could pound the hell out of a flimsy paper target. I love that.
Sam got out his new toy, and it was a doozy. A forty-five millimeter with a nice weight in the hand. I love a man with a smokin’-hot piece of...steel in his hands. Makes me shiver all over. Not that I’ll let Sam know that. Too many times in my past I let a man have control over me, and it is never, ever going to happen again. Control is something that is mine and mine alone. I don’t care how illusive it is. Denial has gotten me through many years of my life, so I don’t see a reason to stop using it now.
Now, I’ve gone through a number of weapons training courses, so I’ve shot many different kinds of weapons. Never stopped me from salivating over a new one, though. Kind of like some women are over shoes. It’s all about the accessories, right? Mine just happen to be loaded.
Sam looked at me through that sexy, protective eyewear in a bold, jaundiced color and raised his brows. He really didn’t even have to ask, but I so appreciated it.
“Hell, yeah, I want to shoot that thing.” He grinned and handed me the weapon.
“Give it a whirl.”
“Where’d you get this thing, some online shooting shop?”
“Yeah, right.”
He knows I want his contacts and insulting him is one of the ways I’m trying to pry the information out of him. Not subtle, but then, I’m really not known for it. I tried the direct route for a while by just asking politely, or as polite as I get, but he just dissed me, so I was reduced to insults.
He went over a few specifics before I loaded the thing, then leaned against the wall beside me. I think he likes watching me shoot. Probably gives him a hard-on. He didn’t stand behind me or try to put his hands around me or treat me like a girl, which I totally appreciated. I am so not a girl.
Without a word, I squinted through my equally sexy eyewear and popped off one shot, just to get a feel of it before I unloaded the clip. “Recoil’s a bitch.”
“Did I forget to mention that?” The man had wrists of steel, so recoil meant little to him.
“Uh, yeah.” Squinting my left eye, I focused on the target again and squeezed off five shots.
“Nice, Dani. Very nice,” he said, admiring the way I so sweetly took out the target.
I returned the gun to Sam and shook out my hands. “Gonna have to work up to that bad boy.” Not that I was weak, but my wrists were tiny compared with Sam’s. I had supernatural powers, but not supernatural strength. Maybe I could put an order in with Burton, but I doubted it. He’d just laugh.
We picked up our spent shell casings and cleared the way for someone else to shoot. There was never any shortage of cops, P.I.s or gun fanatics practicing at the range. After we left the shooting area, we removed our ear protection. He used an over-the-head earmuff type, and I used the squishy things in my ears. They were cheap and didn’t mess up my hair. A woman’s gotta watch out for these little issues in life.
“That’s a nice piece,” I said and meant it.
“Feel better now that you’ve shot something?”
Oh, the man knows me too well. “Yeah. Sometimes the grind of the job just gets to me, and I want to kill something. Better a target than a person, ya know?” Since I came back from the other side, controlling my anger has been an issue. Kickboxing and margaritas help keep it under control, depending on the situation. They are not interchangeable coping mechanisms.
“So, you want to tell me what’s really bugging you?”
We headed outside into the parking lot on the south side of the big square, cinder-block building out in the middle of nowhere. Guess the desert has its perks. There are a lot of open spaces that no one wants to build on, so this was perfect.
I told Sam about Mrs. Chapman and the stupid dog she wanted resurrected.
“My grandmother would have loved that one.” Normally, Sam is your typical, well-controlled, serious cop-type guy, but now, he wiped his eyes beneath his reflective sunglasses. He was laughing so hard, it brought tears to his eyes. I’d never have bet money on that happening.
I tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. Laughter is nearly as good as sex as a tension reliever. There has been little of either in my life of late, but then sex was what got me killed in the first place. Not mine, my ex-husband’s. He’s the one who couldn’t keep it zipped. “Did she have a dog like Fluffy?” I asked. I knew his grandmother had passed into the beyond, but other than that, I knew little about her.
“No.” He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. The laughter was still with him, and it was good to see. I love police officers, and our men in blue have little to laugh about on the job, so a snicker here and there does them good. “Oh, no. She’d have never had a dog like Fluffy.”
“She liked big dogs then, like the killer Dobie?”
“No.”
“Then what?” I couldn’t see what was so funny now.
“The irony of the underappreciated. Like you. Like her. I never told you, but she was like you,” Sam said, and all humor between us came to a screeching halt.
My smile faded. “What do you mean, just like me?”
“A resurrectionist.” Sam removed his sunglasses. I saw his eyes, so I knew he spoke the truth. “That’s why I volunteered for the liaison post with you. I have some experience with it.”
“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled and slugged him in the chest. Touching people gives me too much information about them, but now and then I put up with it if I get to punch someone. Like now.
“What was the point? She was gone already, and I don’t know how to do that stuff.”
“The point was that...well, hell, I don’t know, but I would have liked to have known.”
“She was gone, Dani, years ago.”
I sighed, not satisfied with that explanation. It was as if he had insider information and had kept it from me. “I would have liked to have known, that’s all. Maybe you could have helped me in the beginning. Maybe you could help me now get some things figured out.” I know there are others out there like me, but finding them is not easy. It’s not as though we have an online newsletter or a blog like other, more populous states do. I’m going to have to work on one for New Mexico, because no one else is doing it.
“I don’t know anything about what goes on during the rituals, other than what I’ve seen you do.”
“Didn’t she raise you?” As if that meant he knew everything about her life.
“Yes, but she kept that part of her life very secret when we were kids. It was only by accident that I found out.”
Sam put his glasses back on, and we walked to his car. It was an unmarked police vehicle, and it looked like one. In the dark, no one would know, but in the daylight it screamed cop car. Just needed a cherry on top. The dashboard was outfitted with more technology than a small plane, and the two hundred antennae on it was a dead giveaway. It looked like an insect on steroids. But I got in anyway. I had to unless I wanted to walk back to the office, some forty miles away. I didn’t. “How did you find out?”
“She didn’t think my sisters and I were old enough to understand. Our family and the neighborhood were very superstitious. If there had been any implication of witchcraft in her house, the state would have taken us from her. It’s different now that there are others out there.” He shrugged. “So I did what every kid does. I followed her.”
“So following people has been a lifelong endeavor?” Explains why I didn’t hear him sneak up on me the other day. Bastard.
He didn’t answer that and just gave me a look. “I was about twelve, but looked older, so I could be out on the streets and no one said anything. Back then the courts hadn’t sanctioned resurrections and life-swaps, so it was very underground. Only the family of the victim was present, and the killer of course.”
“You were such a wiseass, even at twelve, weren’t you?” The image I had of him at that age was funny, all legs and feet and not quite grown into his attitude yet.
“Yeah. I was a piece of work. Got into more trouble than I was worth. Until the Rangers, anyway.” He looked away. That’s where his secrets lay, in his past, but here was an opportunity to find out a little more about him.
“Did she have a fit when she found out you had followed her?” I could just imagine. My grandmother would have kicked my ass from here to Sunday.
“Oh, yeah. My ears rang for a week. She could carry on like no one I’ve ever known.” He grinned as if it was a good memory. Having good childhood memories is a sign of a balanced life. “Kinda miss that now.” That was good. We usually have too many bad memories from childhood that are stuck in our brains. I never understood why the bad ones always come through first and the good memories are left behind. It would be nice to have that in reverse. If I’m ever elected Queen of the Universe, that’s the first thing I’m changing. “I had to clean the chicken coop for three months after that.”
“Oh, man.” I pinched my nose shut. “Just the sound of that stinks.” I released my nose with a giggle, then remembered why we were talking about her. “Do you know how she came to have her powers?” I’d heard stories that were different from mine. People who weren’t murdered, but born with the abilities.
“No.”
“I wonder if you could have inherited something from her.” Could this affinity for raising the dead be passed from one generation to the next? Would Sam develop powers of his own? If he hadn’t already, it was unlikely that they would surface now. Dammit.
“I don’t think so.” Sam maneuvered the car through the desert on the dusty, rutted road with casual ease, his long-limbed body relaxed, yet in control. The jiggling of the vehicle over the ruts was about to shake my liver loose, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “There’s never been any impulse for me to do what you do.”
“You have three sisters, right?” Maybe there was some hope in them. Some traits were passed from female to female.
“Yeah.”
“Any of them?”
“Not to my knowledge. They’d have told me.”
“Oh.” It would have been nice to know that there was someone else I knew well who could have helped me.
“Sorry.” He reached out and patted me on the arm once, then returned his hand to the wheel.
“I’m thinking about Roberto’s case. I don’t know if I have what it’s going to take to bring him back. In all of my other cases, I’ve always had intact bodies. Not as far gone as this one is.” Something in me just knew this was going to be one of the toughest cases I’d ever been involved in, emotionally as well as physically. Admitting that to myself, let alone to Sam, is a big step for me. Admitting vulnerabilities only makes you responsible or gets you a weekly date with a therapist.
“Have you checked with the hospital lately? What’s Filberto’s condition?”
“Same. Brain-dead. Waiting on the court order.” Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes it takes days.
“What happens if you can’t bring Roberto back?” He gave me a glance.
That was a good question. A really good one. And one I didn’t know the answer to. I hated admitting that. In the world of nursing you must know the answers for every question. Saying I don’t know isn’t acceptable. It’s no more acceptable to me now than it was then, but I said it anyway. “I don’t know.”
I just hoped we didn’t have to find out. Thankfully, Sam didn’t give me any meaningless reassurance to make me feel better. It wouldn’t, and he knew it.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_0297501c-82f5-5ad1-9093-b53cd0082279)
There are days when the past haunts me entirely too much, and this was one of those days. Being around pregnant women unnerves me. I admit it. I should have no problems dealing with the condition of women who are growing new life inside of them, but I do.
It’s what got me killed.
I hate thinking that I’m weak and vulnerable when I’ve worked very hard to be as tough as I can be. Certain things set me off, and seeing a happily pregnant woman on the arm of her police officer husband is what did it today. This is a joyous time for them, but for me, it does nothing except bring back haunting, hideous memories that still have the power to make me shudder.
After they passed with a happy smile and a wave, I closed the door to my office. Usually, I keep the door open unless I’m consulting, but now, I need some privacy to have my nervous breakdown. In an office that sits in the middle of the police station, there is no such thing as privacy. Or quiet.
One by one, I pulled the horizontal blinds and closed off the windows. Was I hiding? Yes. I’d hide until it’s safe for me to step out again. Until then, the memory of my life in the past overwhelms me in sloshes of emotions that build into pounding waves, and I allow it. Crawling onto the small couch against the wall, I tucked my feet beneath me and clutched a pillow to my middle. Closing my eyes, I let the memory, the horror of it, wash over me. I’ve learned that resisting only puts off the inevitable and gives more power to the pain. If I give it the time it needs now, then life will go on much more quickly.
I had been happily, blissfully, ignorantly, pregnant. My husband hadn’t been as thrilled about it as I had been, but I don’t think men can ever have the same connection to a baby as women do. Just the nature of how we’re put together.
Anyway, my husband, Blake, and I had been headed for divorce when we decided to give it one last go. He’d been carrying on with a woman for several months and had tired of her clingy, demanding ways, so he let her go and went back to his wife, who wasn’t so clingy and demanding. Maybe I should have been and things might have been different, but now, we’ll never know.
So, giving it the old college try at reconciliation, the husband and I had a nice dinner with requisite margaritas, enough that I became a little intoxicated. Okay, a lot intoxicated, but I wasn’t driving, so who cares? And we screwed our brains out all night long. We hadn’t done that since we were dating, so we indulged in an all night bang-a-thon.
And I got pregnant. My family was thrilled because I was finally fulfilling my reproductive obligations inherent to any large family that seemed to want to take over the earth, one generation at a time. The playboy-doctor-husband was not thrilled. Although he said he wanted children someday, to him, someday meant years into the future, when he had a more secure practice, blah, blah, blah. What he really meant was never. He wasn’t the fatherly type who could, or would, be there for his child.
In the old days, T&A’s meant tonsils and adenoids. Now it was tits and asses, making them bigger and smaller in that order. There was serious money to be made in elective plastic surgery, and he was going to make his killing now, then retire to an island in the Caribbean and work on skin cancer late in life. Or something equally brilliant.
As my pregnancy progressed and my belly grew, I was happy. Even though the spousal unit couldn’t be bothered to come to checkups and ultrasounds with me, I was content in knowing that I was growing a new life I could love and cherish. One that would love and cherish me, at least until the teenage years, and then it would be all over for a while.
Although my growing abdomen housed a new life, and that was good, it also threw my center of gravity off, and that was bad. I was in an awkward stage at the end of my third trimester when the doorbell rang and without thinking, I opened it. I’d been shopping for baby things and had taken a load into the house and was ready to return for another, so I was right there by the door. An unfamiliar woman stood there, and the smile fell from my face when I noticed the gun in her hand. She grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me out of the house toward my car with an open back door just a few feet away. I tried to struggle, knowing if I got into my car I was dead. It was the middle of the day and my neighbors all worked, so screaming wasn’t going to help. I had to save myself or die trying.
She clobbered me on the head with something that felt like an anvil, and I collapsed onto the backseat. She shoved my legs in, and away she went with me unconscious in the back. I finally roused, but had no idea where we were or for how long I’d been out. My legs were numb from being folded up in such an awkward position. I had to move, but if I did, she’d know I was awake. I eased my weight up slightly so my legs got some circulation, and they screamed in pain as the blood flow returned.
“Dammit, where is this place?” she grumbled aloud. I heard the shuffling of papers, so maybe she was looking at a map. There was no GPS in my car. If she didn’t know where we were, I wasn’t going to find my way out of there either. Panic as well as my position was making me dizzy.
She turned off the car and got out. As quickly as I could, I shifted to my back. Not a comfortable position when you have a watermelon in your belly, but when your life was on the line, you coped. She opened the back door and reached in. I kicked out with both feet as hard as I could, and she went flying.
I knew I had hurt her, or at least surprised the hell out of her, but I was certain we weren’t done yet. With any luck, she’d left the keys in the ignition, and I could get out of there. I scrambled out of the car as fast as any nine-months-pregnant woman could scramble, which wasn’t too sprightly.
“You’re a dead woman,” she yelled. “Fucking bitch.”
She was on her knees and clutched her front. Hopefully, I’d broken a few ribs. I didn’t know who she was or why she thought kidnapping me was going to improve her life.
“What do you want?” I tried to slide against the car toward the front door.
“You. Dead.”
The words didn’t make sense, but as a nurse, I knew that things many people thought didn’t make sense. She might have been an escaped psych patient who was on a mission from above or listening to the voices in her fillings. Or just off her medications. In any case, keeping her talking and away from me was my first step to survival. “I see, but why? Who are you?”
“You’re the only thing standing between me and Blake.”
Oh, shit. She was his mistress, who was supposed to be a former mistress. And she was freakin’ nuts. Good going, Blake. If I got out of this alive, I was going to put certain of his body parts in the blender.
“Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing?” Anger overcame fear for a moment.
“Blake went back to you.” The idea that Blake was married to me seemed to have escaped her. “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant, none of this would be happening.”
Oh, yeah. As if this was my fault. Another sign of pathological nuttiness. Blame everyone else for your personal failures.
“Now, just a damned minute. I have the right to sleep with my own husband. You are the one who doesn’t.” This was pissing me off. Now that I could see what was going on, I was damned mad and some of my fear wore off, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“We were so good together,” she said with a wistful tone to her voice. “You should have seen us.” She spoke to me as if we were girlfriends sharing secrets. Definite lack of reality attachment.
“I would prefer not to.” I didn’t need anything else to make me nauseated.
“Bitch.” She reached for a large knife on the ground beside her and dove for me. I ducked, but that’s hard to do with a big, fat belly. The knife missed me, but the impact of her body against mine thumped me between her and the car. The air went out of my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe. A pregnant woman has a hard time breathing to begin with. When one is body-slammed by an insane woman, it’s all over.
We collapsed into a heap on the ground, and she clobbered me again. Back then, I didn’t know how to fight. Every woman ought to know how to defend herself, and this was one reason why.
When I woke up there was a knife sticking out of my stomach. I screamed, not certain if it was from pain or from the sight of the butcher knife protruding from my body.
The woman obviously intended to cut my baby out of me.
“Stop!” I reached out to the knife. Adrenaline and the heat of a white anger so deep I felt it in my bones surged through my marrow. I was going to remove that thing and stick it into her. I was not going to die. I was not going to lose my baby to this psychopath.
Unfortunately, I did all of that.
She reached the knife before I did and pulled it toward her, my left. “I’m going to take your baby and watch you bleed to death.” She laughed, as if she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”
Clenching my teeth against the pain that penetrated every cell of my body, I felt as if I were on fire and there was nothing I could do about it. Pushing up with a hand beneath my hips, I bore the weight of my body on my left hand and reached for the knife with my right. Breathing was next to impossible, and my chest burned with the need for air. I had to win, I had to win. This woman was going to kill me and steal my child. “No.” It’s all I could manage. “No.” She was not going to win. I would not let her win.
Digging deep into a place I didn’t know existed within me, I grabbed her hand on the knife and pushed with everything I had in me. Although I’d never hurt anyone before, I was going to kill this woman.
Somehow I got to my knees with her trying to shove the blade deeper into my side. In the movies there always seems to be a lot of noise in fight scenes, but it was eerily silent. Only the groans of pitting my strength against hers broke the night.
Abruptly, she let go, and stood, her breath coming in and out of her in harsh gasps. “You bitch!” Then, she kicked me in the stomach, and I crashed to the ground, the pain incapacitating me. Stars and bright lights swam in front of my eyes and seemed as though they came from all around us. Then she tackled me and straddled my body, her knees forcing my hands down, trapping them at my sides. My strength was fading. I knew it and so did she.
She grabbed the knife with both hands and pulled, spilling everything inside me out onto the ground. A scream echoed off the canyon walls, and I realized it was mine.
“Come here, little one. You’re so precious,” she said in a sweet voice as she searched for my baby.
“No.” Reaching up with one hand, I tried to save him, but I was too weak. My vision blurred, and I was certain shock was overtaking me. Shock isn’t such a bad thing. It keeps us from remembering the horrors that are happening to us, and at the moment I welcomed it.
She extricated the baby, and held it up. It wasn’t moving and it was purple. “Oh, that’s right. I have to cut the cord before it will breathe.” Talking to herself, she retrieved her knife, slicing through the umbilical cord. Blood spurted, then she looked at me, as if I had the answer to the stupid thing she had done. “It’s bleeding. Why won’t it stop bleeding?”
I looked at my limp baby that she held out. I could see that it was a boy, and tears pricked my eyes. It wouldn’t have mattered to me. I would have loved a girl just as much. She’d cut the cord close to the abdomen and hadn’t tied it off. Now there was nothing left. If the baby could have survived, it would surely now die. It was going to bleed to death, just like me. “Didn’t tie...the cord.” It was all I could manage as tears for him and for me closed off my throat.
She looked down at the baby and tears flooded her eyes. “Dammit! I worked so hard on this. And now, just look at the mess it is.”
My legs went numb, and I knew my end was near. I felt my breathing become labored.
She’d won after all. She laid the baby down beside me, wiped her hands on her jeans, got into my car and drove away, leaving us alone in the darkening desert. I had only moments left.
Pulling the baby toward me, I cuddled him as best I could, tucking the little head under my chin, and I let my tears flow. I sobbed and my baby fell out of my arms.
A light, the brightness of which I’ve never seen, appeared a few feet away. It wasn’t a person, or an angel, though it could have been. I knew I was dying, and who knew what was coming to get me? I wasn’t particularly religious. At least until that moment. For a second, I reconsidered what I knew about religion.
And then I took a breath, and it sighed out of me for the last time.
“Come, child.” The other-sider, for that’s what I have come to know it as, reached out to me. How I knew it was from beyond, I don’t know, but I realized it was trying to communicate with me, even though no words were spoken aloud. All I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears.
“No.” From above my body, I looked down at the baby, who had never begun to live, and touched it with one finger. I wanted to stay with him. He should go with me.
“He is gone to the source now. Your time here is not finished.”
“Yes it is.” It was. I knew it. I’d accepted it. Closing my eyes, I waited to be taken too. Waited for that irresistible pull from beyond I had heard about.
“You will go back. The call for help has gone out, and you will be saved.”
Saved? How could I be? Did it not see the condition of my body? It was too late now. “No.” I looked down at the mess that had been my body. It was almost beyond recognition. I don’t know if I said it out loud, but I thought it and the other-sider heard me. My condition was beyond saving.
The being moved toward me, and the glow of it burned through my eyelids and into my brain. I wanted to let go, to leave this plane of existence, but couldn’t. Something was drawing me back inside. I felt a pop in my physical body. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it was as if someone or something had yanked on me, only I felt it at a visceral level. I had returned.
I began to glow, just like the other-sider. The life force had returned to my body, not floating around as it had been moments ago.
“You will return. You will survive, and you will right the wrongs committed against you, against humanity, and against the universe.”
“Who do you think I am, Wonder Woman?” I managed to ask with my mind. Something was changing, something was reforming inside me. I could feel it. Reaching down, I placed my hand onto my abdomen and realized all was not as it had been. Things were returning to my body that had just been on the ground. I didn’t want to think about infection or how much dirt was coating my internal organs. Should I survive the injuries, I’d die of septicemia for sure. No antibiotic could cure this.
“You are indeed a wonder. Each step of your life has prepared you for this moment. Your life-threatening wounds are repaired, and you will fully heal, be stronger than you ever were. You will return to your life, gifted as no other.” The light that I had thought was bright went nuclear. In that moment, that nanosecond, my life was changed, whether I wanted it to or not.
I screamed from the deepest part of me, and the sound of it echoed off the canyon walls. The smell of wood fires and the murmur of my ancestors crowded my mind. I had been gifted with knowledge from the ancients, and the power of justice. Just as I had come back from the dead, I would assist others to return, to restore the balance of the universe.
Now, I pulled myself out of the musing at the sound of a scuffle outside my door. In a police station, there is always a scuffle of some sort going on.
The clock face slowly came into focus, and I decided my day was over. Though it was early, four o’clock or so, I was whipped. Nothing else was going to get done today.
I grabbed my bag and stood just as the door opened.
“You look like someone beat you with a rock,” Sam said. Charming as ever. Where was that damned petrified wood? I could use it about now.
“Yeah, I feel like it, too.” Shouldering my bag, I avoided looking into his eyes and shoved my shades on. They protected me somewhat, but he was so friggin’ observant that nothing got past him. Damn cops anyway.
“I’m buying,” he said and stepped sideways in the doorway to let me pass.
That meant I had to touch him with my body and slide intimately against him, smell that cologne of his that always made me want to forget my mission and lick my way from one end of his body to the other. Right now, I was too tired, and tried not to sense the way his body felt, the firmness of his chest and abs as I slithered past him. “You coulda moved.” I threw a glare over my shoulder. With the sunglasses on, it was less effective. Sam wasn’t very susceptible to my glares anyway, which pissed me off. I wasn’t in the mood, so he was on his own for chow.
“Coulda.” He fell into step beside me. “Garduno’s?”
It was the one word I couldn’t resist. My mouth began to water in anticipation. Guacamole, margaritas and meat. “You’re such a bastard,” I said and hung my head. I was defeated already. My stomach ruled my life, and he knew it.
“I am, but that’s why you like me.” With his hand on the middle of my back, he gave me a playful shove toward the main doors. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
In less than thirty minutes I was surrounded by the things I loved and needed to get through the day: an excellent margarita, a flat-iron steak, rare, and a hot-blooded man across the table. It was a feast for the taste buds and the eyes. Okay, so I didn’t really need the margarita to get through the day, but it was a nice touch at the end of a sucky one. And I really, really didn’t need the hot-blooded man across the table from me, but boy, the eye-candy factor was too hard to resist sometimes. He was buying me dinner, after all. Who could argue with that?
I know Sam was interested in me in a way I couldn’t return. My life was so complicated, it was all I could do to get through it. I didn’t need any more complications. So for the moment, I just sat there and let him ogle my body, enjoying the rush of it. I knew he wanted to, and if this was the only control I had over a man, I had to take it. Gave me a shiver just thinking about what it would be like to have Sam naked and pressed against me. I gulped my frozen-no-salt-on-the-rim drink, trying to cool off my brain and the burn in my crotch. Didn’t work though. Next time I was having salt. I didn’t care what my blood pressure did.
Fortunately, our orders arrived quickly and I grabbed my knife, ready to stab it into anything that didn’t move.
“You’re the only woman I know who likes her steak bloodier than mine.” Sam cut into his meal.
“I feel so feminine and dainty when you say things like that.” Me? Ha. Not even on a good day. After I was resurrected, I burned every feminine thing I owned. Except for that one pair of pretty pink thongs with a matching bra. Someday...
“We never finished our conversation the other day,” Sam said.
Uh, what conversation? We had so many that got interrupted with phone calls and firearms that I couldn’t keep track. Always on the move, always busy doing something for the station or my office, we never seemed to have a moment to allow our brains to catch up. “Which conversation was that?”
“About my grandmother and her job in the underground.”
I had to laugh. That’s certainly one way of putting it. “Yeah.” I looked at Sam. I liked the way his smile sort of slid over his face slowly just then. The man has a face that isn’t pretty or handsome, but it is compelling. His hair is that dark, dark black that Latin men have, and his is cut very short. Not quite a buzz, but a little longer. He is clean shaven, but I’ve seen pictures of him with a ’stache, and it’s nice, too. The most compelling part of his face is his eyes, which sort of pull everything together and make it come alive. His eyes were the shade of espresso, dark and fathomless, eyes you could get lost in. Kinda like now.
“Dani?” He waved his hand in front of my face, bringing me back to the present. Doh!
How embarrassing. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat and speared a piece of grilled jalapeño. Maybe setting my mouth on fire would keep me focused. “Didn’t mean to stare.”
“No problem. You just seemed lost for a second.” The espresso in his eyes percolated a little warmer.
Yeah, I was lost. In his eyes. It’s that damned cologne he wears. I swear there’s some sort of chemical in it that puts me in a trance. Kinda like catnip for women. Ugh. Back to the convo at hand.
“We were talking about your grandmother and Roberto’s case the other day, weren’t we?” Back on track. That’s where I feel best, with a job in front of me, a purpose and a mission to accomplish, not just drifting around like those in the nebula.
“Is there another resurrectionist who can help you?”
Sadly, no. “Not right now. I know a few, but not well enough to step into this kind of job.” Something occurred to me, though. Something I’ve been doing just to get the events of the day out of my brain is something Sam’s grandmother may have done. I have a computer and the internet, but she had access only to books and papers. I frowned and leaned closer to him across the table. Intent. Assistance might come from the other side in a different form. “Did your grandmother keep any records, any sort of journals, papers, anything about her work? I write some things, keep a journal of sorts, so it clears my brain and records some of what I do in the rituals. She might have done the same thing.” That would be a huge bonus, to have information from such a source. I never know if the internet information is legit.
Sam thought a minute, then frowned. “If she did, I don’t know of any, but my sisters might.”
“She could have had a journal she kept hidden, if, as you say, she was at risk of being accused of witchcraft.” If nothing else, I had to have a little hope.
“That’s true. She had so much stuff though, something like that might have been overlooked. She was a Depression-era survivor, so she never threw anything away.” My grandmother had also survived the Great Depression, and she has a garage full of toilet paper and plastic water jugs. The two things she can’t live without. Oh, and soap, too.
“Would you ask your sisters if they found anything like that?” Desperation led me to ask Sam for such a favor. The weight of it got to me sometimes, even with my jovial outlook on life. Even if his abuela was dead, at least I might connect to her through her writings. Burton might be helpful, but he’s unreliable and difficult to contact. Sam, I know I can count on, no matter what it is. He is a man who keeps his word, keeps promises he makes. I just didn’t know why.
“Sure.” He searched my eyes, and I wondered if they had returned to their normal color. After eating, my need for protein and blood is satisfied, and externally, I look normal again. Hesitating, he reached out and placed his hand over mine. He knows that touching is difficult for me. It isn’t something I can easily control, and I can get sucked into the feelings of the person I’m touching. Occupational hazard. But right then, it was simply nice. “I’ll help you any way I can. Sometimes you seem so lonely in what you do, that it takes so much out of you.”
There was no other way to acknowledge that very astute observation. “I am, and it does.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_6847179d-b3d2-5dc4-8c33-b6e0dbffb299)
Two days passed and the resurrection order finally came in. We were given the go-ahead to perform the life-swap between Roberto and Filberto. I was a nervous wreck. I wasn’t certain I had what it was going to take to make the swap successful. I had no one except myself and Sam to rely on. I kept dreaming of the movie The Fly, where the scientist tried transporting an animal and it came through inside out. Even for me that’s got a high ick-factor.
Burton was no help. The bastard. Sometimes he just annoyed the hell out of me and took the teenager persona entirely too far. He’s involved in a skateboard competition today and can’t be bothered. Dude. I hope he leaves some skin on the sidewalk.
I was on my own. Again. I should be used to it by now, but sometimes, the times I felt most vulnerable, were the times I needed someone, and there simply was no one except Sam, and he could do only so much.
Details, details, details. Sometimes I thought I was going to get sucked into my phone, ear first, as I made arrangements to have Roberto’s remains thawed and prepared to travel to the hospital. Then all the hoops I had to jump through at the hospital, I felt like a tiger leaping through flaming hoops and getting my tail singed. Having worked in the hospital system, I should have been used to the flak, but it continues to amaze me that any patient walks out of the hospital alive, because so much documentation has to be done first. Oy!
