Halfway to the Grave

FOUR

H ARD TRAINING. THOSE WERE THE WORDS HE used to describe the brutal, agonizing, death-defying ordeals even the military wouldn’t inflict on their most hardened troops.

Bones ran me through the forest at speeds cars couldn’t sustain. I stumbled over fallen trees, rocks, roots, and natural potholes until I was too exhausted to even vomit. Passing out didn’t excuse me from my tasks, either. He’d simply keep dousing icy water on my face until I came to again. I practiced throwing knives until my knuckles cracked and bled. His response? To uncaringly toss me some Neosporin and tell me not to get it on my palms or it would ruin my grip. His version of weight lifting? Hefting stone boulders repeatedly, gradually increasing their size and density. StairMaster? That would be climbing up the cave inclines with large rocks strapped to my back.

After one week, I threw off all of his artificial impediments and refused to go farther, stating had I known his intentions beforehand I would have gladly chosen death. Bones just smiled at me with his fangs extended and told me to prove it. Seeing that he was serious, I reapplied my outfittings and trudged wearily onward.

By far, though, the most grueling activity was up close with him. He stretched my limbs until tears poured down my face, chiding me all the while for my lack of flexibility. Then, during our hand-to-hand combat, he’d knock me into a state of unconsciousness that all the icy water in the world couldn’t revive. I would wake up with the taste of his blood in my mouth, just to repeat the procedure all over again. To say I fantasized about killing him every second of every day was an understatement. Yet I got better, I had no choice. With Bones, it was either improve or die.

My first indication of increased stamina came after my second week of training. Bones and I fought and I actually didn’t pass out. He still beat me soundly, but I remained conscious throughout. It was a mixed blessing. I had my dignity from not going night-night in the middle of our battle, but then was awake when he fed me his blood.

“Disgusting,” I spat after being cajoled and then threatened into putting his bloody finger in my mouth. “How can you things live off that?”

The words left my lips without forethought, as had many before them.

“Necessity is the mother of all appetites. What you need in order to survive, you learn to love,” he replied shortly.

“All this blood better not turn me into a vampire. That was not our deal.”

I felt uncomfortable arguing with his finger jammed in my mouth, and I moved my head backward until it slid wetly out. It was almost a sexual gesture. I blushed as soon as the thought flitted through my mind. He caught the flush, of course. No doubt the reason behind it as well, but just wiped his hand on his shirt.

“Trust me, luv, you aren’t having nearly enough blood to turn you into a vampire. Since you fret about it all the time, however, I’ll tell you how it works. First, I’d have to drain you to the very point of death. There’s a trick to that, taking enough blood without taking too much. Then, stuffed full of your blood, I’d open my artery for you and let you drink it right back out of me. All of it, and then some. There’s a trick to that, too. You have to be strong to make other vampires, or your would-be protégée sucks you dry and kills you while he or she is changing. New vampires are harder to get off an artery than a starving babe off a juicy teat. These measly drops of blood I’m feeding you aren’t doing more than healing your injuries. They’re probably not even enough to enhance your strength. Now, will you stop griping every time you have to lick a few bits off my pieces?”

That really caused me to color at the visual that skipped across my subconscious. Seeing it, he ran an aggravated hand through his hair.

“Now, that’s another thing you have to stop doing. You turn red as a sunset at the slightest hint of innuendo. You need to be playing the part of an aggressive, horny woman! No bloke’s going to believe that when he says boo and you faint from embarrassment. Your virginity’s going to get you killed.”

“I’m not a virgin,” I countered, and then nearly did faint as predicted.

His dark brows went up. I turned away, sputtering, “Can we change the subject, please? We’re not girlfriends at a slumber party. I don’t want to be discussing this with you.”

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, ignoring my plea. “Kitten’s catted around, has she? The way you act, I’m surprised. Chap waiting patiently for you to finish your training? Must be quite a lad, to get you all hot and bothered. Again, didn’t peg you for the experienced type, but then again, you did offer me a taste when we first met. Makes me wonder now if you planned on staking me before or after you got your itch scratched. What about the other vampires? Did they die with a smile on their-”

I slapped him. Or tried to. He caught my wrist and held it, and caught the other one when I whipped my left palm toward his cheek.

