Summoned to Thirteenth Grave (Charley Davidson #13) Page 3

  I whirled toward him again. “She’s here?”

  “She refused to evacuate with the others,” he said from between clenched teeth.

  I giggled. On the inside. I could just see Cookie facing off against the son of Satan incarnate. And a god to boot. David facing off against Goliath had nothing on her.

  “What others?”

  “Amador and his family, your friend Nicolette, and, of course, Beep and the Loehrs.”

  Amador was Reyes’s only friend growing up. They’d stayed close over the years, and Amador’s family loved Reyes as much as he did. They were so lovely.

  Nicolette was one of the cooler of my friends. She actually channeled the departed before they were even departed. I’d never met anyone else with her ability.

  The Loehrs were Reyes’s original human family. The one he’d been born into. He should have grown up happy, but Satan sent an emissary to make sure that didn’t happen. Reyes had been kidnapped when he was a few months old and given to the monster who raised him. My husband’s childhood had been the stuff of nightmares.

  “And all of Beep’s protection?” I asked. Beep had both supernatural and human protectors.

  “They go where she goes,” he said with a shrug. “All except your boyfriend and his gang.”

  “Donovan and the guys?” Alarm shot through me. “Why wouldn’t they go? They’re Beep’s guardians.”

  “They’re going to. Eric went back for his abuela.”

  I relaxed. Donovan, Michael, and Eric had been a part of the motorcycle club the Bandits, but they’d moved on to greener pastures (i.e., watching over my daughter). They were good guys, and if Donovan made Reyes just a little jealous from time to time, so be it. Who was I to stand in the way of insanity?

  Taking another swig for the road, or the hallway, I motioned for the kid to follow me and took off in the only direction I could go: down. We were on some kind of industrial upper-level balcony that looked down into the main warehouse. Cookie had to be down there somewhere, and I had a good idea where to look.

  Seeking out what would have been a break room, I found Cookie standing guard over a coffeepot. Our coffeepot from the office.

  “Bunny!” I cried, running forward. I wanted to throw my arms around the Bunn coffee machine, but she looked really hot at the moment. So I threw my arms around the best friend I’d ever had instead.

  Cookie stiffened, and the effect was immediate and painful.

  Understanding completely, I dropped my arms and stepped back. Her child had died because of me. They were about to sedate Cookie, she’d been so distraught, when I brought Amber back to life. But she’d been gone for two hours. On the other side for two hours. I couldn’t imagine what Cookie went through in that time.

  She turned toward me slowly, her chopped black hair a mass of disarrayed perfection. Her attire not much better. The wrinkled mess hugged her curves in all the right places. She was chaos incarnate. But to me, she was Aphrodite, Wonder Woman, and Melissa McCarthy all rolled into one.

  “Charley?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “You’re . . . you’re back?”

  Fighting the emotion that formed a knot in my throat, I nodded and pasted on a brave smile. “I’m back.”

  She pressed her hands to her mouth and continued to stare.

  I cleared my throat and asked inanely, “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, my God, Charley!”

  Before I could react, she tackled me, and we hugged for a solid ten minutes. Her shoulders shook, and I couldn’t help the deluge that cascaded down my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Cookie,” I said between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What?” She put me at arm’s length and stabbed me with an admonishing glare. “What on Earth are you sorry for?”

  I tried to play it off with a soft laugh, but it came out more as a strained choking sound. “Everything. I’m so sorry.”

  “Charlotte Jean Davidson,” she said, her tone edged with a maternal warning, “don’t you dare apologize to me.”

  “But it was Amber.”

  “Who is alive and well, thanks to you.”

  “No,” I said, my shoulders deflating, “in spite of me. Everything that’s happened to her—to both of you—it’s all because of me.”

  “Oh, Charley, when will you understand how important you are?”

  “And you aren’t?” I asked, shrieking at her. “Amber isn’t?”

  “Of course she is, but we both knew what we were getting into by sticking around. You mean so much to her. She’d have it no other way.”