If I had more time, I’d sick my Korean grandmother, Suzie, on them. She’d get some results pretty damned quick. She’s small, but she can be very mean. Maybe that’s where I got some of my enhanced traits from. I’m descended from several mixed cultures, of Anglo, Mexican, East Indian, with a little Korean for extra spice. That’s makes me perfect for this wonderful melting pot city of Albuquerque. Here, no one sticks out because there are so many different cultures mingled together. It’s great. Don’t get me started about the unbelievable variety of food here. If I didn’t take kickboxing three nights a week, I’d have an ass as big as a sports car.
Finally, things were moving in the right direction, and I called Roberto’s parents.
“Now, I know you’re going to want to have the whole family there for the ceremony.” People reacted better to that word than ritual. Too many ghosts and references to the occult regarding the word ritual, even though it’s a bunch of crap. “It would be better if everyone stayed at your house. Just you and Julio come to the hospital. Normally, it would be different, but we have to obey the hospital rules while we’re there.”
“Sure, I understand. It will just be us.”
I heard the tears in Juanita’s voice, the questions that she hadn’t asked. This woman’s happiness rested on my shoulders, and disappointing her would be painful to both of us. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to reassure myself, as well. “Things will turn out the way they’re supposed to.” I hoped that The Dark entity was going to take a powder tonight. The ritual was going to be difficult enough without adding an unknown threat to the scenario. This was so out of my comfort zone, I didn’t really want to think about it.
“My son wasn’t supposed to die.” She burst into tears, and I felt the burn of them on the back of my tongue, but forced them down. I’d shed my tears long ago.
“I know.” I know. Believe me, I know.
After ending the call, I headed out to the parking lot. I had to go home for a while, gather energy, gird my loins and do all the stuff it takes to perform a ritual. The sun was just beginning to head off the edge of the horizon, so I watched for a second or two as the sky turned a deep peach, frosted with magenta hues, as if someone had dragged a spoon through melting sorbet. Lovely. I wish I could breathe those colors inside myself and feel what it’s like to be so alive on the inside that the hues are deep enough for others to see on the outside.
* * *
When I arrived later, there were fifty people in the hallway outside the ICU waiting room. Could no one follow directions? I was surprised security hadn’t tossed out the lot of them.
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Sierra Woods
This resurrectionist needs his protection!Dani is tough…even the grave couldn’t keep her down. Ever since mysterious beings brought her back from her tragic murder, she’s been using her newfound powers to restore justice. It’s dangerous work and backup doesn’t hurt – especially when it’s from hunky cop Sam Lopez.There’s only one catch: after what her ex-husband did, Dani can never trust another man. She’ll just have to keep ignoring the heat sizzling between them. But as a great evil begins to rise, Dani and Sam must get closer than they’ve ever been before.
“The only person I trust to protect you is me. Don’t ever forget that, Dani.”
I held his gaze. “Why is that?” Taking a chance, I placed my hands on Sam’s face, wanting to connect with this warrior. I wanted to know what went on inside him, what made him so fierce.
“Why only you?”
Terror filled him. I felt it throb into my hands, and I almost pulled away, the feelings were so intense. Something had happened to him. He’d never forgotten it and never forgiven himself.
“Listen to me, Dani. I’m the only one who can protect you. We’re connected like never before.”
He couldn’t put it into words any better than I could, but I knew what he meant.
“The Resurrectionist is a wildly sexy thriller that breathes new life into the paranormal genre. Literally.” —New York Times bestselling author Darynda Jones
SIERRA WOODS grew up in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains where folklore, mysteries and superstition surrounded everyday life. Sierra’s interest in the paranormal began in her childhood and hasn’t stopped yet. Today she works in health care, where interesting and unusual situations may be taken and used in her fiction writing.
She lives in New Mexico, in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains. If you’d like to drop Sierra a line, she’d love to hear from you at sierrawoodswriter@gmail.com (mailto:sierrawoodswriter@gmail.com).
The Resurrectionist
Sierra Woods
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#u38b9fd15-1b51-596e-947b-12fedfa29081),
Thank you for picking up The Resurrectionist. The world of the paranormal has been a favorite of mine for many years. I still have the original copy of Dracula that I read when I was in eighth grade. Another important area of my life has been about doing the right thing. In this book I have combined the two into a story about justice for victims who can no longer speak for themselves. I hope that you enjoy the way I have created this world and I would love to hear from you!
Sierra Woods
This book is dedicated to the victims of crime who can no longer speak for themselves.
The inspiration for this book was yet another news story about a murder for which the motivation was pitiful. I so wanted there to be justice for this victim whose killer was caught in just a few days.
My wish is that all victims find justice for crimes committed against them.
Resurrectionists are a breed all their own. Some are born into it, some are called into it and some are murdered into it. Resurrectionists have been a constant presence on the earth plane since humanity learned right from wrong. During ancient times, superstitions forced resurrectionists to remain hidden, secretive and fiercely protective of their rituals. Over the centuries, superstition battled religious fervor, and resurrectionists remained underground.
Teachings passed from one generation to another, then the information was destroyed for the safety of all. Zombies and witches took much of the blame for the good deeds of resurrectionists, who only sought to right the wrongs humans committed against one another. With no support for their efforts, resurrectionists stayed hidden.
In this century, technology, the Age of Aquarius and an opening in global consciousness have enabled a few gifted resurrectionists to forge new trails, bringing their fight for justice into the light.
Albuquerque, NM
September
Office of Dani Wright, Resurrectionist
Contents
Cover (#u865482e6-ef9e-5d48-b090-069c194fc9fe)
Introduction (#uf7b54764-5546-54c3-bb35-6829b50b5714)
About the Author (#u675eda8d-63c1-5fe8-b12d-1be03830f8f0)
Title Page (#u0d58d6ef-5c33-5d90-8e48-5e649310ec54)
Dear Reader (#ua41f258b-8451-5598-9004-90c78e0041ba)
Dedication (#u7df0c0cb-c950-5577-8ecc-36ef75093574)
Epigraph (#u84669df5-bd24-5c57-a53a-59ba5d2e3b8d)
Chapter One (#ulink_31b43e95-5107-5d51-9e12-881d3685eeb0)
Chapter Two (#ulink_da681619-6565-576f-a8c8-0e65504861eb)
Chapter Three (#ulink_863f3603-ec9e-5e8c-b551-275bee8add7f)
Chapter Four (#ulink_1d598ef9-f388-5039-8279-c8b0e9f67a17)
Chapter Five (#ulink_9d554f27-ae50-5dab-89c3-744f70f97eb5)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_fbb0b080-9e5b-5d1b-b0f6-64e4e8db88ee)
“I’m not going to have to walk around with a bullet wound in my forehead forever, am I?” Betsy Capella looked at me, her eyes not quite focused. After being deceased and in cold storage for nearly a year, it was understandable. The senses take a little while to warm up and remember what they’re supposed to do.
“I don’t think so. It should fade as you recover more fully. These things take a little time.” Not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth, and I hope I interjected enough sympathy into my voice. I don’t know the answer to her question, as I’ve been performing resurrections for only a year or so. Not long enough to come up with a stat sheet. Each resurrection is different, just as each death is different. The state and success of recovery depends on how long the deceased has been gone, and on whether we’ve stored the body or it was buried in a traditional manner. Embalming is not a good thing if you intend to return to a living state. Yeah. Cremation is a bad idea, too. Way bad.
Betsy sat more upright and smiled, the corners of her mouth a little tight and dry. “I’ll bet some makeup will help.”
Yeah, and a spackling trowel to slap it on with. “Give it a go. I hear there are sales on this week.” Looking down at the contract she signed, I added the date. Having been dead and on ice, she wasn’t up on current events. “Do you want to go with us to the ’yard? You don’t have to, but if you’d like to, someone can drive you and follow us to the site.”
“The yard? What’s that?” A frown of confusion made the bullet wound between her eyes pucker. S-o-o not attractive.
“Graveyard.” Where the life-swap rituals are completed, sending killers where they belong. A one-way ticket to the nebula. Looking away, I tried not to focus on her wound, like a deadly zit on her forehead.
Before answering, Betsy put away the compact someone had given her. Most newly resurrected have a difficult transition at first, which is why I don’t keep mirrors around the office. Let ’em get used to the idea of being awake and alive again before they wonder what they look like. Sometimes it ain’t pretty.
“No. I just want to go home, see the kids and take a shower.” Rubbing her hands on her arms, she shivered. You go a year without a shower and see how you feel. I’d recommend a good exfoliant, like steel wool. Maybe I could come up with a gift bag for the newly resurrected. Steel wool and a mild bleach solution. That would be good PR, wouldn’t it? I should write that down.
Betsy looked at her ex-husband across the room and dismissed him as if he meant nothing to her. I suppose that’s the best attitude. He’s the one who put her in the ground, so she obviously meant nothing to him. In my book, turnaround is simply justice, served neat.
She rose from the chair and wobbled a little, then got her land legs again. I don’t know quite what to call it when they’ve been in containment. Grave legs? Jeez. This job just gets freakier all the time. Every day is Halloween around here. We just need some candy; we’ve already got the nuts.
Betsy’s family was weepy and gathered around her, then pulled away. A few wiped their hands on their pants, grateful for, but at the same time repulsed by, her condition. If her body hadn’t been found and put in containment quickly, none of this would have been possible.
Without my death and the death of my child, it wouldn’t have been possible either. The cramp in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge surfaced, but I shoved it back as I always had. This was not the time to renew the grief of my past. This was the time to kick the ass of the guy responsible for putting my client in the grave.
Some newly resurrected have a hard time remembering what happened to them, and that’s probably for the best.
I, however, will never forget.
Three years ago my husband’s lover stuck a butcher knife in my belly and cut my child out of me, leaving me to die in the desert. Fortunately for me, there were forces at work in the universe that took exception to that act of atrocity and rescued me. It’s made me what I am now, and I can never go back to my previous life as a nurse, a wife and almost a mother.
That debt of honor can never be repaid.
Returning from the dead definitely has had some unforeseen consequences. Like the other-siders wanting something in return. Like learning how to raise the dead and performing life-swaps. Simple stuff like that.
Many of my resurrections involve women who, like me, married the wrong man and didn’t live to tell about it. Other life-swap cases I handle include cops killed in the line of duty, and kids murdered by their mothers’ new boyfriend, who just happens to be a pedophile. Fortunately, I was sent back to right the wrongs done to others just like me. It’s a living as well as a mission. There are other resurrectionists out there, but we are a small force trying to bring our abilities to the public without getting ourselves killed. Our country has already had one giant witch hunt. We don’t need another.
It was my turn to stand, and I got up from behind the desk. I’m tall, but I usually wear cowboy boots with heels. Gives me the height to look down on these assholes so they know a woman is the one putting them in the grave for good. I have long black hair I wear straight, past my shoulders, and skin that appears perfectly tanned year-round. Not my choice, but my mixed ethnicity. It’s my eyes, though, which are an odd shade of muddy green with yellow flecks, that give me the advantage over the nut jobs I deal with. Some say it’s like looking into hell when I give them the right stare. Frankly, I don’t believe in hell anymore, so I don’t know what they are talking about.
“How you doin’, Rufus? You ready for all this?” He was a weasel of a man, not much to look at. Dark brown eyes too closely set, a short, wiry frame and the disposition of a rabid coyote. Probably has a dick the size of a baby dill, too. I’ve discovered the meaner a man’s disposition, the smaller his dick. Hmm. Wonder why?
“Fuck you,” he said and spat at me.
“Sorry. I don’t fuck dead guys.” As if.
“You’re gonna pay for what you do. Someone’s going to take you down.” He made the sign of the cross as well as he could in shackles. Kinda tough, though.
The guards on each side of him just laughed, and that makes me smile. As close to a warm fuzzy as I’ll ever get. I’m not warm, and if I’m fuzzy I need to shave my legs.
“Really? Well, it ain’t gonna be you.” I let my eyes wander over his hot pink jumpsuit. I took a cue from that sheriff in Arizona who makes the inmates wear pink underwear and live in tents outside no matter how freakin’ hot it is. Unfortunately, pink is not a good color for most men, unless they’re gay or less than three years old, and Rufus was neither. “Let’s go, boys. We don’t have all night.”
The guards are equipped with a bulletproof, four-wheel-drive van. One drives, one rides with a shotgun trained on the life-swapper, and I mentally prepare for what I’m about to do. My main man, Sam Lopez, is unavailable tonight, and I actually miss his strong, hunky presence at the ’yard. He has secrets I can’t penetrate even if I wanted to, and I suppose he’s entitled to them. I don’t own him, and he isn’t obligated to have share-time with me, but his presence at the graveyard gives me strength I didn’t know I needed until he said he couldn’t be here. Each ritual takes a lot of energy, and I’m usually too wasted to drive safely back from the ’yard. Maybe it’ll get better the more resurrections I perform, but for the time being, I have guards. Men like to drive anyway, so I don’t mind having them cart my ass around once in a while.
* * *
The next morning, I felt as if someone beat the hell out of me when I wasn’t looking. Obviously, I hadn’t had enough meat yesterday. This girl needs loads of protein just to function in a normal manner. Well, my normal anyway. My stomach roars to life the second my eyes open. Dammit. I am so ruled by my appetite.
The life-swap had taken way longer than it should have last night, and as a result I was more ragged out than usual this morning. Having Sam present for the rituals obviously makes a difference, so I’m going to have to make sure he’s not out dancing naked under the full moon for the next one. My energy stores last only so long and must be replenished frequently.
After a shower I put on some jeans and a black T-shirt. The crystal amulet on a chain never leaves my neck (a little gift from the other-siders), so I tucked it inside the shirt. They didn’t give me direction on the crystal, but just said it was a source of power. Maybe it wards off bacteria, too, ’cause I haven’t been sick since I began wearing it. I tugged on scarred black cowboy boots I wouldn’t give up for anything and shoved a pair of sunglasses over my burning eyes. When I’m depleted of nutrients, my eyes turn funny colors. Scared a waitress half to death the first time that happened, hence the shades.
Coffee sustains me in my hour of need, which is every bloody hour of the day, so I swing by the coffee shop for a couple of those gallon-size coffee boxes. I keep one and share the other with the cops in the office.
They love me.
And I love ’em right back. They’re the good guys in blue. Entirely too many of them have lain down their lives for others and not been returned to this plane. My never-ending project is getting a few of them back on the force and sending their killers to the nebula instead of a cushy jail cell for twenty-to-life. Two good cops had been killed a few years back by a psych patient, and it’s been a high-profile case ever since. The venue for the trial had to be changed several times because there was such a public outcry on both sides. Fortunately, the cops have been on ice in my cryo lab since their deaths in anticipation of future resurrection, but I don’t know when, if ever, it’s going to get straightened out. Figuring out the legalities of this case still gives me a headache.
Can the mentally ill who murder be considered for life-swaps? Do they have real quality of life as they exist now? If not, then I’d like to play swap-a-cop for this particular bad boy. But how is one to know?
