Fifth Grave Past the Light (21 page)

A startled shock of electricity dumped adrenaline down my spine. I covered my mouth with both hands in utter disbelief as Garrett smiled and leaned into the man he’d just stabbed. It was Reyes’s turn to suffer. He tossed his head back and tried to breathe as Garrett buried the blade deeper, impaling him to the wall.

“I did learn a few things about how to bring your ass down.”

When Reyes grabbed the knife, Garrett pushed again and Reyes groaned in agony.

I didn’t understand. It was just a knife. It had a long thin blade, almost like a small sword, and it wasn’t in his heart but just under his right collarbone. He’d been shot with a .50-caliber bullet, something that would rip a normal man to shreds, and walked away. Why would such a slim blade paralyze him?

I ran to them and tried to pull the blade out, but Garrett pushed me back. I tripped and fell to the ground.

He locked his jaw, his expression full of hate, his anger palpable. “Do you have any idea what they did to me?”

Reyes couldn’t answer. His eyes rolled back, his hands braced on the wall beside him. Then he reached up and ripped at his shirt like it was burning him. He clawed at it, but once he tore it to shreds, I realized he wasn’t clawing at the shirt, but at himself. His tattoos, the crisp lines and patterns of the map through the gates of hell, began to crack. A bright orange light, like molten lava, began to seep through them.

I sat on the floor, transfixed. Why didn’t he just pull out the dagger? I didn’t understand.

Garrett braced both hands on the tip of the handle, one on top of the other, and pushed again. Reyes groaned through clenched teeth as the blade slid in even farther. As the fissures widened and a roiling fire began to leach out of them. And I knew what was about to happen. Reyes was about to die.

Was this it? Was this Rocket’s premonition?

It couldn’t be. I stood and prepared to charge forward. If I could just get Garrett off him, I could pull out the dagger. But how? He was tall and strong and —

A sharp thud sounded and we all stood there a stunned moment before Garrett looked back at me and crumpled to the ground. I glanced at Cookie. At the frying pan she had in both hands like a baseball bat.

Another grunt from Reyes had me lunging forward. I took hold of the dagger, braced a foot on the wall beside him, and pulled. The blade slid out easier than I thought it would, and I fell back with it.

“No killing friends in the house,” Cookie said, terrified and shaking. “I am so glad I didn’t have a son. Boys are so destructive and violent.”

Reyes gulped huge rations of air. The fissures that covered his torso darkened and closed until he was back. Garrett stumbled to his feet at the same time I gained my own balance, and the murderous glare on Reyes’s face was like a jump start to my nervous system. Before I could shout a warning, he took hold of Garrett’s head and twisted.

Time slowed as I watched Garrett’s head spin to the side, farther than it should. Then I was in front of them. I broke Reyes’s hold with my arms and caught Garrett to me, stopping the momentum of the motion by cradling his head to my chest.

Then I closed my eyes and let time snap back into place. It hit like a freight train crashing against my bones. Garrett and I tumbled to the ground with me holding his head so tight, I was afraid I would break his neck with the fall. Fortunately, he seemed okay. Just dazed, unsure of what had happened.

But Reyes’s anger still raged. He came back for more. Bound and determined to end Garrett’s life, he charged forward. I straddled Garrett and turned on him like an angry bear protecting her cub. And Cookie was right beside me, frying pan in hand, jaw set in determination.

“Stop,” I said to him, my tone low, even. “Now. This is not going to happen.”

He fought for control, then growled and turned away from us, shaking off the pain that had consumed him. I helped Garrett up.

He tested his neck and jaw before addressing Reyes again. “This knife will kill you. Not just your physical body. You. All of you. Your essence. Your incorporeal being. Your spirit. Everything.”

The fact that he’d come very close to dying just then struck me hard. I looked at Reyes, confused. “Why didn’t you just pull it out? What stopped you?”

“The dagger,” Garrett said.

He tossed it to Reyes, who caught it, then just as quickly dropped it with a hiss of pain. He shook his hand, then glowered at Garrett again.

Garrett was ballsy. I’d give him that.

He smiled. “Romeo can’t touch it. That dagger was Daddy’s insurance should Junior betray him.”

“His father told you about it?” I asked.