  “She hasn’t reached the age of consent yet. I’m not sure her vote counts.”

  Cookie snorted. “Try telling her that. She . . . she hasn’t been the same since you left.”

  Alarm shot through me. “What do you mean? What’s wrong? Is she . . . does she remember?”

  “She won’t say, but I think she blames herself.”

  “For what?”

  “Charley—”

  “For my being kicked off the plane?” I asked, stunned. “Are you kidding?”

  “She’s a kid, sweetheart. She blames herself for measles and world hunger. It’s a teen thing.”

  I shook my head. That child. “Is she here?”

  “Yes. But first, coffee.”

  3

  A day without coffee is like . . .

  Just kidding. I have no idea.

  —TRUE FACT

  Cookie and I freshened our cups, then sat at a rickety table with mismatched chairs.

  The small break room opened up to a massive commons area that held a larger table and then a living area with a sofa and a few cushioned chairs. If it weren’t an actual warehouse, the industrial feel of the area would’ve been considered quite en vogue.

  At some point in our conversation, Reyes joined us. He stood in a corner drinking something much stronger than coffee. My gaze kept straying toward him. I had a hard time forcing it back, but looking at Cookie, at the most marvelous woman I’d ever known, was almost as fun. Especially when I realized she’d only applied mascara to one set of lashes. It happened to the best of us.

  “So,” Cookie said, hedging and tugging at her bra, “you’re back.”

  “I’m back.”

  “What was it like?”

  The question was so loaded, the weight behind it almost knocked me out of my chair. She felt guilty, too, and that guilt radiated out of her in smothering, airless waves.

  I could hardly tell her the truth. That would do no one any good. So I fudged the facts. Just a little. But not without giving her a hard time. “It was horrible, Cook.”

  Her puffy lids rounded, and she chewed her lower lip, anxious.

  “Excruciating. Bluebirds sang to me. Fruit grew randomly on ornamental trees. Squirrels cooked gourmet meals. Mice cleaned my house and darned my socks. Which is better than damning them, I suppose but . . .”

  Her face morphed into a prime example of a deadpan. “So, you were cast off this plane into Disneyland?”

  I let one corner of my mouth drift up. “Can you think of a more appropriate hell for me?”

  She giggled to herself and tugged at her bra again, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at Reyes. Any other man might have looked away, pretending not to see her discomfort, but not my man. Nope. He tilted his head for a better view. Then he looked past us and winked.

  I turned. Ghost Boy had followed me into the break room and was hiding behind a small refrigerator, peeking out from behind it every so often. He had brown, unkempt hair and a dirty face. Almost as dirty as the T-shirt he wore. He only stared at Reyes, his eyes huge wary, before easing back behind the fridge.

  “Can I see her?” I asked Cookie.

  She nodded. “Of course. She said she was going to take a nap, but she hasn’t been sleeping. I doubt she’s asleep now.”

  Cookie showed me to Amber’s room. It was one of several rooms that had served as offices and storerooms when the warehouse had been in business.
She nodded and left me to it.

  I knocked on the closed metal door. When I didn’t receive a reply, I cracked it open. I could feel emotion coming from inside. Too much for Amber to have been sleeping. I eased it wider and stepped into the dark room. Amber sat on a cot, staring out of a dirty window.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  Amber stilled. She didn’t turn around for a solid minute, and when she did, her expression was filled with wariness, as though she couldn’t allow herself to hope.

  “Hey, pumpkin.”

  She studied me, her jaw open, her eyes saucers. So it was pretty much the same reaction her mother had, except for the—

  “Aunt Charley?” She blinked as though not believing her eyes, then she tore off the cot and ran into my arms.

  Nope, exact same reaction.

  I caught her to me and held on for dear life, the memory of her lifeless blue eyes replaying over and over in my mind. She had been dead. She’d actually died. It was so long ago, yet I’d never forgotten her faraway expression. Amber Kowalski relished life, she sparkled with it, but that night, that horrible night, everything had changed.