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, I’ve heard enough of that crap growing up. Just because my mother had me out of wedlock, our stupid old-fashioned neighbors thought that made her a slut, and me, too, by default. And not that it’s any of your business, since you’ve probably raped villages full of women, but I’ve only been with one person. He dropped me like a bad habit right afterwards, so that was enough to cure me of any desire I had to duplicate the sexual escapades of my peers. Now, I mean it, I don’t want to talk about this again!”

I was panting in pent-up fury over the wound he’d unknowingly ripped open. Bones released my wrists, and I rubbed them where his fingers had dug into my skin.

“Kitten,” he began in a conciliatory tone, “I apologize. But just because your ignorant neighbors took their prejudice out on you, or some pimply-faced teenager pulled a one-nighter-”

“Stop it,” I interrupted, terrified I was going to cry. “Just stop it. I can do the job, I can fake sexy, whatever. But we are not discussing this.”

“Look, luv-” he tried again.

“Bite me,” I snapped, and walked off.

For once, he didn’t offer to take me up on the invitation, and he didn’t follow me.

At the start of the fourth week, Bones announced we were taking a field trip. Of course, it wasn’t an afternoon jaunt to the local museum. No, he had me driving along a narrow road at midnight with no idea where we were headed. He’d given me the barest direction-turn here, turn there, etc.-and I was nervous. We were in a very rural area, no streetlights along the road. If you wanted to suck someone’s neck dry and then dump the body, this would be an ideal place.

Then again, if he’d wanted to suck my neck dry and dump my body, the cave was a pretty ideal place as well. Considering all the times I’d been unconscious after our training bouts, he could have dined on me before if he’d wanted to. I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. Hell, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him when I was awake. I had yet to win a single round between us, to my dismay. Bones was so damned strong and fast, fighting against him was like trying to put a leash on a lightning bolt.

“Turn left here,” Bones said, jarring me from my thoughts.

I read the name on the sign. Peach Tree Road. It didn’t look like it led anywhere.

“You know, partner,” I said as I made the turn, “you’re being very secretive. When are you going to tell me what this field trip is about? I take it you didn’t just get a sudden urge to go cow tipping.”

He snorted. “No, can’t say that I did. I need some information from a man who lives out here.”

The way he said it made it sound like the person wouldn’t be happy to see him. “Look, I refuse to be a part of killing any humans, so if you think you’re going to interrogate this guy and then bury him, you’re wrong.”

I expected Bones to challenge me or get angry, but he started to laugh.

“I’m serious!” I said, stomping on the brakes for emphasis.

“You’ll get the joke soon enough, luv,” he replied. “But let me set your mind at ease. For one, I promise not to lay a single hand on the fellow, and for another, you’ll be the one talking to him.”

That surprised me. I didn’t even know who the guy was, let alone what questions to ask.

An eyebrow arched at me. “Will we be driving again anytime soon?”

Oh. I let off the brake and hit the gas, jolting the truck forward. “Do I get any more details than that? Like, some background on him and what you want to know?”

“Of course. Winston Gallagher was a railway worker back in the sixties. He also had a side business of making moonshine. One day, a fellow bought one of Winston’s products and then was found dead with it the next day. Winston might have mistaken the alcohol content for that batch, or the sot drank too much. Either way, it all ended the same. Winston was found guilty of murder and condemned to die.”

“That’s outrageous!” I exclaimed. “With no motive or proof of malice aforethought?”

“’Fraid the judge, John Simms, wasn’t big on the idea of innocent until proven guilty. He also doubled as the executioner. Right before Simms hanged him, however, Winston swore he’d never let him have another night’s peace. And since that day, he never has.”

“He hung him?” I repeated. “The man you want me to speak to?”

“Pull over at that no trespassing sign, Kitten,” Bones directed. I did, my mouth still open in disbelief. “Winston won’t speak to me, since our kinds don’t get along. He’ll talk to you, though. But I warn you, he’s about as cheerful as you currently are.”

“What part of this am I not understanding?” My tone was waspish. Bitchy, me? “Did you or did you not say that judge hanged him?”