“No, he didn’t.” A calculating smile spread across Garrett’s face. “Romeo did.”

While I stood perplexed, Garrett took a brave step closer to him.

“You knew I’d figure it out,” he said. “All your clues. All your hints. You knew I’d find it.”

Reyes glowered at him. “I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to use it. When I couldn’t find it, I hoped that someone with your connections could.”

Garrett scoffed and shook his head. “And to think, I never even believed in those connections. I thought my entire family was crazy.”

“Who says they aren’t?”

He shrugged, unable to argue. “But why take the risk? Why put such a powerful weapon in my hands?”

“Because it works on any supernatural being, ass-hat.” Reyes rubbed his shoulder and flexed it, still trying to shake off the pain. “Demons. Poltergeists. Hounds of hell.”

Wait, there were really hounds of hell?

“Charley can use it to defend herself against them.”

“See,” Garrett said with a smile, “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

I saw Cookie and Reyes out as Garrett gathered his books and notes. He stopped to massage his neck every so often, and I couldn’t believe how close he’d come to death. Again.

“You’re going to be sore for a few days,” I said, bending to help him. “That wasn’t very smart.”

“I had to know if the dagger would work.”

I looked over at it. It sat on an end table. “How exactly did you know about it?”

He drew in a breath and sat back to zip his backpack. “Like I said before, it all happened so fast. It’s like I was in hell for an eternity and yet here it was only a few minutes. The time I spent in hell I remember with a crystalline clarity. It’s the other parts that took me a while to figure out.”

“The other parts?”

“The trip back. Whoever dragged me out of hell had a few things to say to me. When I woke up in the hospital, I could only remember bits and pieces, but I started to remember more and more. And at odd times. I’d be standing in my kitchen and another memory would materialize in my mind.” He shook it off and stood to leave. “It took a while, but I slowly began to realize those particular memories had been planted somehow. They were clues.” He gestured toward the dagger. “Whoever planted them wanted me to find that.”

After I sidestepped past a few women, we stopped at my door. “And you figured out it was Reyes? He planted those memories?”

“He was the only one who could have. The only one who wanted it found. And I had a little help.”

“Help?”

“I have a few relatives who claim they can see into the supernatural world.”

“Right, but I thought it was all a con.”

“So did I. According to my aunt, it’s about fifty-fifty. Some of my relatives really are sensitive to otherworldly occurrences. They use that to their advantage. My aunt said I had a darkness following me. It wanted me to find something. Between her sight and my research, we found the dagger.”

“Where was it?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m still investigating the area. I think there’s more to be found there and I don’t need you snooping around.”

Though I pretended to drop it, it was so on. I would find out. It may take me a while, but I’d get there. “Fine, whatever, but why would you use it on him? Why would you risk your life like that?”

“Like I said, I had to know. There’s more at stake now.”

“You mean more because of this supposed war, not between heaven and hell but between
me
and hell?” The idea was almost laughable. No, wait, it was entirely laughable.

“Yes, and no. I —” He hesitated, unable to make eye contact. “I may have a son.”

Astonishment shot through me. I choked on air, then gaped at him. “You may have a son? You mean you don’t know if you have a child or not?”

“She had a child. Marika. And I’m about ninety percent positive he’s mine.”

I set aside my shock over the fact that Garrett could actually be with someone long enough to get her pregtastic – he was a man, after all – and zeroed in on his emotions. Sadness came at me in waves. And determination. “Have you asked her if he’s yours?”

He put his hand on the door handle, clearly uncomfortable and ready to dart. “I saw her at a store a while back. At first she smiled, then she looked down at a kid in a stroller. She got scared. She had the kind of fear someone gets when they’re trying to hide something. Like I said, I’m very good at reading people. She didn’t want me to look at her son.”

“What did you do?”

“I looked.” He opened the door.

“And?”

“And I saw my eyes.”

“Holy cow, Swopes. Have you done any digging? Pulled up his birth certificate?”

“Unknown.” He laughed humorlessly. “She listed his father as unknown. She was scared to death I’d figure it out. It was all over her face.”

“Why wouldn’t she want you to know?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Is she afraid of you?”

“No. Why the hell would she be afraid of me?”

