The Edge Of The Cemetery (4 page)

As I unlocked my apartment door, Billy gave me a concerned look and asked, “You going to be okay? You want me to stay with you?” I must have looked pretty bad. The hour long drive really wore me down, and the shellacking I'd taken the night before was catching up to me again. Billy was in no way the mothering sort, but she knew better than anyone what it was like to get your clock cleaned by a demon, and it was probably the only thing that brought out sympathy in her otherwise callous personality.

“Naw,” I said tiredly. “I'll be fine. But don't tell Justine how bad off I am. I'll be better after some sleep.”

Justine worried, and although I was sure Billy had texted her the night before to say she wasn't coming home, Justine was an early riser. Even though it was not quite 4 a.m., she would probably hear Billy come in and would want an update on my condition and our evening. My current state would cause Justine a great deal of stress, and I wanted to avoid that in the hopes that I would be in better shape later in the morning. Billy nodded her head and walked the twenty feet to her front door.

I needed painkillers and sleep, and a healthy shot of whiskey would provide the former and help along the latter. I hobbled into the kitchen, put a few ice-cubes into a tumbler, and hobbled back out to the living room bar cabinet to pour myself a good amount of Bushmills. Then I sat on the couch and sipped slowly, all the while thinking about just how lucky I was to be alive.

I'd fallen asleep on the couch sitting up, whiskey glass still in hand and precariously close to spilling it's watered down remnants into my lap. Although it was now approaching 8 a.m., the drapes were closed and the room was shadowed and mostly dark, but I still felt a presence. I wasn't alone. Standing in the furthest corner was GG, my mother's childhood ghost friend. She'd been instrumental in our fight with Vokkel and his demons, but I hadn't seen her since and thought maybe she'd been vanquished in the melee. I smiled at her, ignoring the pain it brought to my mouth.

“I thought we killed you…,” I said groggily. GG smiled and shook her head. “Where have you been?” I asked, knowing she couldn't answer with words. She looked around the room. In the past, GG attempted to communicate by finding items and making me guess what the meaning was. This time she moved to the clock that sat on my mantel.

“A clock?” She shook her head and moved her ghostly finger around the dial. “Time?” I asked. She nodded and pointed to her temple and twirled her finger around, then waved her hand absently. I thought for a moment. “Do you mean you have no concept of time?” She nodded vigorously. “Well, you seemed to know when I needed you last time,” I said in sleepy confusion. She smiled again and pointed at me, then pointed to herself. “I need you now?” She nodded again, and disappeared. I sighed, pulled myself up, and went to my bed.

When I woke up several hours later, it was to the muffled sound of my cell phone ringing. It took me a minute to realize it was still in my front jeans pocket, which I hadn't bothered to remove when I'd stumbled into bed. Grimacing at the pain that seemed to have worsened since I hit the mattress, I dug my phone out and answered it, not bothering to see who it was—I knew it had to be Billy, Aris, or my good friend, Phil James.

It was Phil. When I answered, he said, “Hey man, you're alive!” I groaned in acknowledgment. “Heard you had a little Revolutionary War reenactment last night.” Phil chuckled at his joke, but I couldn't laugh back…it would've hurt entirely too much.

“Yeah—tough night. What's up?” I asked. I could hear the roughness in my voice. Lack of sleep and coughing up salt water hadn't done my usually pleasant baritone any favors.

“Dude, you sound horrible.” Phil sounded concerned, so I put him at ease as best I could.

“I'm all right, Phil. But you woke me up. I'm just a little groggy.”

“Okay. Well, we might have a lead on the kid and Aris wants to meet, but it sounds like you need a little more sleep. Why don't you text me in a few hours and we can assemble at the old haunt later today.” The
old haunt
was really called Seymour's, a Victorian themed bar where I'd first gotten to know Phil. From that point on, it had become our local watering hole and informal debriefing station. Phil referred to it as the “old haunt”, pun intended, because of what we usually discussed there…ghosts and hauntings. It was also the first place I'd laid eyes on GG.

“Yeah, sure, I can do that. I'll let Billy know and we'll see you later on, okay?” We hung up and I rolled over and groaned some more.

When the ghosts first appeared to me, I had needed to find out what was happening and why. My research led me to a ghost tour that was conducted four nights a week in Lower Pacific Heights that guaranteed the patrons they'd see or at least experience a ghost. Phil owned the business, and after the tour we talked. He had figured out what I was, because there was indeed a ghost on his tour and I saw it and he knew it. Although Phil couldn't see ghosts—well, he'd seen one or two, but he couldn't do it regularly—he was well versed on them and what they did. Moreover, he was well aware of the ghost killers and the Watchers. He helped me a great deal back then, and now he helped the Watchers. He'd also become a good friend.

I stunk—I smelled like salt water and sweat and blood, and I knew that a hot shower would do me a world of good. Instead of getting up though, I rolled over again, closed my eyes, and wallowed in self-pity until I heard a pounding on my front door. That had to be Billy.