“Swung him right from the tree jutting over that cliff,” Bones affirmed. “If you look, you can still see rope marks in it. A good many people lost their lives on that wood, but don’t bother speaking to any one of them. They’re residual. Winston’s not.”

I picked my words carefully. “Are you telling me Winston’s…a ghost?”

“Ghost, specter, phantom, take your pick. What’s most important is he’s sentient, and that’s rare. Most spooks are only replays of their former selves. Not able to interact, just doing the same thing over and over, like a record stuck on a turntable. Blimey, I’m dating myself; no one uses records anymore. Point is, Winston was so mad when he died, part of his consciousness stayed on. It’s also due to location. Ohio has a thinner membrane for separating the natural from the supernatural, so it’s easier for a soul to stay behind instead of crossing over. This particular area’s like a homing beacon. Five cemeteries forming a pentagram-really, what were they thinking? It’s a road map for spirits, is what it is. Thanks to your bloodline, you should be able to see them, whereas most humans can’t. You should also be able to feel them by now. Their energy’s like a voltage in the air.”

He was right. I’d felt an invisible hum as soon as I’d turned onto this road, but I thought maybe my leg had fallen asleep or something.

“What kind of information could a vampire possibly want from a ghost?”

“Names,” Bones said succinctly. “I want Winston to give you the names of any young girls that have recently died around these parts. Don’t let him tell you he doesn’t know, either-and I’m only interested in deaths by unnatural causes. No car accidents or diseases.”

He didn’t look like he was kidding, but I had to ask. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Bones made a noise that was almost a sigh. “I wish it were, but it isn’t.”

“You’re serious? You want me to go to a cemetery and ask a ghost about dead girls?”

“Come, now, Kitten, is it really so hard for you to believe in ghosts? You’re half vampire, after all. I wouldn’t think ghosts would be such a stretch of your imagination.”

Put like that, he had a very good point. “And ghosts don’t like vampires, so I guess I shouldn’t mention my mixed lineage. Do I get to know why ghosts don’t like vampires, by the way?”

“They’re jealous, since we’re as dead as they are, but we can do as we please while they’re forever stuck as a hazy apparition. Makes them right cranky most of the time, which reminds me…” Bones handed me a bottle of something clear. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

I held it up and swished the liquid around. “What is it? Holy water?”

He laughed. “For Winston it is. That’s white lightning. Pure moonshine, luv. Simms Cemetery is right past that line of trees, and you might have to bang about a bit to get Winston’s attention. Ghosts tend to nap frequently, but once you’ve got him up, be sure to show him that bottle. He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go stomping through a graveyard brandishing a bottle of booze to rouse an unrestful spirit so that I can interrogate him?”

“That’s it. And don’t forget this. Pen and paper. Make sure to write down the names and ages of every girl Winston tells you about. If he can include how they died as well, so much the better.”

“I should refuse,” I muttered. “Because interrogating a ghost was not part of our agreement.”

“If I’m right, this information will lead to a group of vampires, and hunting vampires is part of our agreement, isn’t it?”

I just shook my head as Bones gave me the pen, a small spiral notepad, and the bottle of illegal liquor. A vampire was having me go out and wake the dead. Guess it proved I wasn’t psychic, because if someone had told me four weeks ago that I’d be doing this, I would never have believed it.

Simms Cemetery at midnight wasn’t a soothing place. It had been hidden from the road by thick bushes, trees, and that rocky cliff. True to Bones’s description, a tree still protruded over the precipice, and there was also a large evergreen in the midst of the dilapidated headstones. Seeing some of the dates clarified his earlier comment about Winston being a railway worker in the sixties. He’d meant the 1860s. Not this past century.

A figure behind me made me whirl with a little scream, my hand whipping out a knife.

“Are you all right?” Bones immediately called out. He was waiting out of sight beyond the cemetery, with the explanation that this way none of the dead dead would see him. The thought of vampires and ghosts not getting along was just too weird. Even in the afterlife, different species still couldn’t play nice?

“Yeah…” I said after a beat. “It was nothing.”

