Graveyard Waltz by Jessie Thomas

2

Strains of an eightieslove ballad wafted through Rhys’ car, so low that I could only hear a suggestion of its saccharine lyrics. Possibly a hint of synthesizer. A/C hadn’t worked in this outdated thing for as long as I’d known him. Which meant I had my head halfway out the passenger side window to catch a muggy breeze, freeing more strands of hair that blew straight into my mouth from the ponytail that was slowly unraveling.

At least the fresh air and quiet hum of disgustingly early morning traffic let my headache recede. A fleeting blast of grilled meat and French fries from a late night diner made me more acutely aware that what I’d eaten for dinner hadn’t cut it. My stomach protested its demands for greasy fast food.

“Thanks for bailing me out, big guy.” I glanced over at Rhys, who yawned and scratched absently at his beardy jaw before he flicked on his turn signal. “Great cover story, by the way. Really inspired. I owe you some bail money.”

“You never owe me,” he reminded, the motto we passed back and forth as if it was the same crumpled twenty dollar bill. I felt the guilt creep in, untamed, despite his reassurance. He’d done me too many favors already. “Wasn’t lying about the case, either. We’re heading over there right now, so…” He blew out a long, ragged exhale. “Buckle up.”

“I already—”

“You know what I mean, Mason,” he answered, tired, though he still somehow managed a smirk. “Not trying to scare you, but this one’s goddamn nasty. Hope you have a strong stomach.”

As if responding to Rhys, my disloyal stomach rumbled with hunger. Made of steel when faced with things other people would need smelling salts for, but totally a weak bitch at the suggestion of food.

“I’m something of a pro.” I yanked the elastic band so that my hair fell around my shoulders. Instead of pulling it back into another disheveled ponytail, I left the elastic tie around my wrist. “Did I ever tell you about when I was first starting out? This was after…after Ellie, and I used to, you know, not wait until I’d done the necromancy to open up the caskets…”

“Jesus, no.”

“Oh, yeah.” I shook my head. “Made a lot of poor decisions in those days. I’m definitely not up to your standard when it comes to this stuff, but I’d like to think I can handle some gruesome crap pretty well.”

“Never doubted you,” he said. “Thought you’d like to be prepared.”

“How strange are we talking?”

“Might want to call in your reinforcements.”

“On it.” Shifting around in the cramped passenger seat, I dug my phone from my back pocket where the denim had molded to its shape. “I’m going to need details.”

“Tell them to meet us at St. Anthony’s on Court Street.” Rhys let out a grunt that only got halfway to a curse when someone cut him off to switch lanes.

I knew that address. “Really? That’s a busy intersection right near city hall,” I mused. “You think the security cameras might’ve caught something?”

“They’ve already requested the footage. I’ll see if I can get a look at it,” Rhys confirmed. “Cops are still on scene doing jack shit, going on tirades about witches and drinking coffee.”

I snorted. “Inspired.”

“Got the whole block taped off, but you’ll be with me—won’t matter. None of them want to be there longer than they’ve got to. I saw the looks on their faces.”

“So the investigation is going to be shelved.”

Rhys laughed, though it was devoid of any humor. “I’m counting on it.”

“But you’re not going to let it go, are you.”

Not a question, but a statement, because I knew Rhys like he knew me.

“Nope.” He shook his head, slow, as we came to a red light.

“Taking a peek at the security footage might not turn into a low-budget heist film, then.”

“I’ve just got this feeling. And you know I’d never ask you to do this, right? I’m not…because it feels wrong, and it probably violates a code that could revoke my goddamn license. I can’t shake this one, Sera. I’m gonna need you to talk to him. I’d ask you to do the ghost summoning thingy first, but we don’t have the time.”

“You need me to bring him back. The victim.”

Rhys took his eyes off the traffic light for a second to catch my gaze. “This isn’t…it’s not gonna be a regular consult. I just need—I have a feeling this is…it’s bad. You know when you get those tingly, necromancer ghost feelings—”

“I wouldn’t call them pleasant…”

“…And some awful fucking shit is about to go down, except you can’t see it—you can see it, but that doesn’t mean I can see it. But I know it’s there, waiting to get its hands around my throat and strangle me to death—”

“Rhys,” I interrupted. “You’re babbling, and it’s veering way off topic here. Let’s bring it back.”