That’s the part that has always given me pause and a lump in my gut that won’t go away with an antacid. Truly mentally ill people may or may not be held responsible for their actions, no matter how heinous. If that’s the case, then I could not in good conscience perform a life-swap with this afflicted man and the two cops, no matter how much people begged. My personal moral code wouldn’t allow me to proceed. As far as I know, there are no Resurrectionists Guidelines to refer to in this kind of case.
Psychiatrists will fight to the death to defend either side of the fence, which leaves me sitting in the middle of it with splinters up my ass. So that’s where we sit until someone more important than me makes a decision. I’ve been trying to get the court to pass some new legislation that will speed up the decision, but so far I’m having no luck getting them even to look at it.
These are the issues we resurrectionists ponder every day. They may never be solved in my lifetime, however long that is, but I’ve got to try. Something won’t allow me to walk away from a situation I might be able to help with. Maybe it’s the way I’m made or part of being a resurrectionist. Others in my situation have few answers, either. Those of us who have heard the battle cry for resurrections always feel alone, even though there is a small group of support available.
“Hey, Dani.” A deep voice that gives me shivers at night got my immediate attention. Though I could have just sighed and listened to him talk, I have a reputation to uphold. Tough chicks aren’t just born. They’re cultivated.
It’s a lot of work.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” I usually leave the door propped open with a large piece of petrified wood, about the size of a bowling ball, I had found in my yard. Here in the desert, the stuff’s everywhere, and someday when he’s being a butt head (and you know he will be no matter how hot he is now), I’ll probably have to clobber him with it.
“Just reviewed your notes on the cop-killer case.” He held several files in one hand that contained my attempts to outline the legislation. In his other hand was a cup of coffee I’d brought. See? Bringing coffee is a good thing, no matter what it costs my budget. Makes for good relationships with smart men who carry big guns. Here was one with a 9 mil on his hip, and he ain’t afraid to use it. That’s yummy, in my book.
“Take a seat and tell me what you think.” Although I have my suspicions, I want to hear it from him. My powers don’t extend to mind reading, but I know Sam pretty well, and he’s giving off a negative vibe. Could be his years as an army Ranger, though. He’s one tough dude. That makes him a good resource for me, but he’s hell on relationships.
With a sigh he sat and parked the files on my desk. “I’m not a lawyer, but I don’t think they’re going to make a decision. At least not yet. The public isn’t ready for it.”
“Yeah.” Running my hands through my hair is a habit, and one I engage in now. One I’ll probably regret down the line when I experience androgenic alopecia and there’s more hair in my brush than on my head. “I wish there was a way around this. It could be the start of something big here. I hate waiting for New York and California to set the bar, and then we catch up later.” I wanted this, bad. Not just for me and setting a precedent in New Mexico, but setting one for all resurrectionists. We need to know. The families of those we resurrect need it, too. I tried not to think of how badly the families of the cops needed it.
Sam’s dark, dark gaze roamed over my chest and lingered for a second before his attention returned to my face. Not that I dislike that sort of attention, especially from him, but we have bigger things to focus on than the bumps under my shirt.
He pushed the files back to my side of the ugly desk that was a recycle from the precinct. “Sorry, babe.”
You know, I’m a fully liberated woman, but for some reason, I don’t mind him calling me babe. Mostly because he does it with affection, and knows that if he ever gets in my pants we’ll set the desert on fire. If anyone else tries it, I’ll rip their tongue out. Sometimes the sparks between Sam and me are visible at night. In a graveyard. Woo-hoo. How romantic is that?
“Thanks for taking a look at it.” Trying not to be disgusted and impatient, I shoved the file into a drawer.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” He’s got dark, dark eyes that don’t miss much. Of course the bags under my eyes are probably as big as sopaipillas and just as puffy.
“Some. I never get enough.” Never, never enough rest. Someone needs to invent a pill to replenish lost sleep. I’ll buy stock in the company.
“Did you eat this morning?” He was starting to get bossy, which I didn’t like. I’d gotten out of a controlling relationship with my ex-husband. I didn’t need a lecture from Sam. Having been born the oldest in a house full of women, he was born bossy. They let him get away with entirely too much and ruined him for any other women, hence his track record of disastrous relationships.
I shrugged, noncommittal. Something I learned from him. “Yep. The usual.”
Sam grinned. The man has a smile that could set me on fire. I must resist. “You’re the only woman I know who has steak for breakfast.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Hardly. I know better, but can’t resist teasing him sometimes, and my irritation disappeared. There’s so little joy in my life, I have to take it where I can get it.
He rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. Having known him for a year or so, I picked up on little nonverbal signals, and this was one of them. Something was up that he didn’t like and didn’t want to talk about. Wonder what it was? He’d eventually talk, but until then, he’d stay clammed up. I should start calling him Sam-The-Clam.
After getting up from the chair, he strolled around to my side of the desk and leaned a hip on the edge. Hmm. Our flirtations over the past year have always been restricted to arm’s length. This was new. Wonder if it had anything to do with that neck issue of his and the one growing between my shoulder blades? There was either something coming, or my gallbladder was having an attack.
“You need more sleep.” He ran a finger down the side of my face. “The rings under your eyes aren’t going away.”
“I don’t wear much makeup, so they’re easier to see.” Maybe that makeup sale was still on. I could pick up a spackling tool on the way back.
“You’re beautiful with or without makeup, but you’re also damned tired. I can see it every time you walk in here that you’re burning out. Can you take a week off and get out of town? Relax on a beach with a fruity drink and a book somewhere?”
“Could you?” As if. We’re both chained to our work.
“Is that a proposition?” There was that damned grin again and a new tingle in my stomach to go with it. Interesting, but it ain’t gonna happen.
“Hardly.” I shoved him off my desk. When he’s too close to me I get distracted, and sometimes I think that’s what he’s after. “Go arrest someone, will you?”
He took a step away and rubbed the back of his neck. “No rituals tonight?”
“None so far.”
“Make sure you call me if anything comes up.” That dark, guarded look was back in his eyes. There was something behind it. Something he hid that crept out at times despite his efforts to bury it.
“You’re taking the bossy thing to a new level today.” I glared. I didn’t need a babysitter.
“It’s my job, babe.” Serious now, he held my gaze as if he wanted to say something else, but held back. Yeah, he was a man of secrets, and I wasn’t likely to penetrate that barrier he erected every time I asked him a personal question. Sometimes I just can’t help myself and must ask. Just makes my day to irritate other people.
“So what’s going on with you today? I’m getting a weird vibe from you.” I raised my brows and waited for the answer I knew wasn’t coming.
“Nothing.” Slam. That door in his eyes closed, but I knew something was bothering him.
“You’re lying, I can see it. If something’s up, I need to know. If you don’t share, dude, then neither do I.” That broke all the rules of my agreement with the P.D., but right now I didn’t care. Something was up.
Narrowing his eyes, he tried to stare me down, but failed. I know his tricks, and he sighed. “There’s something I can’t get a hold on. Something in the air.”
“In the air? Could you be vaguer?” My turn to frown.
He stood and spun away. “Never mind. If anything concrete shows up, I’ll let you know.”
“If you’ve got a feeling about something, I want to know, even if you think it’s nothing.”
“Like I said, when it’s concrete, I’ll let you know.” His hand drifted to his neck again, but I kept silent. Miracles do happen. Sam gave me a crumb.
He’s my assigned protector from the P.D. I’ve been through private training like you wouldn’t believe. I know a thing or two about guns and how to protect myself, but when I perform the rituals my focus is internal. That’s when I’m vulnerable and need someone to watch over me. A big, bad, hunky cop like Sam will do. Sometimes I resent that I need one, but it’s become obvious I do. The security guards offer some protection, but there’s something about Sam in particular that needs to be there. I don’t know what yet, and it’s pissing me off.
“Like I said, it’s my job.” He gave that tight little smile he has when he has to do something he doesn’t want to. Talk about control issues.
“Yes, I know. You’re the liaison, blah, blah, blah.” I get so tired of the blah, blah, blah sometimes. “But you’re off your game, and that affects me whether you know it or not.” Well, I guess he knows now.
“Yes, I am. One of these nights we’re going to have more trouble than we bargained for.” Concern emanated from his eyes and a little something twisted between my shoulder blades. That’s my signal something is wrong.
I hope it isn’t an omen. Not that I believe in them, not seriously, but I sort of wish for a bit more protection at times. Something small and inconspicuous, like the Spear of Isis. That’s all.
With a nod he left, and I tried to return to the work in front of me, but it didn’t keep my attention.
I’d had a sense of foreboding for a week now and didn’t know why. Maybe that’s what I was getting from Sam. He has senses finely tuned from his military service that I’ll never get close to, but he’s so damned closed-mouthed sometimes, I just want to strangle him.
I must resist.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_821bc690-6676-5582-a9f3-5f1760348b74)
The sound of a skateboard on the sidewalk always gets on my nerves. I never know whether I’m going to get run down by a herd of teenagers, or if there is a message from my mentor, Burton. This time it was Burton and the muscles in my back tensed. I’m going to need a painkiller by the end of the day if this keeps up.
“Where you been, chica?” He knows that any reference to my ethnic backgrounds will get my immediate attention. When I went to nursing school, I applied for scholarships based on my three ethnic groups, but was denied two of them. Bastards.
“Oh, get off it, Burton. What do you want?” Sometimes I have no patience for the man. Sometimes I want to cuff him just because he’s such a piece of work. Any spiritual entity that’s four thousand years old shouldn’t be such a smart-ass. There’s just something wrong with that.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay? I’m fine.” I narrowed my eyes, immediately suspicious. Him, I never quite trust. “You’ve never asked me how I am before. What’s up?” That niggle between my shoulders was aching again.
“The other-siders have a sense something’s changing in the universe. They want to make sure you and other resurrectionists are unharmed.”
“Unharmed?” Maybe that was why Sam and I had had uncomfortable feelings we couldn’t name. “Who would want to harm us?” Aside from the obvious.
“The Dark.”
“What the hell is that?” As if I needed something to screw up my life more. The judicial system was enough.
“The entity who has disrupted the balance, and grows larger and more dangerous every time evil wins out over good. It is a congealed group of dark souls that has banded together from the deepest part of the nebula. They had been banished for their misdeeds while earthbound and have gathered to form a darker, stronger being. It’s made a declaration to stop the resurrectionists, but most especially you.”
“Me? Why me? What about the others out there?” He said it as if this thing had challenged me to a game of checkers. Was he serious?
“Of that we are uncertain. They ask that you take no unnecessary risks until the threat has passed.”
Jeez. Could they be more nebulous? Unnecessary risks? What the hell was that? Every day I take on a case, and the risk I take with my body and my life to send killers to the nebula is a huge risk. What about that seems unnecessary? I thought they were out there to help me. And I know that most threats generally don’t just pass by without slapping you upside the head.
“Uh, how will I know when that happens?”
“That is unknown. At this time we are offering the warning to all.”
“Well, that’s some comfort, I suppose.”
“Do not underestimate the power of this entity. It has been dormant for millennia and now seeks its vengeance.” For a moment I saw every one of his four thousand years revealed in his eyes, and a chill rose over me as the full effect of his warning got to me. Then the moment was gone, and the teenager with a goofy grin returned. “Man, this is just too much fun.” Hopping on his board, he was off in a flash and a whoop of delight. Too bad more people aren’t pleased so easily. I’m certainly not, though a big gun and a frozen margarita come close.
“I don’t understand what you see in that kid. He’s nothing but trouble.” Sam was right behind me, and I nearly jumped, but I controlled the urge to clobber him. My instincts are finely tuned, and I could have given him a bloody lip just then, or driven his testicles up into his eye sockets, but I restrained myself. Turning, I gave him a glare instead, but the sunglasses made it less effective. Sometimes I’m just too nice.
“What are you doing? You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” Especially now with universal warnings of doom and gloom on the horizon.
“I know, but with you?” The shrug said it all and his army Ranger training proved it. He liked to live dangerously around me. “That kid’s trouble.”
If he only knew. “He’s harmless. He’s probably just like you were at that age.” Yeah, right.
Sam glared down at me, and I was surprised his shades didn’t melt. “Don’t ever compare me to that kid. Ever.”
O-o-o-kay. An unintended arrow hit a tender spot I hadn’t known existed. “Why not?” I just had to know.
“Don’t go there, Dani. It’s none of your business.”
“You’re the one who made it my business by giving me a bone with nothing on it.”
“Forget it. I heard him mention not taking any risks right now. Is he threatening you?” Sam stepped forward, violating my personal space and trying to pressure me into telling him something I don’t want to. Won’t work on me. I’m immune to that sort of pressure.
I almost laughed. Burton? Threatening me? Pfft. But this new thing? Had me thinking. “It’s fine. See you later.” Some secrets are mine to keep, and I don’t have to explain them to anyone. Not even the man who watches my back.
“Dammit, Dani, if something’s going on I need to know about it. If I’m to protect you, I need to know what’s going on.” He followed me at the pace I set.
“You need to trust me, that’s what you need to do.” I won’t be controlled. After one disastrous relationship like that, I was never doing another, not even with Sam.
He said nothing because he knew I was right and wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t trust anyone. Me more than most, but not enough to sit down and have share-time over coffee. That pissed me off, so this conversation was over. We were at a stalemate on the issue, but at the moment it didn’t matter. I knew he had his reasons that were related to his military service and probably his life growing up in the barrio. These were areas of his life he spoke little of, and I respected that, but I didn’t like it. “Catch you later.”
As I walked away I felt Sam’s eyes watching my ass, not my back, so I put a deliberate saunter in my stride and took a quick look over my shoulder. There he was, feet spread apart, arms crossed over the chest I’d like to spend some time crawling across. Seriously, there ought to be a cartography class for women who want to map out a man’s geography to remember fondly later. Then, I caught his gaze over the rim of my sunglasses, and there was nothing except complete male appreciation in those eyes. The look said he’d have me on my back with my feet in the air if he thought he could do it without getting his jewels crushed. That made me laugh, and I turned around again, leaving him with his tongue hanging out.
It’s good to know that there are some consistencies in life I can depend on and for some men to behave like men. That thought made me smile a little bigger, and the tension of the day eased a bit. Sam was nothing if not dependable.
* * *
There’s only one thing I hate worse than weepy women, and that’s weepy men. Today, I had ’em both. They’re manipulative, whether they mean to be or not. People come to me all the time to resurrect their loved ones, but if it isn’t for the right reasons, I won’t help them no matter how much they cry. I hate being manipulated.
A young couple, Juanita and Julio Ramirez, sat across the desk from me in my office. The pain in her eyes reached out to me. “Please, please, Miss Wright. You have to help us.”
“But this isn’t what I do. You need a psychic, not me. I come in at the end when everything is settled. I don’t find lost people.” I charge in on my white steed and send the bad guy away, but not till all the shootin’s done.
“No one else can do it. He’s our only child, and he’s gone!”
That did it. I was on the job, whether it was normally my job or not. I couldn’t not help, even if all I did was offer comfort.
