Brush With Death (13 page)

T
here were too
many addresses to check in one night.  The list that Emma held had more names
than my little black book.

That is really saying something.

Emma and Yuki had included photographers whose business
locations were outside of Wakefield and yet had worked here for a few seasonal events. 
This was based on the theory that the Graduation Grabber was not a resident of
Wakefield, but had a reason to come here during the month of June when he used
it as his hunting grounds.

As far as theories go, it wasn’t half bad.  Even my wolf
spirit knows instinctually that you don’t foul your own den.

But the addresses outside of Wakefield were too far afield
to canvas in one night.  So we had begun with the businesses within the local
zip code.  Unfortunately, the starburst symbol was nowhere to be found.

At midnight, after hours of searching, we decided to call it
a night.  Strands of Emma’s silky hair had escaped the twist at the back of her
neck and the paper that the list was written on was now wrung into a small wad
of accordion folds.  The excitement of the chase had fizzled into an
exhausting, monotonous tension.

While driving Emma home, I knew that she was not in the mood
to discuss our future, but recent events had triggered my protective instincts
and I let myself succumb to my emotions.

“Stay with me,” I said.

My hands tightened on the wheel as a lump formed in my
throat.

“What?” Emma asked.

“After graduation,” I said.  “Don’t leave.  I don’t think I
can bear your absence.  I need you with me, where I can protect you.  So, stay
with me.”

“Oh Simon,” she said.  Emma reached out and touched my face,
brushing along the scar on my cheek until her hand rested on my arm.  “I love
you too.”

I sucked in a breath.  I knew that Emma cared about me, but
until this moment I hadn’t heard those words from her lips.  My heart filled,
then fluttered.  I did love Emma, but my feelings often terrified me.

The pain of loss is unbearable when you truly love someone. 

“Will you stay with me?” I asked. 

I held my breath and waited.  The silence seemed to drag on
while streetlamps marked the passage of time as one by one they ghosted
overhead.

“No,” she said. 

“But…” I said.

“Wait, let me explain,” she said.  Emma grimaced.  “It’s not
you, it’s me.”

Was she breaking up with me?  If so, I was a bloody fool to
fall in love again.  It always ended badly.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said, clenching her
hands into fists.  Emma lifted her chin and sat up straight, meeting my
glance.  “And I understand why you want me to stay.  I would have asked you to
come with me, but I realize the importance of your duties to the pack.”

“You want me to go with you?” I asked.

“Yes, but I know that you can’t,” she said. 

It was true.  As much as it pained me, I couldn’t leave Cal
and the pack behind.  I had sworn an oath and I wouldn’t go back on my word.  I
would miss Emma while she was away at school, but at least now I knew that
she’d be missing me too.

“You’re right, love,” I said.  I let out a heavy sigh.  “I
can’t stray far from the pack.  They need me.”

“And I need to go,” she said.  Emma’s lower lip trembled,
but she squared her shoulders and stared straight ahead.  “I’ve dreamed about
becoming a veterinarian, being able to help sick and injured animals.  This is
what I’ve wanted for a long time.  And now with the pack, I have a job waiting
for me when I graduate college.  I won’t let this chance pass me by.”

I realized then that I’d been wrong to ask Emma to stay.  She
was strong and could take care of herself.  We would survive the long distance
relationship, and when she graduated we would both be working toward the same
goal.  Together we could ensure the safety of the pack.

How did I end up with such a perfect mate?

“God, I love you,” I said.  There, I’d done it.  The words
were out and I was committed.  But if I was honest with myself, I’d been
committed to this relationship since the moment I met Emma.  When it came to my
feelings, I was a slow learner.  “And, I support you.”

“Like I said before,” she said.  Emma’s shoulders relaxed
and she leaned in close, lips parting.  “I love you too.”

I
lay tangled
in my sheets, clutching a dung beetle plushie to my chest.  I needed a good
night’s sleep if we were going to continue our search for the Graduation
Grabber and the missing girl Sarah Randall, but I felt too wired.  Staring at
the ceiling, I counted the glow-in-the-dark stars that Cal had put above my bed
ages ago.  He’d placed them in constellations; the Big Dipper, Centaurus, Hercules,
Draco, Aquarius, Ursa Major, Hydra…

Huh, sleep came after all. 

Too bad it was a nightmare.  I opened my eyes to see a stack
of cardboard boxes swim across my vision.  The room was all too familiar.

I was in the school supply closet, and I wasn’t alone.

Someone held my wrists behind my back with large, sweaty hands
while his teammates taunted me.  The room was small and each wall was lined
with oversized football players.  Their nylon jerseys swished as they puffed
out their chests and flexed their muscles. 
Neanderthals.
 