“It’s the heat.” He lowered his window another inch.

“No, it’s…okay, maybe. You ramble when you’re nervous, so I know whatever this is, it’s got you freaked out. You’re usually chill about this stuff. Mostly.”

He dragged a wobbly hand through his curls. We were on the move again, winding through the grid of downtown streets. “I’m not hip to the paranormal scene like you are. Vampires I can manage—even that’s pushing my personal limits. Everything else I learn through occupational osmosis. From you. Devyn, sometimes. I don’t always get to see it up close, but I know what it looks like.”

“I’m not ‘hip’ to anything, big guy, and I’m pretty sure Devyn wouldn’t let you live that phrase down,” I teased. “On a scale of vampires to venom death cults, what’s this feel like to you? In your professional outsider’s opinion?”

“Worse.”

“Worse?” I echoed. “The hell could be worse than a literal death cult?”

Always something around here. Or, like, multiple somethings that knock me in the side of the face at the same damn time. What a thrilling and strange life I have.

“Don’t know,” Rhys admitted. “I’d like to not find the answer to that, but it’s our job now. Unless you want out. If you don’t wan—”

“It’ll be fine,” I assured. “Anyone asks, you never said a word to me about it. Never got you fired before, and we’re not about to start now.”

Rhys visibly relaxed into his seat, sliding his palms across the steering wheel. Once the hum of outside traffic settled in again, I heard the unmistakable musical stylings of Hall & Oates’ “Maneater.”

The universe seriously needed to chill out for five minutes.

There was an unanswered text from Nate already, inquiring about how my job was going. Better to be honest, so I prefaced my message with a brief, vague comment that I’d had an unexpected detour in handcuffs.

Devyn got a similar, but separate message. I’d made the grievous mistake of putting them together in a chat last month and it made a sharp turn straight into snarky insults and Nate leaving Devyn on read, then both of them texting me to complain about each other in our separate conversations. They tolerated each other, mostly for me, because I happened to be the only reason you’d ever see them in a room together. Dev wasn’t salty about the situation because she was my ex—it was her natural hunter’s instincts that kept Nate at arm’s length.

But I had a suspicion that after everything the three of us had been through a few months ago, she was warming up to the idea of Nate being a fixture in my life. Maybe their friendship, in the thinnest sense of that word, looked like snarky insults and amused silence.

I mean, Nate and I hadn’t exactly started our relationship on the best of terms.

Ellie had been the one to disown me for our romantic feelings, not my ex-girlfriend.

“How’s Ellie doing?” I always had to summon some energy before asking.

Rhys wouldn’t look at me. The wind whipped his hair around, the streetlights sliding down the windshield and his ID badge. I counted the beats of silence, listening to my pulse in my ears the longer he let it sit there.

“Same as when you asked me last time,” he answered, finally. “Which was this morning.”

“You were, as I recall, already halfway out the door and headfirst into avoidance.”

Rhys protested, the noise more sarcastic than defensive as he sputtered to answer. “My alarm didn’t go off and I was late for work! What did you want me to do?”

Although we all lived in the same huge Victorian boarding house, I actually hadn’t seen my sister—who’d moved into Rhys’ apartment down the hall months ago—for a solid week now. I caught what was a millisecond glimpse of her one night after I’d been at the Caligari Manor. She’d been avoiding me with an impressive stealth. I’d called after her only to be met with a closed door.

The worst part was knowing that I could possibly repair that damage. It meant giving up something that had only just started. I love Ellie, dearly; she’s the last person I’ve got, the only one who understood the dysfunction we’d come from. I never wanted to diminish what she’d gone through, or throw her pain aside, but she had to know that Nate had nothing to do with it. If only she’d give me a moment. If only they could coexist.

“Come on, Rhys,” I begged, ignoring the text that made the phone buzz in my palm. “You’ve got to give me something. Details. Anything. Is she all right? Topaz keeping her company? Is she eating at least?”

“Paz sleeps by her feet on the couch whenever he decides to show up,” Rhys conceded.

“Good.” I nodded. “I’ve been missing him, but I know Ellie needs him most.”