I have an unfortunate kinship to these people, but they’ll never know it. My personal loss must stay buried in order for me to work successfully with others like me.
Before I could move away, Juanita took my hand in hers. Unable to remove my hand from her grip without looking totally stupid, I had to sit there while she cried onto my skin. My nerves are raw and the sensations I pick up are extreme. That’s why I don’t touch people very often. I pick up their vibes, their emotions, and their life force if I’m not careful. The skin reveals a lot in the sweat, the texture, the nerve endings that send out little pulses, and we just don’t realize it. If people knew others picked up all of that information, we’d never touch each other. Don’t get me started on the bacterial transmission.
With Juanita hanging over my arm and sobbing on the desk, I had no choice except to ingest the energy she put off, and I tried to resist it as much as possible. It was like being simmered in menudo. A greasy soup of animal parts you don’t want to have identified.
“Juanita.” I tried to focus and push away the overload oozing out of her. She was a terrified mother, and I felt every emotion, every pulse of her terror knifing through my head. I had to get the woman off me or we were both going to be on the floor sobbing and nothing would get done to save her son. “Sit up and tell me what’s going on.”
After one last wail, she sat and released my arm. Oh! What a relief. I could breathe again. I couldn’t think without having her emotions bleed into my brain. It was sad enough in there. It didn’t need any help.
Juanita was one of those unfortunate women who were too caught up in appearances. At around age twenty-four or so, she was truly beautiful, her skin flawless, her hair shoulder length and a thick, dark brown. It was the makeup that killed the effect. She’d shaved off her brows completely and drawn them in with a pencil in an unnaturally high arch on her forehead.
Maybe she thought it looked good. Maybe Julio liked her that way, but the effect made her look overly alert, as if she were questioning everything you say.
“Well.” She looked to her husband, who had yet to say a word. “Our son, Roberto, has been missing for two days. Two days! The police are too slow. He’s out there by himself.” The implication being that if he weren’t found immediately, he was going to die. The bigger implication was that he was already dead. I recalled hearing something about this case and feeling the urgent energy of the cops, but I tried not to watch or listen to the news too much. It overwhelms and depresses me.
With trembling hands, she slid a picture of an engaging-looking, happy little boy, about the age of six or so, with one front tooth missing. I didn’t touch the photo because I was certain I would end up on my knees in pain. I don’t like to do that in front of clients. Kinda puts people off when the expert loses her mind.
“When did you last see him? Is it possible he’s simply run away?” The truth is, if the cops don’t find a kidnapped child right away, the kid is probably already dead or out of state and unlikely to be recovered.
“He didn’t run away. He didn’t come home from school. My cousin, Filberto, was to get him because I had a dentist appointment, but Roberto never came out of the school.” She covered her face with her hands. “He’s gone!”
Never came home, my ass. If I had hackles they’d be standing straight up. You didn’t need to be a resurrectionist to smell something foul in the story. “Was Filberto questioned by the police?” Something in me sizzled when I said his name, and I jumped as if I’d been stuck with a cattle prod. Bad sign for Filberto’s team.
“Oh, sure, I know what you think, but he’d never hurt my baby. Never.” Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she was careful not to disturb the black mascara topping off her wide-eye look.
The skin on my back began to itch and crawl, as if maggots had already begun to eat my flesh. Not a good sign, either. Everyone has a sixth sense; some are just more highly developed than others.
Mine was on fire.
“I need to meet with your family. Can you set that up for tonight?” I looked at my watch. It was almost 6 p.m. “In a few hours, please. We have to move fast.” I was fairly certain it wasn’t going to be fast enough.
“We’ll do anything to get our baby back.”
Leaning forward over the desk, I focused on Juanita, cupped my hands around her face, and held her gaze for a few seconds. At first she was startled, but then she held my gaze. That’s not easy. I’m a little scary sometimes. She was true, and I released her. “Are you certain you’ll do anything to find him?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t blinked and neither had I. You’d be surprised what shit could happen in the blink of an eye.
“I’ll see you around eight.” I slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Write down your address.”
I walked them to the door with a mental sigh. It was going to be a long night. Calling Sam occurred to me, but after our conversation this morning I was feeling ornery. Besides, I wasn’t doing a resurrection. Just information gathering, so technically I didn’t have to call him.
I just love technicalities when they work in my favor.
* * *
I arrived at the Ramirez house a few minutes early. I like to watch a house for a little while before walking in. Opening the door for a person I didn’t know got me killed once. It ain’t happening again.
Instincts on full alert, I approached the door. Letting my senses reach out, I felt for imminent danger, but found nothing, so I rang the doorbell. Burton and the other-siders had to be mistaken. There was no big, bad darkness out to get me, just a missing boy who needed to be found. Looking overhead, I saw no threat. I was just a simple resurrectionist doing a job. I wasn’t any threat to a universal force.
But I kept my right hand free to grab my gun, anyway. I carry a 9mm semiauto. I also tuck a derringer in the top of my boot, but that requires a little extra maneuvering to get to. Most people aren’t used to women carrying weapons openly, so I wear a light blazer over my shirt and shoulder holster. Basic black, goes with everything. And hides the dagger strapped to my left wrist too.
“Miss Wright, please come in.” Julio opened the door and ushered me in. Here, everyone says Miss, not Ms., but it means the same thing. “We’re here, like you said. Tell us what we need to do.”
Oh, he might not like what I was suspecting he had to do. “Thank you. How about I just talk to everyone, and we go from there?”
“I don’t know if it will help.” He swayed slightly as he held on to the door, and I detected the faint odor of tequila leaking from his pores. After what he’d been through, I couldn’t begrudge him a shot or two of fortitude.
“Someone knows something.” He shrugged, but led me to the kitchen table, which was the hub of the family activity. This was a typical Catholic-Hispanic household with crosses of various sizes around the house and a small shrine in the living room. My grandmother’s house is nearly identical, except she has a shrine to Buddha. No matter, same deal.
“We’re here because I believe someone here may have information about Roberto they haven’t told the police. On his own he’s not going to survive for long.”
“You think he’s still alive? After all this time can he be alive?”
This question was posed by one of the family matriarchs. Although only two days had passed since his disappearance, I was certain it felt like an eternity. Anger and grief warred for control in her eyes. She was afraid to hope, afraid to believe he would be found, and terrified something she didn’t want to think about had already happened. I wanted to help this family, but I knew I was going to bring more bad news. That part wasn’t my problem to deal with. Recovering a child was. I hoped.
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Are you a curandera?” she asked, watchful and suspicious.
That’s the Hispanic version of a witch-woman or a healer, depending on the interpretation. Not my gig, but most people, especially the highly superstitious, are more comfortable with that term. “No. I’m a nurse, not a healer in the way you mean.” Once a nurse, always a nurse. We’re kind of like the marines that way, but without the firepower and snappy haircuts. “Tonight I’m here to see if I can help find Roberto.” I looked away from her and the grief pouring out of her. That kind of energy messes with my mojo. “I need everyone to go outside and form a circle in the yard.”
This family understood the need for ceremony and rituals, so there were no complaints. I entered the circle the family created. Turning, I moved toward Roberto’s parents and held my hands, palms out, toward them.
I don’t have the power to see energy or auras that other resurrectionists do. I feel them, sense them, and almost taste them if they are strong enough. Not very palatable, but it’s not as if I have a choice. I’ll brush my teeth later.
The little charge of energy that flowed from Juanita and Julio was clean. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it wasn’t tainted with evil or deception. I guess I have an evil-ometer in my hands. I have to be careful of whom and what I touch because my senses pick up things when I don’t want them to. One of the undisclosed perks of coming back from the dead.
I focused on the present and the possibility of finding this child. Alive or dead, I wasn’t sure, but at least we could find out what had happened to him.
I moved around the circle with my radar on full alert. It was as if I had a bubble of energy around me with tendrils that reached out for information and drew it back to me. Kind of like an electrical octopus feeding information instead of fish. I felt the vibrations flowing around and over the bubble and absorbed some of the energy. Not unlike static feels when you rub a balloon against your hair. Assuming you have hair. You know what I mean.
One of the women shivered as I approached her and made the sign of the cross, then rubbed her arms. Whatever makes you feel better, I guess. She wasn’t my target, and I moved on. Women were rarely the perpetrators of crimes against children. Sure, you got the ones who murdered their entire families, but those people were mentally ill. They had to be or I couldn’t sleep at night. I was in search of a male. And I had found one. Possibly abused himself, but had never dealt with it.
My hands nearly glowed with golden light, and I began to sweat. Damn. I hate being right sometimes. “Filberto?” I asked. Fear and shame oozed out of this thin young man. In his early twenties, he still carried that uncoordinated stance of a teenager who hadn’t quite found his place in the world. Filberto was going to find his place in the world, and it wasn’t going to be to his liking.
The hairs on my arms stood up, and my evil-ometer went nuts. This was the guy. I knew it. Looking into his eyes, I knew that he knew that I knew it, too. He stepped back, scared shitless of me. My eyes must have been going wild again. I’d have to work on that.
“Get away from me.” He backed up. I stepped forward.
“What did you do?” I didn’t want to touch him and see every blasted detail of it in my mind. I wanted him to confess to these people. Making him tell of his crimes was so much more powerful on the universal scale. It wouldn’t balance the scale, but at least it would help add a stone or two to the side of justice. There needs to be equal parts of good to counter the evil in the world.
Gasps and screams filled the air and broke the circle apart. Juanita wailed the way only a wounded mother could, and the sound set my nerves on edge. I had made that sound once. But now I couldn’t let it or my memory interfere with what was going on in front of me. Filberto continued to back up until he stepped against a large cottonwood tree. “Get away from me. Witch!” he cried and held out his hands. Pfft. As if that was gonna stop me.
I stepped into his personal space, and we both began to glow. From my feet all the way to the top of my head, I was encased in a golden light. It was both healing and protective. Filberto, however, glowed sort of a dark green. Bad news for him. So maybe I’m seeing auras after all.
He broke into a run. Shit. That meant I had to chase him. I hate running in boots. Fortunately, all of the yards in Albuquerque have some sort of fencing. To keep things in or out, I was never sure. So I had to chase him only a few feet and caught him as he was trying to climb over the fence using the trumpet vine like a ladder.
I grabbed him by the back of his jeans and yanked. He came flying, and we landed in a heap. Screams and hysterical Spanish, most of which I didn’t want to have interpreted, landed on us as the family descended. Filberto was ripped out of my hands, and I was left in a heap all by myself. That’s sort of hard to do, so I got up and went after them.
I had to stop them before they killed him. We needed information, not another murder. That wouldn’t be justice for Roberto, and it wouldn’t balance the scale, giving evil more weight. The Dark’s been growing enough from what the other-siders have said. “No! Wait.” I squeezed through the mob and landed on my knees. Crawling forward, I maneuvered myself closer and stood again. How could I stop this before they killed the only person who knew what had happened to Roberto? I could shoot my gun into the air, but in this part of town it probably wouldn’t get any attention.
Fortunately, my years of martial arts had given me some muscle, and I used it now. Elbowing my way through, I nearly fell on top of Julio, who was pummeling his fists into Filberto’s face. The men of the family, some of whom were certainly armed, stood in a protective half circle around the two and let Julio wail on Filberto.
“Stop it!” It was like talking to a couple of pit bulls who had their teeth into each other. I tackled Julio. What else could I do? We fell to the ground, and Julio pulled back with an elbow that landed in my chest. That was gonna hurt later. “If you kill him, we’ll never know where Roberto is.” I didn’t say I thought Roberto was already dead and we needed to recover the body, if possible, for a resurrection and life-swap.
Julio stood abruptly, then I realized he had help. Sam had yanked him to his feet and shoved him into the arms of his cousins. “Hold him.” He pointed to two of the larger men. Without question, they complied and held on to Julio. Now, why don’t men react like that to my direction? That’s just disgusting. Machismo at its finest.
I grabbed hold of Filberto’s shirt, yanking him to a sitting position. He was bloody, and his eyes were swelling shut. Most of his wounds appeared superficial, like a fat lip that bled as if he’d bitten through it, but who knew about what was going on in his brain. He could have damage I couldn’t sense.
“Don’t touch me,” he cried and put his hands up like a girl.
“Oh, please, give it up. You’re caught, so just can the innocent routine.” I hated touching him, even by the shirt, but had to.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Sam, who glowed with his own sort of angry-red aura.
“I followed you.” Sam moved closer to me. “You were supposed to call me if something came up.”
“Had a late case come in.”
“What did you do to my son?” Julio cried and strained against the arms of his cousins. Though he wasn’t the biggest man in the yard, he was fueled by the need for vengeance and to tear something apart. That’s different from the need for justice, which is where I came in.
“Where’s my son?” Juanita collapsed on the ground at his feet, sobbing. The night was alive with cries.
“Yeah, Filberto. What did you do to Roberto?”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_21bc6b52-d42d-56d1-a962-73524aa84aec)
Filberto swayed back and forth. Sam and I had to hold him upright. He might be more hurt than I first thought. Although I had not been gifted with X-ray vision, I was a nurse, so I could keep his ass alive long enough to get some information out of him. He wasn’t really hurt. Not hurt like Roberto. I shook him. “Where’s Roberto?”
“Gone.”
In that word, I knew everything. Just once I’d like to be disappointed and have a happy ending, but that’s apparently not my karma this time around. “Dammit.” Focusing, I heaved out a sigh, then took a deep breath and steeled myself against the pain that was going to saturate me the second I touched his skin. I placed the heel of my hand on Filberto’s forehead and let my fingers fall over the top of his head. This was the only way I knew to access another person’s memories. It hurt me to do this. Physically, emotionally and spiritually I would suffer for days, trying to get the stench of someone else’s mind out of mine, but I had to do it. For this family to recover their loved one, I had to do it.
After a glance at Sam to link myself in the present, I closed my eyes and let it wash over me.
Flashes of light hit me first. Then I sort of saw a slow-motion movie playing, and I was the only one watching it. Filberto had picked up Roberto at the school. They got into a car and drove away. Filberto sweating and cursing himself all the way as memories of his own molestations filled him. So many years, so many hidden secrets and lies had finally bubbled up out of him. He couldn’t help it, or that’s what he told himself, as he choked the life out of Roberto’s little body and tucked it away at the edge of a rock outcropping. Then he raced away and returned to Albuquerque before he was missed.
Pulling myself out of the memory, I gritted my teeth against the impulse to pick up where Julio had left off. My stomach cramped, and I wanted to vomit.
“I know where he is.” I removed my hand from Filberto’s forehead, then wiped my palm on my jeans. They were going in the washer as soon as I got home.
“He’s alive?” Julio asked, the fragile hope in his voice staggering.
“I’m sorry, Julio.” I hated this part, but it had to be done swiftly if there was to be a chance of recovery. “No. His body is out in the lava fields between Laguna and Grants.” There was little hope of us finding his remains, but we could try. Many people had been lost out there and never recovered despite massive search operations. How was little ol’ me going to find him? Help?
