CHAPTER 3

 

 

I went out later that morning, and came back with a large plastic bag in my hands. That was tucked into my bedroom away from prying vampire eyes. I don't know why I bothered hiding it during the day. I could have stuffed it into his coffin and he wouldn't have noticed. Hell, I could've stuffed it into his mouth and he wouldn't have noticed. But human habits are hard to kill, and I went back to sleep with the bag stuffed under my bed.

My alarm went off. It was time.

I jumped out of bed and dragged the plastic bag out from beneath its depths. The clothes inside the bag were a little wrinkled, but a little blemish on the sisterhood wasn't going to send me into eternal damnation. Maybe I'd have to do some Hail Marys and drink wine for a few hours, but I could live with that. If I remembered any of it.

The sun was just setting when I donned the last of my outfit. The neck and hood were the worst to put on, and I had to tuck Frank's necklace inside so I didn't ruin my consistent theme. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and grinned. Roland was going to love this. Maybe he'd even have a heart attack that would jump-start his heart and-

What was that?

My eyes caught on something at the corner of the mirror. It was the reflection of the tub and shower, but something was wrong with the curtain. There was someone behind it. I could see half their pale face behind the curtain. I grabbed the bar of soap and spun around.

"Come out or I'm going to clean your clock!" I threatened at the intruder.

I found-nothing. No one was there. I stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain. The tub was empty of everything but bits of hair and dust. I dropped the curtain and ran my hand through my hair. The hand that held the soap. I dropped the soap and ran a cloth through my hair. Maybe I'd seen nothing, but I couldn't help but believe I'd seen something.

I stepped out and stood by his coffin waiting for the moment when the dead would rise and get the shock of his un-life.

My wait was short. The sun set and fingers emerged from beneath the lid. The top opened and Roland sat up. He turned to me and blinked. That little blink may have been small, but coming from him it was worth a thousand times more money than I spent on the costume. He looked me over and raised an eyebrow.

"A nun?" he guessed.

I was indeed dressed in a full nun's outfit, complete with white hood and cross around my neck on a slip of string. My feet were invisible beneath the cloak and hid the only non-nunning part of my costume, my tennis shoes.

I shrugged. "I figure if we're going out on the town I could point to you and tell people I'm exercising my demon."

Roland stood and stepped out of his coffin to the side, careful to avoid me. His eyes were on my chest and he frowned. He nodded at the cross. "Is that necessary?"

I fingered the little trinket. "I can't exactly wear a Star of David. Besides, it's only rubber. You wanna feel?"

I held it out to him and was surprised when he took a hasty step back.

"The power of the cross lies in the wielder, and not in the makeup of the cross," he reminded me.

"Then you're safe there because I'm a practicing agnostic, but speaking of makeup, maybe you need a little dab here and there on the cheeks," I suggested. I stepped up to him and studied his face. "And maybe some red lipstick on your lips so the effect isn't so real."

"I would rather immerse myself in a church," he returned.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing?"

"As a creature of the devil I cannot enter holy areas," he explained.

"So what about cemeteries?" I wondered.

"Those are less hallowed, but it does depend on who is interred there," he told me.

"So don't go into a saint's graveyard, but one full of politicians is fine?" I guessed.

"More or less," he agreed.

"Well, we'll be sure to avoid that. So what say we get the dinner over before I'm late for work?" I suggested.

He smiled and bowed his head. "I'm prepared."

"Good. Let me get some water and-" I turned to the kitchen and paused. "Um, Roland?"

"Yes?"

"Is your soul box glowing?"

"No."

I pointed at the kitchen. "Then what's doing that?"

Roland stepped up to me and stared at what I pointed at. Just even with the kitchen counter and behind it floated a single bread knife. The spirited serrated blade hovered in front of its open drawer where all my cutlery was contained. More knives floated from the drawer and joined its bread brethren to hover a foot short of the counter closest to where we stood. Other drawers opened, and soon the kitchen was full of floating utensils, dish towels, and an egg beater.

Roland passed his soul box to me. "It seems we have a have a visitor," he commented.

"The invisible man?" I guessed.

The answer came when a mist slithered out of the floating kitchen items and twisted together in long strands three feet off the floor. The mist formed a figure of a tall, slim woman. She had long, pale hair and skin, and wore a white dress with a filthy apron over the front. She was also the person from the mirror.

Her eyes were a little red-colored as they looked between Roland and me, and there was a poutiness to her lips that reminded me of a child who'd had their favorite toy taken away after knocking over mom's favorite lamp with it.