This time, I kept my comments to myself.  I’d learned that
my dream tormenters were even more cruel than their real-life counterparts.  I
bit my lip and waited for what would come next.  But instead of the usual
threats from the J-team, and Zempter’s lengthy evil-villain monologue, a girl
floated toward me.

She was young, pale…and covered in blood.

“Roses are red,” she said, laughing.  I was pretty sure that
this was Rose Peterson, and the blood covering her was definitely red.  Subtle
she was not.  “Violets are blue.  I died at the hands of the Grabber…and YOU
WILL TOO.”

She disappeared in a burst of golden sparkles, leaving the
cloying scent of roses.  Where she had stood, or creepily floated, sat a girl I
hadn’t met, but recognized as Sarah Randall.  Her wrists and ankles were bound with
rope and tears ran down her face to soak the filthy cloth tied in her mouth.

“Don’t cry,” I said.  I knew my tormenters would punish me
for speaking, but I had to try to comfort her.  “I’ll save you.”

The jocks started laughing and the room spun.  Harsh fluorescent
light shone on shark teeth that flashed from cruel mouths.

“Freak,” Jared Zempter said.  He spat on the floor at my
feet.  “How can you save her, if you can’t even save yourself?”

“Yes, dear,” a witch said, appearing from behind one of the
boxes.  She was one of three witches from another familiar nightmare.  Great,
now my nemeses were joining forces in my sleep.  “You cannot save them.  Not
unless you return the amulet.”

Ever since “borrowing” Nera’s amulet, an amulet with magical
powers to protect the wearer from spirits of the dead, from an occult shop
rumored to be owned by witches, I’d had nightmares about the witches coming for
what was theirs.  In every dream, my friends died and I became engulfed in
rivers of their blood.

Yeah, not fun.

Gnarled, talon-tipped fingers clawed at my chest, searching
for the amulet.  I struggled to pull away, but the jock behind me held tight to
my wrists.  Jared Zempter pulled a long, wicked blade from his belt and came to
tower over me. 

“We are going to have so much fun with this one,” he said, a
cruel smile twisting his lips.

Jared never went anywhere without backup, but his friend
wasn’t Jay Freeman, the other half of the J-team.  The man standing with him
looked older, but his face was a blank canvas.  He lifted his own knife and a
whimper escaped from Sarah Randall’s hunched form.

I knew who Jared’s new friend was.  The man looming over me
was the Graduation Grabber.

With a shriek, I kicked out at my assailants…and tumbled out
of the supply closet into another realm.  A warm breeze tickled my face and
whispered through the dry grass where I now sat.  I was in limbo, the
dream-like space between our world and the ever-after.

But how did I end up here?

“What are you doing here, child?” my spirit guide asked.  A
gigantic dung beetle towered above me, antennae twitching.  “I was not
expecting you.”

“Um, I don’t know,” I said, brushing dirt off my pajamas. 

In the supply closet, I’d been in my usual Goth attire, but
now I was in the pink skull pj’s I’d gone to sleep in.  I looked down to see
Jack Skellington slippers on my feet.  Right, I definitely was wearing boots
when I kicked out at Jared Zempter, the witch, and the Grabber.  Could this
night get any weirder?

“I smell fear on you, little one,” my spirit guide said. 
Its arms waved in the air above my head.  “Do not allow fear to blind you. 
Open your eyes and follow the words of the snake, the cry of the cat, and the rays
of the sun.”

I opened my eyes, blinking up at the constellations above my
bed.  Follow the words of the snake, the cry of the cat, and the rays of the
sun.  Oh yeah, like that wasn’t vague or anything.

Why do spirit guides have to be so fond of riddles?

After my sucktastic night of spooky nightmares and cryptic
dreams, I was exhausted.  Too bad the sun was creeping its way across my bed. 
It was time to get up and start the day.

It was time to find the Grabber.

I
yawned as I
plunked myself down beside the snake cage.  After a night out searching for the
Grabber, I was worn out.  I rubbed at my sore neck and grabbed the morning
reports, scanning for anything important. 

The animal shelter where I volunteer is a small facility,
but it provides services for all of Yorkshire County.  Funding had dried up,
which meant we were understaffed and overworked.  Other local shelters had
closed their doors, so we were all that was left.

Saturday mornings were chaos, which is why I chose that day
to volunteer.  It was when the shelter needed me most.  But today I was weary
of the kennel.  During weekend shifts, the sound of dogs barking never waned as
potential owners scouted for the perfect pet to adopt.  Not many people came
into the reptile room, which is why I sought refuge here.

Well, one of the reasons.

The reptile room was a quiet respite from the echoing walls
of the kennels, and busy adoption frenzy at the front desk, but that wasn’t the
only reason I came here when I was stressed.  The snakes calmed me. 