  All I could think of as I looked down at Amber’s lifeless body was Beep. What if it had been Beep? I had been given one rule, one law to abide, and I broke it for my best friend. I’d looked back at Reyes, swore I’d find a way back, then touched Amber. Healed her. Brought her back to life.

  And in the one hundred years I’d spent in darkness, alone and tormented, I’d never regretted it. Not once. And I never would.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” I said into her long, dark hair. “How have you been?”

  She let out a choked sob and pulled me tighter. I dragged her to the cot and sat down. She crawled onto my lap and cried, and my heart ached so much for her. She was devastated, and I realized at that moment that she might not have wanted to be brought back. What if she was happy where she was? What if she’d wanted to stay and I’d ripped her away from her family?

  But I also had to remember that she had been killed very violently. Her best-friend-slash-boyfriend had been in shock. He’d seen the priest claw at Amber, tear at her, trying to stay on Earth as hell tried to drag him down. In a word, he’d beaten her to death. The trauma she must have suffered at his hands . . .

  I cradled her to my chest as the pain grew inside it. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I’m so sorry.”

  She lifted her head at last. “Sorry?”

  “I can’t imagine what you went through. When that priest, the priest that I’d let loose onto this plane—”

  “But . . . but you’re not sorry you brought me back?”

  “What?” I leaned back. “Is that what you think?”

  “You were kicked off Earth because of me.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, pulling her to me again. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “Really?” she said, her voice small and unsure.

  I forced her to face me again. “In a heartbeat. Amber, you are so special. You—”

  “I saw some parts of it.”

  “Some parts?”

  “Of me and Quentin and Beep.”

  I put my fingers under her chin and raised her gaze to mine, her huge blue eyes swimming in unspent tears. “What did you see?”

  “We’re supposed to help her. Beep. We’re part of her army. I saw it.” She lowered her head again. “Is that why you brought me back?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said, putting as much edge in my voice as I could. “I brought you back because I love you. I can’t imagine life without you.”

  A small smile softened her worried expression. “One good thing came out of all of this, you know.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “I can see what all the fuss is about. You’re blinding.”

  Ah, yes. My light. The beacon that is me. The same one that any departed from anywhere in the world can see and, if they so choose, use to cross through to the other side. Those poor souls who didn’t cross at the time of their deaths, anyway.

  That was the gist of my day job. As the grim reaper, I helped lost souls find their way home. But mostly I tried to figure out what it was anchoring them to Earth and get them past it.

  Wait. “You can see my light?”

  She giggled, her nose still stuffy. “I can see everything Quentin can see. Ever since I died.”

  Quentin, an adorable sixteen-year-old, had always been able to see the departed. That fact led to our first meeting. But while Amber had certainly exhibited metaphysical abilities, she’d never been able to see them like Quentin could. And she certainly couldn’t see my light.

  She giggled again. “Now I can tell Quentin he was right. You’re like that light the doctor shines in your pupils during an eye exam.”

  “Thanks. And I’ll tell him you used to play with your belly button in your sleep.” I reached over to tickle her.

  She screamed and kicked and cried for help. Cookie rushed in, and the whole thing devolved into a raucous wrestling match, Cookie and me against Amber. Poor kid.

  But all the horsing around did have one effect. It seemed to relax Ghost Boy. He even almost, for the barest fraction of a second, cracked a smile. Not quite, but almost.

  “Hey,” Amber said, noticing him at last.

  We sobered and straightened up our act. Not Cookie’s hair, though.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Cookie asked her, brushing strands off her face and adjusting her bra again.

  “Do you have a rash?” I whispered to her.

  “A little boy,” Amber said, greeting him with her warmest smile.

  He scooted farther behind a locker but managed to keep a weather eye on us. Smart kid. We could pounce at any moment.

  Cookie was still busy fiddling with her bra. She reached into her cleavage and pulled out a pair of tweezers. “Oh, goodness. I was looking for these.”