It wasn’t, in fact, but it didn’t require help. A hooded, shadowy form swept past me, literally floating over the cold earth. It went to the edge of the cliff and then disappeared with a faint sound, like a whispered scream. I watched in fascination as moments later it returned out of nowhere and walked the same path, culminating with another ghostly wail.

To my left, the indistinct outline of a woman was bent over another headstone, sobbing. Her clothing wasn’t of this era, from the hazy glimpses I could catch of it, and then she, too, faded into nothingness. For a few minutes I waited, and then her outline blurred into view again. Soft, almost inaudible cries came from her until they, and she too, vanished once more.

A record stuck on a turntable, I thought with dark appreciation. Yeah, Bones had given a pretty accurate description of it.

In the corner of the cemetery, there was a headstone with barely visible etched letters, but I saw a w and a t in the first name, while the last one started with a g.

“Winston Gallagher!” I called loudly, rapping on the frigid stone for emphasis. “Come on out!”

Nothing. A breeze made me tighten my jacket while I shuffled my feet and waited.

“Knock, knock, who’s there?” I said next, driven to absurdity by what I was doing.

Something moved at the edge of the trees behind me. Not the cloaked phantom, who was still traveling the same unaltered path, but almost a fuzzy shadow. Maybe it was just the bushes rustling in the wind. I returned my attention to the grave at my feet.

“Oh, Winsssttonnnnn…” I cooed, fingering the bottle inside my jacket. “I’ve got something for youuuu!”

“Cursed, insolent warm baggage,” a voice slithered on the air. “Let’s see how fast she can run.”

I stiffened. That didn’t sound like any person I’d heard before! The air in my vicinity got colder all at once even as I turned toward that voice. The shadow I’d previously observed stretched and changed, taking form, revealing a male in his fifties with a barrellike belly, squinting eyes, brown hair overrun with gray, and untrimmed whiskers.

“Hear that, do you?” Another odd keening came out of him, eerily echoing. He shimmered for a second, and then the leaves near where he hovered scattered in a burst of concentrated air.

“Winston Gallagher?” I asked.

The ghost actually looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone behind him.

I put more stress into it. “Well?”

“She can’t see me…” he said, presumably to himself.

“The hell I can’t!” I marched over in relief, anxious to get out of this creepy place. “Is that your headstone? If the answer’s yes, then tonight’s your lucky night.”

Those squinty eyes narrowed further. “You can see me?”

Was he this thick when he was alive? I wondered irreverently. “Yeah, I see dead people. Who knew? Now let’s talk. I’m looking for some newly deceaseds, and I heard you could help.”

It was almost funny to watch those transparent features change from incredulity to belligerence. He didn’t have facial muscles anymore, needless to say. Was it just the memory of them that made his scowl form?

“Get out of here or else the grave will swallow you and you’ll never leave!”

Boy, did he make it sound intimidating. If he had anything to threaten me with, I’d have been concerned.

“I’m not afraid of the grave; I was born half in it. But if you want me to get out of here”-I turned as if to go-“fine, but that means I’ll just have to throw this in the nearest trash can.”

Out of my jacket came the clear bottle with the lightning bolt. I almost laughed when his eyes fastened on it as though they were magically welded. This had to be Winston, all right.

“Whattt’ssss that you’ve got there, mistress?”

He drew the first word out in a lustful hiss. I popped the cork, waving it under where his nose appeared to be.

“Moonshine, my friend.”

I was still uncertain how Bones thought I was supposed to bribe him with this. Pour some on his grave? Hold the bottle inside his disembodied form? Or splash him with it?

Winston made another keening noise that would have chilled anyone near enough to hear it.

“Please, mistress!” Gone was his hostile tone, replaced instead with one of desperation. “Please, drink it. Drink it!”

“Me?” I gaped. “I don’t want any!”

“Oh, let me taste it through you, please!” he begged.

Taste it through me. Now I knew why Bones hadn’t mentioned how to entice Winston before. That’s what I got for trusting a vampire even in the littlest thing! I gave the ghost an irritable look while promising myself revenge on a certain pale-skinned, room-temperature creature of the night.