When snakes first started talking to me, I had avoided them. 
But recently I discovered that their presence was soothing.  Duvet, the boa
constrictor who sat in the cage at my elbow, often whispered to me.  Its
sibilant voice was calming.

Yeah, I know, I’m the crazy snake lady.

I flipped through the reports, checking the lists for recent
adoptions, new arrivals, and calls for animal control.  Since there was no
funding our county didn’t have an animal control officer, so calls often came
to the shelter or went to the police.  Ultimately, we learned of any strays,
but dealing with them was another story.  “Collection duty” was left to
volunteers willing to take the risk.

Scanning the logs, I found multiple reports of an animal
noise complaint.  Repeated complaints had been called in three nights ago. 
Residents of an apartment complex in the neighboring town of Sansborough had
reported loud wailing and crying from a stray cat that woke them from their
sleep.  The address of the apartment building was at 115 Sheridan Street. 

That address niggled.  I reread the report—115 Sheridan
Street, Sansborough Maine—and seeing the full street address pushed a memory to
the surface.  Wasn’t there a photography studio on Sheridan Street?

Holding the report in a white knuckled grip, I strode to the
nearby break room.  I pulled my messenger bag from the cabinet below the coffee
maker and quickly retrieved our list from last night’s search.

Goosebumps rose along my arms.  One of the photography
studios on the list was located at 117 Sheridan Street. 
Oh em geesss.

That was no stray cat.  The crying that pulled residents
from their beds three nights ago wasn't from a feline—that voice was human.

We had found Sarah Randall.

Y
uki bounced in
her seat, fork splashing strawberry juice from her waffles onto the table, as
she spoke rapidly on the phone.  Usually I gave Yuki her privacy and tuned out
my werewolf hearing, but it was obvious that Emma had some exciting information. 

Had she found a clue to the Grabber’s identity?

Leave it to Emma to manage research while working.  During
her shift at the animal shelter, Emma had read reports of a stray cat in
Sansborough, outside an apartment building at 115 Sheridan Street—beside one of
the photography studios on our list.  No one had reported seeing an actual
cat.  The residents who called it in, complained of a cat waking them from
their sleep as it wailed outside their building.  The event took place three
nights ago, the same day Sarah Randall went missing.

Emma had pieced the clues together and called another
volunteer to finish out her shift at the shelter.  That was when she had called
Yuki, making her splash sticky syrup all over the glass covered tablecloth.

I had taken Yuki out for breakfast hoping that waffles
covered in ice cream and strawberry syrup would coax her to eat.  Being actively
plagued by a ghost, even one whose smell impression wasn’t a foul stench, often
made it difficult for Yuki to eat. 

Plus, I suspected that Emma’s concerns over Yuki’s mental
health were accurate.  When I picked her up this morning she looked as though
she spent the entire night wrestling with her demons.  She may wear dramatic
makeup, but the dark circles around Yuki’s eyes weren’t completely
intentional. 

But Yuki was awake now and smiling from ear to ear.  I matched
her smile with my own and flagged down our waitress to pay our check.  Emma was
on her way and Simon would join us before we left town.

It was time to rescue Sarah Randall.

“You were listening, right?” Yuki said. 

Yuki ended the call with Emma and continued to bounce in her
seat.  She clapped her hands and smiled, looking like a little kid—a kid
wearing a spiked collar and red lipstick.  It was unbelievable cute.

“Yes,” I said.  “Sounds like Emma discovered a potential
location for the Grabber.  That was some quick reasoning.”

“I know, like, she’s totally amazing,” she said. 

Yuki happily scooped up a forkful of ice cream smothered
waffle and put it in her mouth with a contented sigh.

“She’s not the only one,” I said.  I leaned across the table
and kissed Yuki, licking away the whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. 
“And you’re twice as sweet.”

Yuki swallowed and a hint of pink showed through her white
face powder.

“Only you would call me sweet, Calvin Miller,” she said.

I took in her appearance, dressed all in black with spikes
at her neck and wrists.  No, not everyone would think Yuki was sweet, but
that’s just because they don’t bother to look beneath the surface.  And they
don’t kiss her while she’s eating waffles.

“I promise to do so every Saturday henceforth, my Dung
Beetle Princess,” I said, standing and bowing at the waist.

Yuki groaned.

“Oh no, don’t start that again,” she said. 

I took her hand and pulled her to her feet.  She gasped as I
stole another kiss.  Someone at a booth behind ours started clapping.

“…mmm,” she said.  That’s embarrassing”

“Embarrassing?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, embarrassing, but yummy,” she said.  “People are
staring.  Let’s get out of here.”

“After you, Princess,” I said.  With a flourish, I gestured
to the door.  “Your carriage awaits.”