“Where’s my baby?” Juanita screeched and raced at Filberto with a knife in her hand. Before I could think of moving, she reached out and struck Filberto across the face, blood spattering from the wound. “Where’s my son?”
Sam and two others tackled Juanita and divested her of the weapon. I grabbed a fistful of Filberto’s hair and held his face up as anger, hot and bright, coursed through me. “You look at these people, at that boy’s mother, and tell us what you did.”
“I killed him.” He squinted through eyes already narrowed to slits by the beating he’d taken. I wanted to reach into his head and pull his brain out through his nostrils. “I didn’t mean to, but I had to.”
“What do you mean, you had to kill him?” I asked, really not wanting to know the answer to that, but pretty certain I was going to be sick once I heard it. A quick image of The Dark flashed in my mind. Could this be the influence Burton had talked of? Could The Dark have made Filberto act when he wouldn’t have otherwise?
“He would have told. He would have told!” Filberto breathed through his mouth, as his nose was most certainly broken, if the swelling was any indication.
“Did you hurt him?” I knew he had, but I wanted him to tell the family.
Sobs made Filberto’s head wobble, and he cried, feeling sorry for himself. Not what I wanted to see, but confession was supposedly good for the soul. I’d just rather hear the story than have all the blubbering along with it. “I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Did you touch Roberto in a way you weren’t supposed to?”
“Y-e-s.”
Anguish as you’ve never heard ripped the night to shreds. Sam and I looked at each other as we were shoved out of the way. There was no reasoning with an angry mob, and certainly no reasoning with a family who was rightfully justified in tearing apart one of their own.
“We have to stop this.” I held on to Sam’s shirt. He tried to put me behind him, to protect me. He’s such a guy. But I hardly needed protecting. After dying once, I learned what to really fear, and these people weren’t it.
We shoved into the group. We needed to get to the middle of this, where the action was, and prevent them from killing him.
Dropping onto my knees, I was able to crawl through and around the others. Not as dignified as I would have liked, but I got through and pulled my weapon. “Stop it.” Sam joined me, on his feet, and drew his gun, too.
“We need him alive,” Sam said.
“He doesn’t deserve to live! He killed my baby.” Juanita dissolved into a puddle on the ground. The women surrounded her and held on to her. The atmosphere in the yard was changing, becoming darker and malignant. A dark cloud or mist appeared overhead, but failed to manifest into anything I recognized.
Julio’s fists were a mess of blood and raw flesh. He breathed heavily as the murderous light finally left his eyes.
“Julio, see to your wife,” Sam said and motioned him back with the gun.
“I will see this done now. I don’t care if I have to die for it. He’ll pay for what he’s done to my son!”
“We need him alive if there’s any chance to bring Roberto back.” I didn’t tell them I wasn’t sure I had the skills to do it, whether it could even be done, depending on the amount of decomposition that had begun, let alone animal involvement. Ew. “If you kill him now, there’s no chance, and you’ll die, too.” I reached out to Julio and touched his shoulder. I tried to resist the vibrations coming off him. I was contaminated already by Filberto, so what was a little more? “Do you want that? Your family needs you now.”
He collapsed beside his wife, and they wept together and clung to each other. I was unable to offer any solace.
Reaching out to Sam with my hand, I nearly fell face-first into him. He would have liked that too much, so I settled for dropping to my knees from fatigue.
After things settled down and a small plan for recovery took shape, Sam led me to his truck parked down the street. I got in and let him drive to the nearest diner we could find. “That was damned stupid.” Anger crackled off him, nearly lighting the night around him.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, but I didn’t need to be reminded. I survived, and no one died in the process. Bonus. “I got the information I needed.” Filberto had taken a beating, but he deserved it. Almost instant karma.
“At what cost?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you so wasted, Dani, not even after a tough life-swap.” Sam was never outright angry; he’s too controlled for that. What he does is simmer. It’s not brooding, because that’s too much like a pout for a man. But he simmers, and stews, and makes me wonder what’s going on in that mind of his. I might have to do a mind-meld someday, but not now.
Right now, I didn’t care. I needed flesh and lots of it. For whatever reason, it’s what I need to keep going. I don’t need just blood, though I do like my steaks rare. It’s not just protein, either. I tried plenty of whey protein shakes and granola bars at the beginning, and they didn’t do squat. I now despise granola. But something in a good, bloody steak does it for me. Who am I to question it? Maybe it’s in the chewing and grinding of the food in my mouth that makes it work, or part of the digestive process. Do you know what’s going on in your stomach when you’re not looking? I don’t know and don’t care, as long as it fills up whatever is depleted.
We inhaled the meal and headed out the door. This was a fuel stop for me. I was so depleted of energy, I’d have chewed my own leg off soon. We had to get to the lava fields near Grants. About an hour away, depending on who was driving. I could make it in forty-five. We had to try to recover the body tonight. Preventing further decay was essential to a successful resurrection, but as always to fully restore the body would require some sort of blood sacrifice, and there was no way to know how much blood the ritual would require.
I didn’t know if I had enough. I was exhausted enough already. However, Sam had volunteered for this duty. I didn’t want it to be his sacrifice either. Perhaps our combined forces would be enough to get the job done. There was something special about Sam that helped make the resurrections successful.
The unmistakable sound of a skateboard approaching made me step back into the doorway, into Sam, and his hands were on my hips to steady me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to really reach out to him, but I couldn’t. Touch, skin to skin, made me feel things I wasn’t prepared for, so I hung on to the wooden doorway and gasped for air.
“Hey, you okay, chica?” Burton asked and flipped his board to a stop beside us. My little mentor. At first I was always surprised to see him, but then I figured he knew things I didn’t and let it slide.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Don’t you listen to anything I tell you?”
“Huh?”
“I just told you not to take any extra chances. Maybe your brain is going bad or something.”
“Hardly. But I couldn’t not take this case, you know that.” Or at least he should. “Go away. I’m fine.”
“Cool. But heed the warning.” He tossed the skateboard onto the sidewalk and leaped onto it, disappearing into the shadows as only he could.
“That kid drives me crazy. How did he know you were here? We didn’t even know we were coming here.” Sam stepped up beside me to watch Burton zip away.
“I don’t know. I think he has some sort of radar.” Yeah, four-thousand-year-old radar.
“Has he been following you?”
“What, like you did?” Bingo.
Sam didn’t answer, but just stared down at me with a perturbed glint in his eyes. As a rule, I do not enjoy being looked down upon, but with Sam, I make the exception. When he looks down at me, I almost feel petite and feminine. I need to avoid that feeling. I’m not petite or particularly feminine. I’m strong and in charge of myself. Softer feelings aren’t in my job description and could get me killed again if I allow them.
“I tell you that kid is trouble.”
“How can a kid with his pants halfway down his ass be trouble?” I mean, really. Who takes a person like that seriously?
“You do have a point,” Sam said and watched as Burton skateboarded back to us.
“Later, dudes,” he yelled.
“See ya, Burton. Pull your damned pants up!” I called over the rush of the night. He raised his arm and flipped me off. Typical teenager. “He’s harmless.”
Sam shook his head, not convinced with my judgment of character. If he only knew how far I’d come, he wouldn’t question me now. “If you say so, but that’s the future of this country riding away on a piece of wood.”
If he only knew. Burton was a piece of the past trying to hold on to a future for the entire universe, and I was helping him. No wonder I was tired all the time.
“Let’s go.”
* * *
Two nights later we were back in Albuquerque. We had searched for two days before finding Roberto’s remains. It was a shame, too. All I could do was put what was left of this young boy on ice and see if we could figure out how to bring him back. The reverence that surged through me as I touched the small bones, placing them into the little cooler that would become his temporary coffin, surprised me. I pulled back and closed the lid as a wave of unwanted emotion washed over me. There was no time now for emotion.
The balance in this case was only partially restored. The crime had been committed, the criminal caught and the body recovered. Filberto was in a coma on life support with a significant brain injury and not expected to survive. I suppose that made my job easier. This was one case where a life-swap was certainly warranted, but the method by which to create the swap wasn’t in my hands yet. Paperwork and red tape. It all came down to who could argue better, your lawyer or theirs. I was betting on Liz, my little Chihuahua with the heart of a Rottweiler. All I had to do was wait.
I hate waiting.
* * *
Sometimes, I simply don’t understand the universe. Today is one of those days. Before I left the house, I spilled water three different times and in three different ways. That either meant something significant or my kitchen was more cluttered than I thought. But I made it in, coffee in hand, ready for all of the really important stuff I do around here.
I sat behind my desk trying not to laugh at the plight of the poor woman sitting across the desk from me. She could have been anyone’s auntie or grandmother, sitting there all prim and proper with her Sunday best on, and her glasses shoved pertly on her nose. There she sat, with pictures of Fluffy, her four-legged canine companion. Recently deceased. This wasn’t boding well for an improvement in my day.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chapman, but I simply can’t help you.” Not entirely certain I would, even if I could. I wasn’t trying to be mean; it simply comes out of me that way sometimes.
“But you can do it. I know you can.” She held out a flier I had mistakenly made when I first started out. It was somewhat unclear, and I now regretted ever putting those pages together. One came back to haunt me now and then, and this was one of those times. Maybe this was where the spilled water came in. An omen. “It says so right here.” She shoved the thing across the desk to me.
“I know what it says, but this is old and the wording was poor. It doesn’t say that we life-swap animals.”
“It doesn’t say you don’t, either. I want my Fluffy back.” She was on the verge of tears, and I pushed a box of tissues toward her. Here we go again with the tears. “I’ll give you every last penny I have. My entire savings, if you’ll bring back my dog!”
“Please calm down, Mrs. Chapman, and take a few breaths.” I didn’t want to have her stroke out right in front of me, ’cause then I’d have to go back to nurse mode and do something heroic. I wasn’t in the mood. “Even though we know who killed your dog, in this case, Cesar, the Doberman next door, and you’ve kept Fluffy in your freezer, that doesn’t change anything. I simply don’t perform canine resurrections.” That was to the point and not quite as tactful as I could have made it, but the woman was wearing me down. I should have done it just to get her out of my office.
“It was my neighbor’s damned dog.” Her lips pressed tightly together. No love lost there. She’d run him down if she got the chance.
“Yes. Weren’t there numerous noise complaints made by that particular neighbor about Fluffy’s incessant barking?” I had the file in front of me and pushed that toward her, too. Not that she picked it up. She knew what was in it.
“It doesn’t justify murder. Fluffy was a terrier, and it’s part of the breed. Anyone who owns terriers accepts that.” She said it as if everyone in the world ought to know that terriers are barking maniacs. As everyone knows that fast food makes you fat. (Everyone knows that, right?)
“Yes, I know, but it doesn’t mean your neighbors do. And it still doesn’t give me the power to bring him back.” I stood. Fortunately, Mrs. Chapman took the hint. She gathered her tote bag against her middle as if it were a priceless object. The bag was about the right size for... Oh, gag. The smile on my face melted as another thought occurred to me. If she had Fluffy in there, I was gonna puke. After the last night I had, it wouldn’t take much. I was still trying to clean Filberto out of my brain. “If our conditions change, then I’ll be in touch.” I patted the file, indicating I had her contact information. I was going to shred it the second she left.
She nodded, didn’t say thank you, because she had nothing to thank me for. I wish she’d just go to the pound and get a replacement dog.
Kind of like boyfriends were for some women. When you lost one, you just went to the pound (the bar) and brought another one home. He could make you happy for a while, but may have a straying problem and some were better trained than others. There was just that pesky neutering issue...
I sat and dropped my head into my hands, closed my eyes and groaned.
“Tough day?” Sam asked from the doorway.
I didn’t even have to look up, but I did. “Understatement of the century.”
“Wanna go shoot something?” There was a grin hiding behind that well-controlled expression of his. There was a little secret behind his eyes, too, and I definitely wanted to know what it was. The temptation of having him around for so long was beginning to wear on my defenses.
“You got a new toy?” He’d mentioned something about it.
A twitch of the brows was all I got. Intriguing.
“Get me outta here before I shoot something I’m not supposed to.” I stood and grabbed my bag that was equally as large as Mrs. Chapman’s, but there was no frozen dog in it.
* * *
The firing range was a great place to let off some steam. It was a safe environment where no one was going to shoot back, and you could pound the hell out of a flimsy paper target. I love that.
Sam got out his new toy, and it was a doozy. A forty-five millimeter with a nice weight in the hand. I love a man with a smokin’-hot piece of...steel in his hands. Makes me shiver all over. Not that I’ll let Sam know that. Too many times in my past I let a man have control over me, and it is never, ever going to happen again. Control is something that is mine and mine alone. I don’t care how illusive it is. Denial has gotten me through many years of my life, so I don’t see a reason to stop using it now.
Now, I’ve gone through a number of weapons training courses, so I’ve shot many different kinds of weapons. Never stopped me from salivating over a new one, though. Kind of like some women are over shoes. It’s all about the accessories, right? Mine just happen to be loaded.
Sam looked at me through that sexy, protective eyewear in a bold, jaundiced color and raised his brows. He really didn’t even have to ask, but I so appreciated it.
“Hell, yeah, I want to shoot that thing.” He grinned and handed me the weapon.
“Give it a whirl.”
“Where’d you get this thing, some online shooting shop?”
“Yeah, right.”
He knows I want his contacts and insulting him is one of the ways I’m trying to pry the information out of him. Not subtle, but then, I’m really not known for it. I tried the direct route for a while by just asking politely, or as polite as I get, but he just dissed me, so I was reduced to insults.
He went over a few specifics before I loaded the thing, then leaned against the wall beside me. I think he likes watching me shoot. Probably gives him a hard-on. He didn’t stand behind me or try to put his hands around me or treat me like a girl, which I totally appreciated. I am so not a girl.
Without a word, I squinted through my equally sexy eyewear and popped off one shot, just to get a feel of it before I unloaded the clip. “Recoil’s a bitch.”
“Did I forget to mention that?” The man had wrists of steel, so recoil meant little to him.
“Uh, yeah.” Squinting my left eye, I focused on the target again and squeezed off five shots.
“Nice, Dani. Very nice,” he said, admiring the way I so sweetly took out the target.
I returned the gun to Sam and shook out my hands. “Gonna have to work up to that bad boy.” Not that I was weak, but my wrists were tiny compared with Sam’s. I had supernatural powers, but not supernatural strength. Maybe I could put an order in with Burton, but I doubted it. He’d just laugh.
We picked up our spent shell casings and cleared the way for someone else to shoot. There was never any shortage of cops, P.I.s or gun fanatics practicing at the range. After we left the shooting area, we removed our ear protection. He used an over-the-head earmuff type, and I used the squishy things in my ears. They were cheap and didn’t mess up my hair. A woman’s gotta watch out for these little issues in life.
“That’s a nice piece,” I said and meant it.
“Feel better now that you’ve shot something?”