Topaz wasn’t giving me the silent treatment, though now that he had the choice between Mason sisters, there was an obvious favorite. Last time he’d wandered into our apartment—scratching at the door, pleading for me to let him in, likely waiting for a snack, not my undivided attention—I’d been in the middle of a spirit conjuring.

“She joined a coven.”

The news startled me so much that I leaned forward, mouth agape, one hand pressed to the dashboard in front of me. My phone almost slid out my lap onto the floor. Took a second for my brain to catch up, and by then I thought maybe I’d misheard him.

“Excuse me—what? Ellie? My sister, Ellie?”

Rhys laughed. “As I recall, you only have one sister who’s also my roommate.”

“Ellie’s not a witch.”

“She is now.” He shrugged. “She does the ghost thing like you do, doesn’t she? Isn’t that entry level type stuff in your world?”

“I mean, I guess…”

I never thought Ellie would be interested in witchcraft. The covens were almost always fraught with conflict, constantly shifting alliances, and in some cases, a major superiority complex. She hadn’t showed any outward signs of sharing my necromancy thus far, and after the trauma she’d suffered as a resurrected victim of a bloodthirsty vampire, I’d assumed she had sworn off everything supernatural.

Maybe, regardless of my own misgivings, witchcraft felt safer for her.

I just hoped she kept away from the dangerous side of magic.

“Is she happy?”

“From what I can tell. She’s spending more time outside the apartment, has a solid group of friends, and likes whatever they’re doing. Even started making plans to move in with her coven.”

Okay…that stung.

“So, she’s, like, fully committed.”

“Seems to be,” Rhys said. “She’s in a good place, Sera. Talkative. Sharp. I never knew her before, but I think she’s starting to get her bearings again.”

In the end, my screwed up feelings about it didn’t matter more than Ellie’s happiness. She’d earned that. She deserved that.

Our mother would be having a coronary right now. Eleanor, she’d likely scold, how could you hurt me like this? And yeah, sure, the idea of my baby sister being a witch was going to take some time to get used to. But Rhys, as per usual, was right. Ellie had friends. She had a place to go that wasn’t our boarding house where she chased the affections of a ghost who was also a Victorian dandy jackass. It wasn’t a total betrayal. It was a new start.

I wished I could be a part of it.

“How long has this been going on?”

Another heavy sigh. “Dunno. Probably before you two stopped talking, because she seemed to know what she wanted. Started visiting the coven about two months ago, more or less.”

Damn. She’d been real quiet about it, then. Maybe she would’ve told me if things hadn’t gone so badly between us. She probably talked it over with Robert. Not me.

Screw you, Robert.

“And what about the coven?” I pressed.

The text message I’d ignored was from Devyn: Again?Fuckin’ A, Sera. She’d left me a line of laughing emojis. See u soon.

When Rhys hedged, I kept going. Persistence was key. “What kind of magic is she learning? There’s a lot of disreputable spell work out there, and I’m not saying she’d use it, but she’s different now. I’ve got to worry about—”

“No. Don’t,” he warned. “I’m not letting you stalk your sister.”

“I’m not going to stalk her.”

“Liar. You’ll snoop. We both know you will.”

“Rhys. Come on.”

“Sera.”

“Rhys!”

“We’re here,” he announced as he pulled up alongside a curb. The church sat like a hulking gargoyle over the block beyond a perimeter of cop cars and the windowless van from the county coroner. “And that means we’re done talking about this.”

It didn’t feel like I was done having this conversation. But Rhys had already rolled up the windows, shut off the car, and hopped out of the driver’s seat before I got my seatbelt unbuckled. He rounded the hood and rapped on my window with his knuckles.

“Come on, Mason,” he coaxed, narrowing his eyes at my scowl. “Time to get to work.”

* * *

My insides had already twisted into knots.

I had a meandering, complex history when it came to organized religion thanks to my abusive parents, yet I’d always looked at these buildings the same as I did with any work of art. The art was what stuck with me even after I bailed on the religion stuff itself—how a building could inspire both fear and awe in domes and towers and stained glass. This one seemed more imposing under the cover of darkness, even as it stood in the shadow of Buffalo City Hall. Red brick, huge front doors, and a massive tower at its front commanding all of the attention.

Well, not now—now, the focus was on the crime scene roped off with bright yellow police tape. I watched it flutter sadly in the breeze as a cop spoke to a priest, his thousand-yard stare uncomfortably intense even from this distance.