Billy had cleaned the blood and dirt off her face back at the motel, but she still hadn't looked much better than me in the wee morning hours when we parted ways; however, I was extremely annoyed at how she looked this morning. She was scrubbed clean, hair hanging in ebony waves down her back, and aside from the butterfly bandage on her forehead, I only saw two minor cuts on her chin that looked more like scratches. Her short sleeved blouse showed her upper arms, one of which was wrapped in gauze, but she didn't have any bruises anywhere that I could see. She smelled good too, which made my rank disposition all the more difficult to stomach.

“Whew, you need a shower,” she said, waving her hand under her nose as she shouldered past me to the kitchen.

“Yeah, good morning to you too—make yourself at home,” I replied sarcastically, and headed to the bathroom. She'd make coffee, and if I was really lucky, she'd make breakfast too.

Fifteen gloriously hot and steamy minutes later, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and assessed the damage. There were large swaths of bruising on my ribcage where I'd taken the body blows, but I no longer thought anything was broken, just bruised. The cuts on my chin and lips looked better too, now that they were clean, but there was some swelling and bruising there as well. My hands, however, still looked like minced meat, and I decided to rewrap the palms, where most of the damage was, in a healthy slathering of antibiotic lotion and gauze.

By the time I was dressed, the strong smell of coffee and sizzling bacon had wafted down the hallway, and I was practically drooling in anticipation. Billy was an excellent cook, and breakfast was her specialty. She was working her culinary magic at the stove when I entered the kitchen, and I moved around her to get at the coffee.

Glancing at me from the corner of her eye, she quipped, “Well you smell better, but you don't look much better.”

“If it wasn't for the coffee
and
the breakfast, I'd tell you to leave,” I retorted. “How's Justine today?”

“She's fine. She had a charity thing this morning, but she was worried about you and asked me to come over and check on you. I called her while you were in the shower, told her you were fine…an obvious lie,” she said as she glanced at me again and frowned. “She wants to know what your dinner plans are for tonight.”

It was a little after one in the afternoon and it would be another hour or so before we got to the bar, and depending on what was discussed, we might be tied up for the evening. “I'm free so far, but Phil and Aris want an update, and if they need our help, we might not be available. Oh, and I think I saw GG earlier this morning.”

Billy spun around so quickly that the spatula she was holding almost flew from her hand. “Really?” Billy had taken to GG immediately, and she had been just as distraught as I was when GG hadn't reappeared after our fight with Vokkel.

“It was kind of dark and I was pretty sleepy, so I'm not a hundred percent sure it wasn't a dream,” my tone was casual and teasing.

She shot an unpleasant green glare in my direction and turned back to her cooking. Once she'd plated the food and slapped it on the table, she sat and stared at me, finally saying, “Well, what did she say?”

“I think…,” I started, taking a large bite of my omelet and chewing slowly and methodically, garnering another icy glare. Laughing lightly at her annoyance, I said, “I think she was trying to tell me that she has no concept of time and comes when I need her.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Billy said thoughtfully as she shoveled a rather unladylike fork full of food into her mouth. Once she'd chewed and swallowed, she said, almost to herself, “So she's connected to you through your mother, and showed up just in time to help fight Vokkel and his surge of demons.” She waved her fork around. “Maybe she's back because of what happened in Marin…to help us with that kid….” Her brow furrowed. “But why wait to show up? These attacks have been going on for more than a week now.”

It was a good question…I'd have to try and ask GG. Regardless, GG had displayed extreme power by bringing a surge of good ghosts to fight Vokkel's demons, and God knew we could use that sort of help now.

We finished our late breakfast in silence. After Billy put her dishes in the sink, she turned to face me, leaning against the counter and saying, “I have a few things to do today. Tell Phil we'll meet him at three, and I'll let Justine know that dinner is iffy at best.” Then she left.

I spent the next hour cleaning up my apartment, and then walked next door to Justine's to collect Billy and head over to Seymour's.

As usual, Margie answered the door. “Hello, George.” She paused and looked at my face. “Oh my, it looks like you took the brunt of it last night.”

“Hi, Margie,” I said, smiling lightly. “Yeah, Billy got off easy…,” I let out an exaggerated sigh, “as usual.”

Margie chuckled. She found the antagonistic banter between Billy and me very amusing.

“Yes, I'm sure she saved all the really bad ones for you,” she mocked. “Come, they're waiting on the terrace with bated breath.”

I followed Margie through the living room and out onto the terrace. Justine gasped lightly at my condition, and I went to her, kissed her lightly powdered cheek, and said, “Honestly, Justine, it looks much worse than it feels. There's no need to worry.” I finished with the biggest smile I could produce…it hurt like hell, but my smiles, big or small, usually put Justine at ease. This time she glanced at Billy and shook her head dismissively; Billy was probably in for a reprimand later on.

“Would you like some coffee, dear?” Justine asked.

“Please. Did Billy fill you in on last night?” I asked.