"The not-so-invisible woman?" I rephrased.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "I am Violet, a spirit trapped in this world," she corrected me. She spoke in a prim and proper manner like someone out of an old movie.

Roland stepped in front of me. "What has brought your wanderings here?" he asked her.

She pointed a transparent finger at the box in my hands. "That is what I seek. It awakened me from my spiritually slumber and given me new life, and I demand more of such life."

"I'd hate to break it to you, lady, but this soul's already taken," I quipped.

"How did the soul revive you?" Roland interrupted.

The woman shook her head. "I know not, but that there was a great flash of light in the place in which I resided, and I found I was unchained from that hateful place of my wanderings." She turned her heated eyes on me and thrust out her hand. "Now I demand more that I can walk among the living and taste life again."

"Like I said before, it's already called for. Besides, we don't know how to work it," I told her.

A blue glow erupted from her fingers, and a matching glow came from the box. The glow from the box burst from beneath the lid as a straight line and traveled to her hand. Her see-through appearance became less so and a faint color came to her pale cheeks.

Roland grimaced and swept me, box and all, into his arms. He dashed into the bedroom and the blue-light contact was broken. The woman screamed like a banshee and the cutlery flew after us. Roland slammed the door shut behind us. I was still in his arms and glanced over his shoulder, and saw the tips and prongs of knives and forks stab through the door and stuck there.

The wielder of my cutlery floated through the wall and held out her hand. The soul box glowed bright, but before it could make a collect call between spirit and soul Roland ran to the open bedroom window and flung us outside. We flew up and away from my apartment building. My nun hood fluttered in the wind, but I pulled it back and glanced behind us. The spirit floated through the bedroom wall and followed, but her astral speed was stuck on turtle mode while Roland had his on panic.

Unfortunately, speed was all he had. We'd only gone a few miles over the town when he sputtered and descended into one of the wooded parks. There was a small pond nearby with a few fat, sleeping ducks. Their weight wouldn't carry them south to their condos, but the park-goers would provide fro them during the winter.

We landed on the damp grass near one of the park trails. Roland set me down and stumbled over to a bench. He caught one of the arms and leaned over it. His back was turned to him.

"Why couldn't we get a little more distance between her and us? Maybe a state or two?" I asked him. Roland's reply was to fall onto his knees. "Roland!" I yelped as I knelt beside him. The faint glow from his soul box illuminated his strained face. "You okay? What'd she do to you?"

He clutched his chest with one hand and ground his teeth together. "She. . .she stole a piece of my soul," he gasped out.

I blinked at him. "She can do that?"

"Apparently," he hoarsely whispered.

"Are we talking three-quarters or just a teaspoon?" I asked him.

"A great deal more than I wish," he answered.

"Well, let's get you a little more comfortable," I replied.

He shook his head. "I will be fine. I merely need some rest," he insisted.

"Then you'll be just as fine on the bench," I quipped. I helped him onto the seat and sat down beside him. His face was as white as a bleached sheet and his body was stiff. "What if I give you some blood? Would that help?" I offered.

"This is a matter of the soul. Blood only assists my physical form," he explained.

"So what happens if she steals all your soul?" I asked him.

"Then I will be completely drained of my existence and cease to be," he told me.

I leaned back and glared at the pond in front of us. "If that's the Lady Violet Ned told me about then I think we can drop the 'lady' part. And how did she find us?"

"As all the others found us, through the energy given off by my detached soul," Roland explained.

"So since it's detached she's thinking about attaching it to herself," I mused.

Roland struggled to his feet, and I jumped to mine and caught his arm so he could lean some weight on me. "Whoa there, cowboy! You can't think of wrangling a spirit in your condition."

He shook his head. "It will continue to worsen if the spirit isn't confronted and my soul retrieved."

"You have any idea how to do that?" I asked him.

"No. For once I have no past experience with such a dilemma," he admitted.

I felt the color drain from my face until I was as white as Roland. "Then how about we get a plan of attack together? Otherwise she might K.O. you the next time we face her."

"You spoke of this Violet before. Is there any truth to the story?" he questioned me.

I shrugged and readjusted the collar on my costume. "After knowing that vampires and were-sheep exist I'm ready to believe in a car accident."

"Is there any place that keeps such records?" he persisted.

I furrowed my brow. "The police probably destroyed what they had, if they ever had much, but if it was a bad accident the papers probably mentioned it."

"Where can we find records of these papers?" he wondered.

"The library should have a bunch of old copies, but I don't know if the librarian would be crazy enough to be open on Halloween," I told him.

"Then to the library we must go," he told me.

Then I heard a softened shot ring out.