Not many patrol cars were left to pick through whatever was left at the scene, but there were enough cops around to raise a few eyebrows when I shadowed Rhys. No one seemed interested in getting close to the front steps of the church, either because they didn’t want to be anywhere near the body or they’d mentally checked out and were halfway home.

Probably both.

“Looks like they’re packing it up.”

“Nate and Dev should be here any minute.”

I couldn’t shield my eyes against the headache-inducing flashes of blue and red to see any specifics about what I was about to walk into. Too far away, too many cars blocking the view on purpose and much taller, mostly masculine, people in my way. Damn my short legs. I rose on tiptoe to try and get a glimpse, only to find a motionless, undefined shape shadowed by lights.

I shivered, reminded of my elderly surrogate grandpa Charlie sprawled across the entranceway of a mausoleum in the bitter cold of late March. What the hell was up with these murders and their religious undertones?

What kind of trash person kills someone and leaves their corpse in front of a church? Same kind, I’d imagine, that started venom death cults and kidnapped vampire children. Possibly worse, like Rhys had suggested.

At least it’s outside, I thought. Might’ve had a problem getting inside this place.

It’s not, you know, because I’m a proud bisexual woman or because my participation points had seriously lapsed or because I’m dating a vampire. No, it was the necromancy that made these religious types act like I was the spawn of Satan in disguise. Don’t get me wrong, it was hilarious that my tiny, barely five foot frame could strike fear in someone’s heart, but I didn’t always enjoy the dirty looks.

Necromancy’s not one of the world’s evils. It’s been difficult to ignore the nagging of my parents’ voices in my head telling me otherwise, but ever since what happened with Teddy, it was easier to tell myself that my job was good. That necromancy wasn’t a curse or unclean—it was a gift. And okay, fine, it was a pretty unsettling gift, but you get used to its intrinsic creepiness. Eventually. Kind of.

Rhys intercepted a cop who’d sauntered over, metal thermos in hand. I silently wondered how anyone could drink coffee on a humid night like this even if they desperately needed the caffeine hit.

I only heard the grumbling tones of their low conversation—and the cop did not seem happy about me being there—because I saw Nate’s expensive black car pull up behind Rhys’ tin can. The knot in the pit of my stomach unfurled itself, replaced with the same fluttery, embarrassing anticipation I’d had for the past few months. Every damn time he and I happened to be in close proximity.

My body had no sense of chill whatsoever.

Dev’s midnight blue Harley thundered down the street soon after, the growling engine amplified by the lull in traffic until she cut it. Threading a hand through her short-cropped hair, she pocketed the keys and left her helmet dangling from the handlebars.

What a pair they made walking over here: my ex-girlfriend and my current boyfriend—though “boyfriend” seemed too childish, too modern for someone who was an ageless creature of the night.

Vampire hunter and vampire.

Dev in a pair of ripped jeans and a tank top that barely covered her muscular abs, dark mauve lipstick and the latest change to her look: a new dye job. The hair that wasn’t shaved close to her head had been bleached and dyed teal. She’d spent a lot of time in the sun despite her nightly hunting jobs, which made Nate look paler, nearly translucent beside her.

Sweet Jesus. He looks good without even trying. Turns out the secret to effortless beauty is vampirism.

I wasn’t that desperate.

Nate Caligari. The vampire who’d caused the nuclear bomb-grade explosion between me and my baby sister. Never in my lifetime did I think I’d meet anyone worth having romantic feelings for in a cemetery. Or that they would be, you know, undead.

But here we were.

Courting, as Nate liked to say.

It always sounded better when he said it.

“Enjoy your time in the pig pen?” Devyn asked by way of greeting, her hunter’s gaze breaking from Nate to offer a crooked grin. “What’s this, arrest number four? Aren’t they getting sick of you yet? Got nothing better to do than cuff the local necromancer?” She bumped fists with Rhys, who’d sent the cop heading for his patrol car. An ounce of the tension drained from me as I watched his retreating back. My jaw relaxed.

“No, it’s not fou—shit, you’re right. I lost interest in keeping score the second time they tried to get me for trespassing on public property.” I offered an eye roll to the sky.

“You were trespassing,” Rhys reminded.