Oh, the man knows me too well. “Yeah. Sometimes the grind of the job just gets to me, and I want to kill something. Better a target than a person, ya know?” Since I came back from the other side, controlling my anger has been an issue. Kickboxing and margaritas help keep it under control, depending on the situation. They are not interchangeable coping mechanisms.
“So, you want to tell me what’s really bugging you?”
We headed outside into the parking lot on the south side of the big square, cinder-block building out in the middle of nowhere. Guess the desert has its perks. There are a lot of open spaces that no one wants to build on, so this was perfect.
I told Sam about Mrs. Chapman and the stupid dog she wanted resurrected.
“My grandmother would have loved that one.” Normally, Sam is your typical, well-controlled, serious cop-type guy, but now, he wiped his eyes beneath his reflective sunglasses. He was laughing so hard, it brought tears to his eyes. I’d never have bet money on that happening.
I tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. Laughter is nearly as good as sex as a tension reliever. There has been little of either in my life of late, but then sex was what got me killed in the first place. Not mine, my ex-husband’s. He’s the one who couldn’t keep it zipped. “Did she have a dog like Fluffy?” I asked. I knew his grandmother had passed into the beyond, but other than that, I knew little about her.
“No.” He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. The laughter was still with him, and it was good to see. I love police officers, and our men in blue have little to laugh about on the job, so a snicker here and there does them good. “Oh, no. She’d have never had a dog like Fluffy.”
“She liked big dogs then, like the killer Dobie?”
“No.”
“Then what?” I couldn’t see what was so funny now.
“The irony of the underappreciated. Like you. Like her. I never told you, but she was like you,” Sam said, and all humor between us came to a screeching halt.
My smile faded. “What do you mean, just like me?”
“A resurrectionist.” Sam removed his sunglasses. I saw his eyes, so I knew he spoke the truth. “That’s why I volunteered for the liaison post with you. I have some experience with it.”
“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled and slugged him in the chest. Touching people gives me too much information about them, but now and then I put up with it if I get to punch someone. Like now.
“What was the point? She was gone already, and I don’t know how to do that stuff.”
“The point was that...well, hell, I don’t know, but I would have liked to have known.”
“She was gone, Dani, years ago.”
I sighed, not satisfied with that explanation. It was as if he had insider information and had kept it from me. “I would have liked to have known, that’s all. Maybe you could have helped me in the beginning. Maybe you could help me now get some things figured out.” I know there are others out there like me, but finding them is not easy. It’s not as though we have an online newsletter or a blog like other, more populous states do. I’m going to have to work on one for New Mexico, because no one else is doing it.
“I don’t know anything about what goes on during the rituals, other than what I’ve seen you do.”
“Didn’t she raise you?” As if that meant he knew everything about her life.
“Yes, but she kept that part of her life very secret when we were kids. It was only by accident that I found out.”
Sam put his glasses back on, and we walked to his car. It was an unmarked police vehicle, and it looked like one. In the dark, no one would know, but in the daylight it screamed cop car. Just needed a cherry on top. The dashboard was outfitted with more technology than a small plane, and the two hundred antennae on it was a dead giveaway. It looked like an insect on steroids. But I got in anyway. I had to unless I wanted to walk back to the office, some forty miles away. I didn’t. “How did you find out?”
“She didn’t think my sisters and I were old enough to understand. Our family and the neighborhood were very superstitious. If there had been any implication of witchcraft in her house, the state would have taken us from her. It’s different now that there are others out there.” He shrugged. “So I did what every kid does. I followed her.”
“So following people has been a lifelong endeavor?” Explains why I didn’t hear him sneak up on me the other day. Bastard.
He didn’t answer that and just gave me a look. “I was about twelve, but looked older, so I could be out on the streets and no one said anything. Back then the courts hadn’t sanctioned resurrections and life-swaps, so it was very underground. Only the family of the victim was present, and the killer of course.”
“You were such a wiseass, even at twelve, weren’t you?” The image I had of him at that age was funny, all legs and feet and not quite grown into his attitude yet.
“Yeah. I was a piece of work. Got into more trouble than I was worth. Until the Rangers, anyway.” He looked away. That’s where his secrets lay, in his past, but here was an opportunity to find out a little more about him.
“Did she have a fit when she found out you had followed her?” I could just imagine. My grandmother would have kicked my ass from here to Sunday.
“Oh, yeah. My ears rang for a week. She could carry on like no one I’ve ever known.” He grinned as if it was a good memory. Having good childhood memories is a sign of a balanced life. “Kinda miss that now.” That was good. We usually have too many bad memories from childhood that are stuck in our brains. I never understood why the bad ones always come through first and the good memories are left behind. It would be nice to have that in reverse. If I’m ever elected Queen of the Universe, that’s the first thing I’m changing. “I had to clean the chicken coop for three months after that.”
“Oh, man.” I pinched my nose shut. “Just the sound of that stinks.” I released my nose with a giggle, then remembered why we were talking about her. “Do you know how she came to have her powers?” I’d heard stories that were different from mine. People who weren’t murdered, but born with the abilities.
“No.”
“I wonder if you could have inherited something from her.” Could this affinity for raising the dead be passed from one generation to the next? Would Sam develop powers of his own? If he hadn’t already, it was unlikely that they would surface now. Dammit.
“I don’t think so.” Sam maneuvered the car through the desert on the dusty, rutted road with casual ease, his long-limbed body relaxed, yet in control. The jiggling of the vehicle over the ruts was about to shake my liver loose, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “There’s never been any impulse for me to do what you do.”
“You have three sisters, right?” Maybe there was some hope in them. Some traits were passed from female to female.
“Yeah.”
“Any of them?”
“Not to my knowledge. They’d have told me.”
“Oh.” It would have been nice to know that there was someone else I knew well who could have helped me.
“Sorry.” He reached out and patted me on the arm once, then returned his hand to the wheel.
“I’m thinking about Roberto’s case. I don’t know if I have what it’s going to take to bring him back. In all of my other cases, I’ve always had intact bodies. Not as far gone as this one is.” Something in me just knew this was going to be one of the toughest cases I’d ever been involved in, emotionally as well as physically. Admitting that to myself, let alone to Sam, is a big step for me. Admitting vulnerabilities only makes you responsible or gets you a weekly date with a therapist.
“Have you checked with the hospital lately? What’s Filberto’s condition?”
“Same. Brain-dead. Waiting on the court order.” Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes it takes days.
“What happens if you can’t bring Roberto back?” He gave me a glance.
That was a good question. A really good one. And one I didn’t know the answer to. I hated admitting that. In the world of nursing you must know the answers for every question. Saying I don’t know isn’t acceptable. It’s no more acceptable to me now than it was then, but I said it anyway. “I don’t know.”
I just hoped we didn’t have to find out. Thankfully, Sam didn’t give me any meaningless reassurance to make me feel better. It wouldn’t, and he knew it.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_0297501c-82f5-5ad1-9093-b53cd0082279)
There are days when the past haunts me entirely too much, and this was one of those days. Being around pregnant women unnerves me. I admit it. I should have no problems dealing with the condition of women who are growing new life inside of them, but I do.
It’s what got me killed.
I hate thinking that I’m weak and vulnerable when I’ve worked very hard to be as tough as I can be. Certain things set me off, and seeing a happily pregnant woman on the arm of her police officer husband is what did it today. This is a joyous time for them, but for me, it does nothing except bring back haunting, hideous memories that still have the power to make me shudder.
After they passed with a happy smile and a wave, I closed the door to my office. Usually, I keep the door open unless I’m consulting, but now, I need some privacy to have my nervous breakdown. In an office that sits in the middle of the police station, there is no such thing as privacy. Or quiet.
One by one, I pulled the horizontal blinds and closed off the windows. Was I hiding? Yes. I’d hide until it’s safe for me to step out again. Until then, the memory of my life in the past overwhelms me in sloshes of emotions that build into pounding waves, and I allow it. Crawling onto the small couch against the wall, I tucked my feet beneath me and clutched a pillow to my middle. Closing my eyes, I let the memory, the horror of it, wash over me. I’ve learned that resisting only puts off the inevitable and gives more power to the pain. If I give it the time it needs now, then life will go on much more quickly.
I had been happily, blissfully, ignorantly, pregnant. My husband hadn’t been as thrilled about it as I had been, but I don’t think men can ever have the same connection to a baby as women do. Just the nature of how we’re put together.
Anyway, my husband, Blake, and I had been headed for divorce when we decided to give it one last go. He’d been carrying on with a woman for several months and had tired of her clingy, demanding ways, so he let her go and went back to his wife, who wasn’t so clingy and demanding. Maybe I should have been and things might have been different, but now, we’ll never know.
So, giving it the old college try at reconciliation, the husband and I had a nice dinner with requisite margaritas, enough that I became a little intoxicated. Okay, a lot intoxicated, but I wasn’t driving, so who cares? And we screwed our brains out all night long. We hadn’t done that since we were dating, so we indulged in an all night bang-a-thon.
And I got pregnant. My family was thrilled because I was finally fulfilling my reproductive obligations inherent to any large family that seemed to want to take over the earth, one generation at a time. The playboy-doctor-husband was not thrilled. Although he said he wanted children someday, to him, someday meant years into the future, when he had a more secure practice, blah, blah, blah. What he really meant was never. He wasn’t the fatherly type who could, or would, be there for his child.
In the old days, T&A’s meant tonsils and adenoids. Now it was tits and asses, making them bigger and smaller in that order. There was serious money to be made in elective plastic surgery, and he was going to make his killing now, then retire to an island in the Caribbean and work on skin cancer late in life. Or something equally brilliant.
As my pregnancy progressed and my belly grew, I was happy. Even though the spousal unit couldn’t be bothered to come to checkups and ultrasounds with me, I was content in knowing that I was growing a new life I could love and cherish. One that would love and cherish me, at least until the teenage years, and then it would be all over for a while.
Although my growing abdomen housed a new life, and that was good, it also threw my center of gravity off, and that was bad. I was in an awkward stage at the end of my third trimester when the doorbell rang and without thinking, I opened it. I’d been shopping for baby things and had taken a load into the house and was ready to return for another, so I was right there by the door. An unfamiliar woman stood there, and the smile fell from my face when I noticed the gun in her hand. She grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me out of the house toward my car with an open back door just a few feet away. I tried to struggle, knowing if I got into my car I was dead. It was the middle of the day and my neighbors all worked, so screaming wasn’t going to help. I had to save myself or die trying.
She clobbered me on the head with something that felt like an anvil, and I collapsed onto the backseat. She shoved my legs in, and away she went with me unconscious in the back. I finally roused, but had no idea where we were or for how long I’d been out. My legs were numb from being folded up in such an awkward position. I had to move, but if I did, she’d know I was awake. I eased my weight up slightly so my legs got some circulation, and they screamed in pain as the blood flow returned.
“Dammit, where is this place?” she grumbled aloud. I heard the shuffling of papers, so maybe she was looking at a map. There was no GPS in my car. If she didn’t know where we were, I wasn’t going to find my way out of there either. Panic as well as my position was making me dizzy.
She turned off the car and got out. As quickly as I could, I shifted to my back. Not a comfortable position when you have a watermelon in your belly, but when your life was on the line, you coped. She opened the back door and reached in. I kicked out with both feet as hard as I could, and she went flying.
I knew I had hurt her, or at least surprised the hell out of her, but I was certain we weren’t done yet. With any luck, she’d left the keys in the ignition, and I could get out of there. I scrambled out of the car as fast as any nine-months-pregnant woman could scramble, which wasn’t too sprightly.
“You’re a dead woman,” she yelled. “Fucking bitch.”
She was on her knees and clutched her front. Hopefully, I’d broken a few ribs. I didn’t know who she was or why she thought kidnapping me was going to improve her life.
“What do you want?” I tried to slide against the car toward the front door.
“You. Dead.”
The words didn’t make sense, but as a nurse, I knew that things many people thought didn’t make sense. She might have been an escaped psych patient who was on a mission from above or listening to the voices in her fillings. Or just off her medications. In any case, keeping her talking and away from me was my first step to survival. “I see, but why? Who are you?”
“You’re the only thing standing between me and Blake.”
Oh, shit. She was his mistress, who was supposed to be a former mistress. And she was freakin’ nuts. Good going, Blake. If I got out of this alive, I was going to put certain of his body parts in the blender.
“Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing?” Anger overcame fear for a moment.
“Blake went back to you.” The idea that Blake was married to me seemed to have escaped her. “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant, none of this would be happening.”
Oh, yeah. As if this was my fault. Another sign of pathological nuttiness. Blame everyone else for your personal failures.
“Now, just a damned minute. I have the right to sleep with my own husband. You are the one who doesn’t.” This was pissing me off. Now that I could see what was going on, I was damned mad and some of my fear wore off, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“We were so good together,” she said with a wistful tone to her voice. “You should have seen us.” She spoke to me as if we were girlfriends sharing secrets. Definite lack of reality attachment.
“I would prefer not to.” I didn’t need anything else to make me nauseated.
“Bitch.” She reached for a large knife on the ground beside her and dove for me. I ducked, but that’s hard to do with a big, fat belly. The knife missed me, but the impact of her body against mine thumped me between her and the car. The air went out of my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe. A pregnant woman has a hard time breathing to begin with. When one is body-slammed by an insane woman, it’s all over.
We collapsed into a heap on the ground, and she clobbered me again. Back then, I didn’t know how to fight. Every woman ought to know how to defend herself, and this was one reason why.
When I woke up there was a knife sticking out of my stomach. I screamed, not certain if it was from pain or from the sight of the butcher knife protruding from my body.
The woman obviously intended to cut my baby out of me.
“Stop!” I reached out to the knife. Adrenaline and the heat of a white anger so deep I felt it in my bones surged through my marrow. I was going to remove that thing and stick it into her. I was not going to die. I was not going to lose my baby to this psychopath.
Unfortunately, I did all of that.
She reached the knife before I did and pulled it toward her, my left. “I’m going to take your baby and watch you bleed to death.” She laughed, as if she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”
Clenching my teeth against the pain that penetrated every cell of my body, I felt as if I were on fire and there was nothing I could do about it. Pushing up with a hand beneath my hips, I bore the weight of my body on my left hand and reached for the knife with my right. Breathing was next to impossible, and my chest burned with the need for air. I had to win, I had to win. This woman was going to kill me and steal my child. “No.” It’s all I could manage. “No.” She was not going to win. I would not let her win.
Digging deep into a place I didn’t know existed within me, I grabbed her hand on the knife and pushed with everything I had in me. Although I’d never hurt anyone before, I was going to kill this woman.
Somehow I got to my knees with her trying to shove the blade deeper into my side. In the movies there always seems to be a lot of noise in fight scenes, but it was eerily silent. Only the groans of pitting my strength against hers broke the night.