“I don’t know. You just said —”

“We dated only a couple of times.” He grew agitated. “All she wanted was sex, actually. It was kind of nice. She’d show up. We’d do it. She’d leave. Then she just stopped. I never saw her again. Figured she’d moved on.”

I took a long, leisurely look at the man standing before me. At the lean, muscular limbs, the wide shoulders, the perfect mocha-colored skin, and the shimmering silvery gray eyes. “Maybe she wanted to get pregtastic. If I were looking for a baby daddy, you’d definitely be on the list.”

His gaze slid past me. “Are you serious? She wanted to get pregnant?”

“Pregtastic,” I corrected. I put a hand on his. “And I don’t know, Swopes, I’m just saying. That could have been her motive all along. Do you want me to look into it?”

“Not just yet. I have an idea, and since you owe me —”

“What?” I said, cutting him off right then and there. “I don’t owe you. Since when do I owe you?” When he did that deadpan thing, I said, “Okay, I owe you. Let me know what I can do.”

He nodded and started out the door before turning back to me. “I still don’t trust him.”

“Your own son?” I asked, appalled.

Unruffled, Garrett looked toward Reyes’s door, then back at me. “Just be careful. I won’t hesitate to bury that dagger in him for real.”

“That looked pretty real to me, Swopes.”

“Yeah, but next time I’ll make sure it stays buried.”

Exasperated, I nudged him out the door and closed it. Freaking men. It didn’t matter what the problem was, they saw only three solutions to it: food, sex, war.

Since dawn waited just around the corner and my mind raced too fast to sleep, I decided a shower wasn’t out of the question, especially since I had my annual appointment with the girl-parts doctor. One couldn’t be too clean for these things. Thankfully, the woman who’d taken up residence in my shower had moved. I figured with the recent vacancy, Artemis would be chasing water droplets as I washed, but she must’ve still been napping. Why would a departed dog need sleep? I added that to the twenty million other questions I was saving for when I finally met someone in the know. Like Santa. Or, no, God! Yeah, probably God.

The world had gone mad. That was the gist of what I figured out as a blast of scorching water eased the tension from my neck and steam rose around me. The world had gone berserk. There was a knife that could kill Reyes. Lucifer wanted me dead. Garrett might or might not have a son. Kim Millar was an arsonist. Nicolette was not a zombie, sadly, but some kind of prophet, which was almost as cool. A serial killer was running loose on the streets of – well, I had no idea where, but somewhere. And I had a house full of departed women I didn’t know what to do with. I should probably have gone back to bed, but I had a big day ahead of me.

After I rinsed, I stood in the shower a bit longer to let the heat pulsate on my neck and down my spine, and ran down my to-do list. Girl-parts doctor. Work magic for Kim. And find a serial killer. Another one. I’d just found one a few days prior. Surely there was someone out there better equipped to hunt down serial killers.

Oh, and try not to obsess too much over Reyes. I needed to stay frosty. Alert. And figure out why I suddenly had blond hair mixed in with my brown. My gaze traveled up until it landed on the girl, the pixie from under my bed, hanging from the ceiling, staring down at me. Her dirty-blond hair hung in matted strips, her huge eyes peering out from behind them. Before I could say anything, she lashed out at me. Her nails raked across my face with the speed of a cobra.

“Son of a bitch,” I said, falling back out of the girl’s reach. The sting spread instantly and blood dripped in the water to become tiny red clouds swirling around the drain. I turned off the shower and stumbled to the mirror to inspect the damage. Three lines of blood streaked across my face. I grabbed a towel and held it to them.

Then the girl appeared behind me. I tensed, waiting to see what she would do next. With her eyes barely visible as she peered around me, she reached up, pulled down the towel, and pointed to my cheek. I tried not to react, to cringe away from her or push her back. I stood there, realizing she was trying to send me a message. She held up three fingers in the mirror and waited until I nodded.

“Got it,” I said. “Three. Are you trying to tell me —?”

She disappeared before I could question her further, but she couldn’t have gone far. And even if her message wasn’t quite sinking in, she gave me a pretty vital clue. She held up the number three, but not like most people do, not like hearing people do. She held up the number three the way Deaf people do, a thumb, an index and a middle finger. Could she have been Deaf? Or perhaps she had a parent or sibling who was Deaf?