“Fine. I’ll drink some, but then you’re going to give me names of young girls who’ve died around here. No car accidents or diseases, either. Murders only.”

“Read the paper, mistress, why do you need me for that?” he barked. “Now drink the ’shine!”

I was so not in the mood to be pushed around by another dead person. “Guess I’ve caught you on a bad night,” I said pleasantly. “I’ll just leave you alone and be on my way…”

“Samantha King, seventeen years old, passed last night after being bled to death!” he trumpeted. “Please!”

I didn’t even have to ask for him to specify a cause of death. He must want that liquor real bad. I wrote the specifics down on my notepad and then tipped the bottle to my mouth.

“Mother of God!” I choked moments later, hardly noticing Winston’s entire form diving through my throat like he’d been shot from a gun. “Arghh! That tastes like kerosene!”

“Oh, the sweetness!” was his enraptured reply as he came out the other side of my neck. “Yessss! Give me more!”

I was still coughing, and my throat burned. Whether that was from the liquor or the ghost was anyone’s guess.

“Another name,” I managed to get out. “Then I’ll have more.”

Winston didn’t need to be told twice any longer. “Violet Perkins, age twenty-two, died last Thursday of strangulation. Cried the whole way up.”

He didn’t sound particularly sad for her. A hand waved impatiently at me, its edges blurry. “Go on!”

One deep breath later and more moonshine went down the hatch. I coughed just as much as before, my eyes watering.

“Why would anyone pay for this swill?” I gasped when I came up for air. My throat was almost throbbing when Winston exited it and he floated back in front of me.

“Thought you’d taken my ’shine from me forever, didn’t you, Simms?” Winston shouted at the passing hooded phantom. It didn’t react. “Well, look who’s drinking while you’re condemned to eternally wander off that cliff! This nip’s for you, old John! Carmen Johnson, twenty-seven, bled to death ten days ago. Drink, mistress! And this time, swallow like a woman, not like a gurgling babe!”

I regarded him with amazement. Out of all things, liquor seemed to be what he missed the most. “You’re dead and you’re still an alcoholic. That’s so dysfunctional.”

“A bargain’s a bargain!” he belted. “Drink!”

“Prick,” I muttered under my breath as I eyed the bottle unhappily. This stuff made gin taste like sugar water in comparison. You’re going to get Bones back for this, I swore to myself. And not just with a silver stake. That’s too good for him.

Twenty minutes later, my notepad had thirteen more names on it, the bottle was empty, and I was swaying on my feet. If I wasn’t so dizzy, I’d have been amazed at all the girls who’d been murdered the past couple months. Hadn’t the new governor just been bragging on TV about how the crime rate was way down? The names on my list sure seemed to indicate otherwise. Tell those poor girls the crime rate was down, I’d bet they’d all disagree.

Winston lay on the ground, his hands over his belly, and when I let out an extended burp, he smiled as though it had relieved his diaphragm also.

“Ah, mistress, you’re an angel. Sure there’s not a drop left? I might have remembered one more person…”

“Up yours,” I said rudely with another belch. “It’s empty. You should tell me the name anyway, after making me drink all that sewage.”

Winston gave me a devious smile. “Come back with a full bottle and I will.”

“Selfish spook,” I mumbled, and staggered away.

I’d made it a few feet when I felt that distinct pins-and-needles sensation again, only this time it wasn’t in my throat.

“Hey!”

I looked down in time to see Winston’s grinning, transparent form fly out of my pants. He was chuckling even as I smacked at myself and hopped up and down furiously.

“Drunken filthy pig!” I spat. “Bastard!”

“And a good eve’in’ to you, too, mistress!” he called out, his edges starting to blur and fade. “Come back soon!”

“I hope worms shit on your corpse!” was my reply. A ghost had just gotten to third base with me. Could I sink any lower?

Bones came out from behind the bushes about fifty yards away. “What happened, Kitten?”

“You! You tricked me! I never want to see you or that bottle of liquid arsenic again!”

And I chucked the empty moonshine jug at him. Or tried to. It missed him by a dozen feet.

He picked it up in astonishment. “You drank the whole bloody thing? You were only supposed to have a few sips!”