Abruptly, she let go, and stood, her breath coming in and out of her in harsh gasps. “You bitch!” Then, she kicked me in the stomach, and I crashed to the ground, the pain incapacitating me. Stars and bright lights swam in front of my eyes and seemed as though they came from all around us. Then she tackled me and straddled my body, her knees forcing my hands down, trapping them at my sides. My strength was fading. I knew it and so did she.
She grabbed the knife with both hands and pulled, spilling everything inside me out onto the ground. A scream echoed off the canyon walls, and I realized it was mine.
“Come here, little one. You’re so precious,” she said in a sweet voice as she searched for my baby.
“No.” Reaching up with one hand, I tried to save him, but I was too weak. My vision blurred, and I was certain shock was overtaking me. Shock isn’t such a bad thing. It keeps us from remembering the horrors that are happening to us, and at the moment I welcomed it.
She extricated the baby, and held it up. It wasn’t moving and it was purple. “Oh, that’s right. I have to cut the cord before it will breathe.” Talking to herself, she retrieved her knife, slicing through the umbilical cord. Blood spurted, then she looked at me, as if I had the answer to the stupid thing she had done. “It’s bleeding. Why won’t it stop bleeding?”
I looked at my limp baby that she held out. I could see that it was a boy, and tears pricked my eyes. It wouldn’t have mattered to me. I would have loved a girl just as much. She’d cut the cord close to the abdomen and hadn’t tied it off. Now there was nothing left. If the baby could have survived, it would surely now die. It was going to bleed to death, just like me. “Didn’t tie...the cord.” It was all I could manage as tears for him and for me closed off my throat.
She looked down at the baby and tears flooded her eyes. “Dammit! I worked so hard on this. And now, just look at the mess it is.”
My legs went numb, and I knew my end was near. I felt my breathing become labored.
She’d won after all. She laid the baby down beside me, wiped her hands on her jeans, got into my car and drove away, leaving us alone in the darkening desert. I had only moments left.
Pulling the baby toward me, I cuddled him as best I could, tucking the little head under my chin, and I let my tears flow. I sobbed and my baby fell out of my arms.
A light, the brightness of which I’ve never seen, appeared a few feet away. It wasn’t a person, or an angel, though it could have been. I knew I was dying, and who knew what was coming to get me? I wasn’t particularly religious. At least until that moment. For a second, I reconsidered what I knew about religion.
And then I took a breath, and it sighed out of me for the last time.
“Come, child.” The other-sider, for that’s what I have come to know it as, reached out to me. How I knew it was from beyond, I don’t know, but I realized it was trying to communicate with me, even though no words were spoken aloud. All I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears.
“No.” From above my body, I looked down at the baby, who had never begun to live, and touched it with one finger. I wanted to stay with him. He should go with me.
“He is gone to the source now. Your time here is not finished.”
“Yes it is.” It was. I knew it. I’d accepted it. Closing my eyes, I waited to be taken too. Waited for that irresistible pull from beyond I had heard about.
“You will go back. The call for help has gone out, and you will be saved.”
Saved? How could I be? Did it not see the condition of my body? It was too late now. “No.” I looked down at the mess that had been my body. It was almost beyond recognition. I don’t know if I said it out loud, but I thought it and the other-sider heard me. My condition was beyond saving.
The being moved toward me, and the glow of it burned through my eyelids and into my brain. I wanted to let go, to leave this plane of existence, but couldn’t. Something was drawing me back inside. I felt a pop in my physical body. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it was as if someone or something had yanked on me, only I felt it at a visceral level. I had returned.
I began to glow, just like the other-sider. The life force had returned to my body, not floating around as it had been moments ago.
“You will return. You will survive, and you will right the wrongs committed against you, against humanity, and against the universe.”
“Who do you think I am, Wonder Woman?” I managed to ask with my mind. Something was changing, something was reforming inside me. I could feel it. Reaching down, I placed my hand onto my abdomen and realized all was not as it had been. Things were returning to my body that had just been on the ground. I didn’t want to think about infection or how much dirt was coating my internal organs. Should I survive the injuries, I’d die of septicemia for sure. No antibiotic could cure this.
“You are indeed a wonder. Each step of your life has prepared you for this moment. Your life-threatening wounds are repaired, and you will fully heal, be stronger than you ever were. You will return to your life, gifted as no other.” The light that I had thought was bright went nuclear. In that moment, that nanosecond, my life was changed, whether I wanted it to or not.
I screamed from the deepest part of me, and the sound of it echoed off the canyon walls. The smell of wood fires and the murmur of my ancestors crowded my mind. I had been gifted with knowledge from the ancients, and the power of justice. Just as I had come back from the dead, I would assist others to return, to restore the balance of the universe.
Now, I pulled myself out of the musing at the sound of a scuffle outside my door. In a police station, there is always a scuffle of some sort going on.
The clock face slowly came into focus, and I decided my day was over. Though it was early, four o’clock or so, I was whipped. Nothing else was going to get done today.
I grabbed my bag and stood just as the door opened.
“You look like someone beat you with a rock,” Sam said. Charming as ever. Where was that damned petrified wood? I could use it about now.
“Yeah, I feel like it, too.” Shouldering my bag, I avoided looking into his eyes and shoved my shades on. They protected me somewhat, but he was so friggin’ observant that nothing got past him. Damn cops anyway.
“I’m buying,” he said and stepped sideways in the doorway to let me pass.
That meant I had to touch him with my body and slide intimately against him, smell that cologne of his that always made me want to forget my mission and lick my way from one end of his body to the other. Right now, I was too tired, and tried not to sense the way his body felt, the firmness of his chest and abs as I slithered past him. “You coulda moved.” I threw a glare over my shoulder. With the sunglasses on, it was less effective. Sam wasn’t very susceptible to my glares anyway, which pissed me off. I wasn’t in the mood, so he was on his own for chow.
“Coulda.” He fell into step beside me. “Garduno’s?”
It was the one word I couldn’t resist. My mouth began to water in anticipation. Guacamole, margaritas and meat. “You’re such a bastard,” I said and hung my head. I was defeated already. My stomach ruled my life, and he knew it.
“I am, but that’s why you like me.” With his hand on the middle of my back, he gave me a playful shove toward the main doors. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
In less than thirty minutes I was surrounded by the things I loved and needed to get through the day: an excellent margarita, a flat-iron steak, rare, and a hot-blooded man across the table. It was a feast for the taste buds and the eyes. Okay, so I didn’t really need the margarita to get through the day, but it was a nice touch at the end of a sucky one. And I really, really didn’t need the hot-blooded man across the table from me, but boy, the eye-candy factor was too hard to resist sometimes. He was buying me dinner, after all. Who could argue with that?
I know Sam was interested in me in a way I couldn’t return. My life was so complicated, it was all I could do to get through it. I didn’t need any more complications. So for the moment, I just sat there and let him ogle my body, enjoying the rush of it. I knew he wanted to, and if this was the only control I had over a man, I had to take it. Gave me a shiver just thinking about what it would be like to have Sam naked and pressed against me. I gulped my frozen-no-salt-on-the-rim drink, trying to cool off my brain and the burn in my crotch. Didn’t work though. Next time I was having salt. I didn’t care what my blood pressure did.
Fortunately, our orders arrived quickly and I grabbed my knife, ready to stab it into anything that didn’t move.
“You’re the only woman I know who likes her steak bloodier than mine.” Sam cut into his meal.
“I feel so feminine and dainty when you say things like that.” Me? Ha. Not even on a good day. After I was resurrected, I burned every feminine thing I owned. Except for that one pair of pretty pink thongs with a matching bra. Someday...
“We never finished our conversation the other day,” Sam said.
Uh, what conversation? We had so many that got interrupted with phone calls and firearms that I couldn’t keep track. Always on the move, always busy doing something for the station or my office, we never seemed to have a moment to allow our brains to catch up. “Which conversation was that?”
“About my grandmother and her job in the underground.”
I had to laugh. That’s certainly one way of putting it. “Yeah.” I looked at Sam. I liked the way his smile sort of slid over his face slowly just then. The man has a face that isn’t pretty or handsome, but it is compelling. His hair is that dark, dark black that Latin men have, and his is cut very short. Not quite a buzz, but a little longer. He is clean shaven, but I’ve seen pictures of him with a ’stache, and it’s nice, too. The most compelling part of his face is his eyes, which sort of pull everything together and make it come alive. His eyes were the shade of espresso, dark and fathomless, eyes you could get lost in. Kinda like now.
“Dani?” He waved his hand in front of my face, bringing me back to the present. Doh!
How embarrassing. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat and speared a piece of grilled jalapeño. Maybe setting my mouth on fire would keep me focused. “Didn’t mean to stare.”
“No problem. You just seemed lost for a second.” The espresso in his eyes percolated a little warmer.
Yeah, I was lost. In his eyes. It’s that damned cologne he wears. I swear there’s some sort of chemical in it that puts me in a trance. Kinda like catnip for women. Ugh. Back to the convo at hand.
“We were talking about your grandmother and Roberto’s case the other day, weren’t we?” Back on track. That’s where I feel best, with a job in front of me, a purpose and a mission to accomplish, not just drifting around like those in the nebula.
“Is there another resurrectionist who can help you?”
Sadly, no. “Not right now. I know a few, but not well enough to step into this kind of job.” Something occurred to me, though. Something I’ve been doing just to get the events of the day out of my brain is something Sam’s grandmother may have done. I have a computer and the internet, but she had access only to books and papers. I frowned and leaned closer to him across the table. Intent. Assistance might come from the other side in a different form. “Did your grandmother keep any records, any sort of journals, papers, anything about her work? I write some things, keep a journal of sorts, so it clears my brain and records some of what I do in the rituals. She might have done the same thing.” That would be a huge bonus, to have information from such a source. I never know if the internet information is legit.
Sam thought a minute, then frowned. “If she did, I don’t know of any, but my sisters might.”
“She could have had a journal she kept hidden, if, as you say, she was at risk of being accused of witchcraft.” If nothing else, I had to have a little hope.
“That’s true. She had so much stuff though, something like that might have been overlooked. She was a Depression-era survivor, so she never threw anything away.” My grandmother had also survived the Great Depression, and she has a garage full of toilet paper and plastic water jugs. The two things she can’t live without. Oh, and soap, too.
“Would you ask your sisters if they found anything like that?” Desperation led me to ask Sam for such a favor. The weight of it got to me sometimes, even with my jovial outlook on life. Even if his abuela was dead, at least I might connect to her through her writings. Burton might be helpful, but he’s unreliable and difficult to contact. Sam, I know I can count on, no matter what it is. He is a man who keeps his word, keeps promises he makes. I just didn’t know why.
“Sure.” He searched my eyes, and I wondered if they had returned to their normal color. After eating, my need for protein and blood is satisfied, and externally, I look normal again. Hesitating, he reached out and placed his hand over mine. He knows that touching is difficult for me. It isn’t something I can easily control, and I can get sucked into the feelings of the person I’m touching. Occupational hazard. But right then, it was simply nice. “I’ll help you any way I can. Sometimes you seem so lonely in what you do, that it takes so much out of you.”
There was no other way to acknowledge that very astute observation. “I am, and it does.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_6847179d-b3d2-5dc4-8c33-b6e0dbffb299)
Two days passed and the resurrection order finally came in. We were given the go-ahead to perform the life-swap between Roberto and Filberto. I was a nervous wreck. I wasn’t certain I had what it was going to take to make the swap successful. I had no one except myself and Sam to rely on. I kept dreaming of the movie The Fly, where the scientist tried transporting an animal and it came through inside out. Even for me that’s got a high ick-factor.
Burton was no help. The bastard. Sometimes he just annoyed the hell out of me and took the teenager persona entirely too far. He’s involved in a skateboard competition today and can’t be bothered. Dude. I hope he leaves some skin on the sidewalk.
I was on my own. Again. I should be used to it by now, but sometimes, the times I felt most vulnerable, were the times I needed someone, and there simply was no one except Sam, and he could do only so much.
Details, details, details. Sometimes I thought I was going to get sucked into my phone, ear first, as I made arrangements to have Roberto’s remains thawed and prepared to travel to the hospital. Then all the hoops I had to jump through at the hospital, I felt like a tiger leaping through flaming hoops and getting my tail singed. Having worked in the hospital system, I should have been used to the flak, but it continues to amaze me that any patient walks out of the hospital alive, because so much documentation has to be done first. Oy!
If I had more time, I’d sick my Korean grandmother, Suzie, on them. She’d get some results pretty damned quick. She’s small, but she can be very mean. Maybe that’s where I got some of my enhanced traits from. I’m descended from several mixed cultures, of Anglo, Mexican, East Indian, with a little Korean for extra spice. That’s makes me perfect for this wonderful melting pot city of Albuquerque. Here, no one sticks out because there are so many different cultures mingled together. It’s great. Don’t get me started about the unbelievable variety of food here. If I didn’t take kickboxing three nights a week, I’d have an ass as big as a sports car.
Finally, things were moving in the right direction, and I called Roberto’s parents.
“Now, I know you’re going to want to have the whole family there for the ceremony.” People reacted better to that word than ritual. Too many ghosts and references to the occult regarding the word ritual, even though it’s a bunch of crap. “It would be better if everyone stayed at your house. Just you and Julio come to the hospital. Normally, it would be different, but we have to obey the hospital rules while we’re there.”
“Sure, I understand. It will just be us.”
I heard the tears in Juanita’s voice, the questions that she hadn’t asked. This woman’s happiness rested on my shoulders, and disappointing her would be painful to both of us. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to reassure myself, as well. “Things will turn out the way they’re supposed to.” I hoped that The Dark entity was going to take a powder tonight. The ritual was going to be difficult enough without adding an unknown threat to the scenario. This was so out of my comfort zone, I didn’t really want to think about it.
“My son wasn’t supposed to die.” She burst into tears, and I felt the burn of them on the back of my tongue, but forced them down. I’d shed my tears long ago.
“I know.” I know. Believe me, I know.
After ending the call, I headed out to the parking lot. I had to go home for a while, gather energy, gird my loins and do all the stuff it takes to perform a ritual. The sun was just beginning to head off the edge of the horizon, so I watched for a second or two as the sky turned a deep peach, frosted with magenta hues, as if someone had dragged a spoon through melting sorbet. Lovely. I wish I could breathe those colors inside myself and feel what it’s like to be so alive on the inside that the hues are deep enough for others to see on the outside.
* * *
When I arrived later, there were fifty people in the hallway outside the ICU waiting room. Could no one follow directions? I was surprised security hadn’t tossed out the lot of them.
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Sierra Woods
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: This resurrectionist needs his protection!Dani is tough…even the grave couldn’t keep her down. Ever since mysterious beings brought her back from her tragic murder, she’s been using her newfound powers to restore justice. It’s dangerous work and backup doesn’t hurt – especially when it’s from hunky cop Sam Lopez.There’s only one catch: after what her ex-husband did, Dani can never trust another man. She’ll just have to keep ignoring the heat sizzling between them. But as a great evil begins to rise, Dani and Sam must get closer than they’ve ever been before.