After applying ointment to my already-healing cheek, I hurried to the phone to call Uncle Bob.

“It’s early.”

“One of the girls may have been Deaf. The young one.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t. It’s just a hunch. Can you check if there have been any missing girls from the School for the Deaf in Santa Fe? Like, ever?”

“Sure. What time will you be in?” He was in short supply of patience when it came to the whole arson thing.

“Around ten.”

“Can’t you come in sooner? The DA is going to be here at nine.”

“Can’t. I’m getting checked under the hood.”

“Okay, but if Captain Eckert finds out you’ve known who the arsonist is for days, he’s not going to be your biggest fan anymore.”

“I knew he liked me.”

“Charley, you’re putting me in a very awkward position.”

“Then paint polka dots on me and call me Twister, but I think you can sweet-talk your boss. Or, well, lie. Yeah, lying is probably best. And besides, I told you I didn’t actually know
for sure, for sure
until last night.”

“Right after that bunker burned.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, if you do a little time for conspiracy, I’ll
for sure, for sure
bring you something to read.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Thanks, Ubie.” He always had my back.

I found the pixie again when I stepped out of my room fully clothed and ready for action. Or, well, a vaginal exam. The girl was sitting on the floor by Mr. Wong, picking at the hem of his pants, which hung above his bare feet, trying to pull a stray thread off him. At least she was occupied and not attacking me. Always a plus.

I sank to my knees beside her, hoping she didn’t think I was there to pick a fight. My moves were innocuous, unhurried as I examined her hands. I had three scratches on my face, two under my left eye and one along my jawline. But why not four? Why not four scratches? I watched as she plucked at the string absently. She had a small mouth, round cheeks, and thin nose. She would have been beautiful, given the chance. I looked at her hands and even as filthy as they were, I could tell she was missing a fingernail. The nail on her ring finger had been broken past the quick. I winced at the thought. She fought her attacker and hopefully he paid some small price for his actions. But it would never be enough.

I reached over and took her hand into mine. She let me. She didn’t look at me but stared off to the side, well aware of my presence. Then, as though afraid to do so, she removed her hand and touched my jeans. The knee had a small rip. She ran a tiny finger along it, then examined her own clothes. Sadly, there wasn’t much to look at. She’d been wearing a nightgown when she died and nothing else.

I reached out, tentatively touching her forearm and, just in case, I used my voice and signed as I asked, “Can you tell me who did this to you, pumpkin? Do you remember who it was?”

She withdrew back inside herself, crossing her arms at her chest and rocking.

I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll figure it out.”

In a movement almost too subtle to notice, she lifted a finger over her crossed arms. Then another. And another. Until she held up three fingers once again.

Sadly, that could mean a million things, but just in case, I texted Ubie.

Sure, will have Taft do a search,
he texted back.

It would take a miracle to solve this case. Luckily, I believed in miracles. No, wait, that was testicles. I believed in testicles.

We were so screwed.

I opened Cookie’s door and yelled into her apartment. “I’m taking Virginia to the doctor!”

“Got it,” she said from her bedroom. “I’ll be at the office in fifteen. Let me know what’s on the agenda for the day.”

“Okay, but I might be hard to pin down. I have a lot of crap to stir. People to annoy. Lives to ruin.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I started to close the door when she called out again. “Wait, who’s Virginia?”

She’d figure it out later. Or sooner if I complained ad nauseam, as I tended to do after offering a doctor a free glimpse of paradise. And two hours later, I was on the phone with her.

Complaining.

Ad nauseam.

There was nothing like a trip to the gynecologist to make one feel just a little violated.

“But it’s important,” Cookie said, defending my gynecologist’s overzealousness.

“I get that. I really do. But why use enough to lubricate the Panama Canal? I went through an entire box of tissue.” My phone beeped. “Oh, got another call. It’s Ubie. He has the hots for you.”

“Does not,” she said.

“I’ll call you right back. Unless I get arrested. Then it could be a while. And costly. How much cash do you have on you?”

“No, really? He has the hots for me?”

I’d lost her. I hung up with an evil grin and accepted Ubie’s call. “Charley’s House of Tiny Tomatoes.”