“Did you say that? Did you?” He reached me just as I felt the ground tip. “Didn’t say anything. I’ve got those names, so that’s all that matters, but you men…you’re all alike. Alive, dead, undead-all perverts! I had a drunken pervert in my pants! Do you know how unsanitary that is?”

Bones held me upright. I would have protested, but I couldn’t remember how to. “What are you saying?”

“Winston poltergeisted my panties, that’s what!” I announced with a loud hiccup.

“Why, you scurvy, lecherous spook!” Bones yelled in the direction of the cemetery. “If my pipes still worked, I’d go right back there and piss on your grave!”

I thought I heard laughter. Or maybe it was just the wind.

“Forget it.” I tugged on his jacket, leaning heavily. It was that or I was going to fall. “Who were those girls? You were right, most of them had been killed by vampires.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Do you know who did it?” I slurred. “Winston didn’t. He just knew who they were and how they died.”

“Don’t ask me more about it, because I won’t tell you, and before you even wonder, no, I had nothing to do with it.”

The moonlight shining down made his skin even creamier. He was still staring off in the distance, and with his jaw clenched, he looked both fierce and very beautiful.

“You know what?” Suddenly, very inappropriately, I began to giggle. “You’re pretty. You’re so pretty.”

Bones glanced back at me. “Bloody hell. You’ll hate yourself in the morning for saying that. You must be absolutely pissed.”

Another giggle. He was funny. “Not anymore.”

“Right.” He picked me up. The leaves made small crunching sounds under his feet as he carried me. “If you weren’t half dead, what you just drank would kill you. Come on, pet. Let’s get you home.”

It had been a long time since I’d been in a man’s arms. Sure, Bones might have carried me before when I was unconscious, but that didn’t count. Now I was very aware of his hard chest against me, how effortlessly he held me, and how really good he smelled. It wasn’t cologne-he never wore any. It was a clean scent that was uniquely his and it was…intoxicating.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I heard myself ask.

Something I couldn’t name flashed across his face.

“No. I don’t think you’re pretty. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” I breathed. “He wouldn’t have done that if I was. He wouldn’t have been with her.”

“Who?”

I ignored him, caught up in the memory. “Maybe he knew. Maybe on some deep, deep level, he could sense I was evil. I wish I hadn’t been born this way. I wish I hadn’t been born at all.”

“You listen to me, Kitten,” Bones cut me off. In my rant, I’d almost forgotten he was there. “I don’t know who you’re taking about, but you are not evil. Not one single cell of you. There is nothing wrong with you, and sod anyone who can’t see that for themselves.”

My head lolled on his arm. After a minute, my depression lifted, and I began to giggle again.

“Winston liked me. As long as I have moonshine, I’ve always got a date with a ghost!”

“I hate to inform you, luv, but you and Winston don’t have a future together.”

“Says who?” I laughed, noticing that the trees were tilted sideways. That was weird. And they seemed to be spinning as well.

Bones lifted my head up. I blinked. The trees were straight again! Then all I could see was his face as he leaned very close.

“I say.”

He seemed like he was spinning also. Maybe everything was spinning. It felt that way.

“I’m drunk, aren’t I?”

Since I’d never been drunk before, I needed clarification.

His snort tickled my face. “Impressively so.”

“Don’t you dare try to bite me,” I said, noticing his mouth was only a few inches from my neck.

“Don’t fret. That was the furthest thing from my mind.”

The truck came into view. Bones carried me to the passenger side and deposited me on the seat. I slumped, tired all of a sudden.

His door shut, and then the engine vibrated to life. I kept shifting to get comfortable, but my truck didn’t have an extended cab and the interior was cramped.

“Here,” Bones said after several minutes, and pulled my head down to his lap.

“Pig!” I screamed, jerking up so fast, my cheek banged on the steering wheel.

He just laughed. “Isn’t your mind in the gutter? You shouldn’t be so quick to label Winston a drunken pervert. Pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me. I only had the most honorable of intentions, I assure you.”

I eyed his lap and the extremely uncomfortable truck door, weighing my options. Then I flopped back down and put my head on his thigh, closing my eyes.

“Wake me when we get to my house.”