“She did, and it is very disturbing. Have you learned anything more about this boy…teenager?” Justine asked, concern wrinkling her otherwise smooth brow. Justine was in her early eighties, but she'd aged beautifully and I thought it would be hard to convince most people that she was a day over sixty-five.

“No, but Aris had his people on the kid's trail all night, so hopefully we'll know more when we meet them in an hour,” I answered.

“Billy tells me that the devil who did that to you was a Revolutionary War soldier. That is quite old.”

“Yeah, it is. But not as old as the kid's demon…that guy was mid-17
^th
century.”

Justine's eyes lit up. She was fascinated by the oddity of the age of the ghosts and demons, but even more fascinated with the clothing styles they wore and the fact that they all wore round-rimmed glasses. We frequently discussed the topic. We had spent hours over the last few months poring through websites and books, educating ourselves on men's and women's fashions decade by decade as far back as the 1400s. As far as the glasses were concerned, Justine and I hadn't made any more headway than anyone else. The only reference anyone had found was a dream interpretation: if someone dreamed of glasses, it was supposed to represent a clearer view of a problem or situation—we assumed, as ghost killers, we could see a problem that no one else could. Billy thought it was all a stupid waste of time, and as far as she was concerned, if the clothes looked old and they were wearing round-rimmed glasses, she stabbed them with her chopstick, they swirled away into a grey mist, and that was the end of it. I, on the other hand, liked to know the power of the ghosts and demons, and their clothes were a direct indication of how long they'd been dead, which also gave me an idea of how much power they'd amassed.

“Do tell, dear, what was he wearing?” Justine asked excitedly, and Billy rolled her eyes and moaned audibly, which netted her a slap on the wrist by Justine. “Billy dear, don't be rude. You know that I enjoy learning about these devils, especially their clothing.” She winked at me and I described our musketeer clothed demon.

After I finished my description of the ghostly garments, Justine asked, “What about Frederick's papers? I believe you said that Mr. James has been studying them. Has he found any references to this young man? I would think a ghost killer of this boy's caliber would have been on Frederick's radar.” Justine was referring to Phil…as I mentioned earlier, he'd been assisting the Watchers, and one of his new duties was to attempt to decipher Vokkel's notes and journals.

I shrugged. “I know he's been working hard on it, but I'm not sure he's had time to search them for references to the kid. I'll check with him when we talk this afternoon.”

A few hours after Frederick Vokkel's death, Aris had sent four men to his house. Since we knew that Vokkel had a home security system and assumed there would be a safe, our guys went prepared, bringing along two professionals—a security systems hacker and a safecracker. The Watchers have an eclectic group of associates who usually don't ask questions as long as the price is right. They were able to infiltrate the house and safe without leaving a trace, unless of course, you counted the absence of Vokkel's papers. Vokkel had dedicated his life to the phenomenon that is our world, and we were hopeful we'd find something useful. They left with a stockpile of boxes containing unorganized research notes and journals. Vokkel was a madman, and his writings were reflective of that. He preferred his own version of code and shorthand, some of which Phil had managed to decipher, but there was still some that he'd made no headway on whatsoever.

Vokkel had started out as a garden variety shrink. At some point he was exposed to several patients experiencing a form of anomalistic psychosis and it fascinated him, so much so that he focused his research on these types of patients and their disease. He discovered that the paranormal delusions weren't delusions at all, nor were they the result of mental illness. These people actually saw ghosts, and they could kill them. It turned out that Vokkel had latent paranormal abilities of his own, but he had no control over them. All of this led him to another discovery; not all ghost killers were alike. Some were more powerful and could communicate with the more powerful ghosts and demons. This discovery prompted him to open a “school” in Switzerland that wasn't much better than an institution, and that was where he met Billy's grandmother and my mother. We knew from the journals that the school started out small and he expanded as he came across more and more people who exhibited paranormal abilities, including two longaevus, Edgar and Anne, half-siblings that became his protégés and did his bidding.

Eventually Vokkel closed the Switzerland school down and moved to San Francisco, primarily to be near Grandma Billy, because she was by far the most powerful ghost killer he'd ever encountered, aside from my mother. Knowing that the type of power Grandma Billy had was mostly due to genetics, he managed to seduce her in the hopes of impregnating her, which worked—although in Billy's mind, it was rape, since Grandma Billy didn't really have the mental capacity to provide proper consent. What didn't work was the child they produced together…Julie, Billy's mother. Julie's only ability was her own self-centeredness, and Vokkel gave up on her, for a while at least. When Julie was all grown up, Vokkel paid her to seduce a powerful ghost killer and get pregnant, with the belief that Grandma Billy's talents had simply skipped a generation and would materialize in her grandchild, which they did. He continued his research and opened a new “school” shortly after Billy was born. He was rightly convinced that she'd be like her grandmother, and he wanted to be prepared. Then he “bought” custody of Billy from Julie when she was just four years old, and eventually moved her to his new school in Germany.