  I turned away and put a fist over my mouth, refusing to ask. There was simply no need. It was Cookie, after all.

  “Isn’t he adorable?” Amber asked.

  I recovered and rolled off the cot and onto my feet. “He is. But I need coffee. And food. And to mack on my husband some more.”

  Amber giggled, and Cookie threw her hands over her daughter’s ears.

  “Language,” she said, admonishing me.

  “Do you even know what that means?” I asked her.

  “No, but any time there is a verb in a sentence that references your husband, it’s usually naughty.”

  “It’s not naughty, Mom,” Amber said, despite the sound barrier.

  I rose to hunt down my husband when Cookie jumped up and followed me a little too close for comfort.

  “Charley?” she said, her voice low and hesitant, supposedly so Amber, who was right on our heels, wouldn’t hear.

  “Yes, Cookie?”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “That your cleavage doubles as storage in a pinch?”

  “That I may have accidently seen your husband naked. Two days ago. In the shower. Naked.”

  “Wait just a minute,” I said, screeching to a halt and narrowing my eyes. “Didn’t you accidently see him naked a few months ago?”

  She bowed her head in shame. “Yes. But it wasn’t my fault. I just went in to let him know dinner was ready.”

  “Wait just another minute,” I said, raising an index finger. “You’re cooking for him now?” She was totally going to make me look bad.

  “Hell, no. I went to Twisters.”

  “Oh. Okay, then.” I took off again, only to be hit with—

  “Although he really likes my cinnamon rolls.”

  I stopped a second time and turned toward her with deliberate slowness. “What?”

  “Reyes,” she said, stars in her eyes. “He likes my cinnamon rolls.”

  “I can’t believe this. You’re cheating on me with Reyes? You’ve been making him your famous cinnamon rolls while I’ve been stuck in a hell dimension, longing for the abil
ity to chew my toenails just for something to do?”

  Amber whisked by us. “And enchiladas. He loves her enchiladas.”

  “Cook!” The sting of a thousand traitorous daggers pierced my heart. “I’m telling Uncle Bob.”

  The day my uncle Bob married my best friend was one that would live in infamy. My best friend became my aunt, which was only a little awkward. Mostly because she refused to let me call her Aunt Cookie. Ah, well. Picking my battles.

  * * *

  It might have been dawn on the other side of the world, but it was late evening in the Duke City. We ordered takeout from the Golden Crown Panaderia, which almost defeated the purpose since customers were treated to homemade biscochitos just for walking in the joint, and took our plates into the main part of the warehouse.

  The commons area did triple duty as dining room, living room, and break-room-slash-kitchen. Not to mention the fact that one corner of the room was covered in computers and books and documents. It looked like Garrett’s house. So it also served as our business center and headquarters. Thank goodness it was something like a hundred thousand square feet. Give or take.

  Just as I sat down to sink my teeth into a slice of the Golden Crown’s green chile bread, just as my mouth flooded in euphoric anticipation—I hadn’t eaten in a hundred years—a male voice drifted to us from the rooms down a hall. A male voice I knew and adored.

  “Everyone’s leaving,” he said. “They’re calling it a mass exodus. I’d just call it an evacuation, but nobody asked me. Maybe we should—”

  He stopped short when he rounded the corner and saw me. Garrett Swopes. A skip tracer turned scholar and a soldier in Beep’s army. His dark skin and sparkling silver irises brought my heart into a state of pitter-patter.

  “Charles?” he asked, astonished.

  “The one and only.” I rose and rushed into his open arms for a hug.

  “What? How? When?”

  “Well, I’m back. I have no idea. A few hours ago.”

  “You just . . . you just appeared?”

  “Pretty much,” I said, shrugging under the weight of his arms over my shoulders.

  When I craned my neck to look up at him, he was appraising Reyes with the oddest expression. But by the time I turned, Reyes’s gaze had dropped to his pizza. I stepped out of Garrett’s arms, but he suddenly had somewhere else to look as well.