“I will see to it that you are reimbursed for the bail money, Dr. Lewandowski,” Nate said, the scent of warm spices mixed with earthy autumn leaves invading the space between us before he’d even settled beside me.

I missed the scent of him when we were away from each other like maybe he missed the scent of my blood even though he never outright said it. I was stuck somewhere between being grateful he didn’t and maybe wishing he would, which was a bizarre place for me to be.

Rhys grasped for words, opening and closing his mouth once they didn’t form. Nate, who regularly visited the blood clinic that Rhys worked at part-time, still made my burly, former hockey goalie friend nervous. He hadn’t been thrilled about our relationship, either, but at least he hadn’t threatened to kill Nate.

I had Dev to make those threats.

“No, no, it’s…that’s not necessary, man,” Rhys answered. “Nothing I haven’t done for Sera before. We’re all good. Nobody owes anybody anything.”

Satisfied for now, Nate wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me into his side to leave a kiss on my forehead. “Are you all right?”

The words came in a whisper only meant for me, Nate lingering a few seconds longer with his forehead pressed to mine. I nodded, unwilling to extract myself from where he held me close. He eased the sweaty heat clinging to my skin and sent the warmth pooling in other places that weren’t appropriate to mention in public.

I smoothed down the pocket of his waistcoat, my fingers tracing the path of the silver watch chain that hung there. We’d known each other just shy of six months now, and I’d quickly learned that Nate didn’t own a set of casual clothes. Even in the heat of mid-summer, he was committed to dressing like this. Tailored black pants, a dark gray pinstripe waistcoat, polished dress shoes. Crisp black sleeves rolled delicately to his elbows, not because the humidity bothered him, but because I’d made an offhanded comment about how much I’d liked it.

“I’m sorry you had to leave Teddy,” I told him. “Is he going to be okay by himself?”

“Teddy,” he said slowly, assuring, “has been asleep since eleven. The doors are locked, and he sleeps heavily for a boy who just rediscovered that he enjoys it. He should be all right for an hour or so.”

Dev shook her teal locks out of her eyes to make a face and mime a gagging motion at our closeness. Rhys was already at the crime scene tape, tugging it down and gesturing for us to follow.

“Gang’s all here,” Dev said, clearing her throat. “Let’s see the body. That means you two, so quit making fucking heart eyes at each other. I said I was tolerating this, not that I wanted a front row seat.”

“We have yet to suffer enough protestations from you about our courtship, Miss Shaw.”

Dev turned her back on us, made a noise halfway between a groan and one of abject disgust. “Spare me, bloodsucker. Wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” she pointed her thumb at the church. “Don’t think your girlfriend would like to clean up your ashes after watching you burn to a crisp.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for that image, Dev.”

Nate exchanged a look with me that said, there it is. She’s back on her bullshit again.

Devyn snorted. “Anytime.”

My pulse quickened its pace as we all stepped over the barrier of flimsy police tape and neared the front steps. Unsure of what we’d see, I was always a little apprehensive of the unknown ahead of me. Wasn’t the necromancy that jangled my nerves, it was whatever we’d find on the other side of it.

What kind of evil we’d have to stare down this time.

Nate heard it, the way my pulse made a steady jump, and slid his arm from around my waist to thread his fingers between mine. The edge of his thumb swept circles up and down my knuckles.

Rhys jogged up the concrete steps to the first landing with Dev on his heels. The floodlights cast long, deep shadows across the entrance of the church that dripped down the stairs. I’d expected a pool of blood, like Charlie in the mausoleum. Something else stuck to the concrete around the body—as if someone had left splatters of charcoal. I wondered if it was just a trick of the shadows until I let go of Nate’s hand and leaned over to get a closer look at something lying on a step below Rhys.

A bolt from a crossbow, the sharp end glued to the cement with ropy, thick gray sludge. The odor seemed to be worse, though I had no interest in sticking my face any closer to it. Like feral vampire stink mixed with graveyard dirt. Like Death itself. Feral blood didn’t look anything like this, and smelled more metallic, so I guessed right away that we could rule them out. I scrunched up my nose to keep myself from dry-heaving. That stench came with the job, of course, but it didn’t mean I’d gotten used to it.

Dev sucked in an audible breath. She’d dropped to one knee next to the body and looked reluctant to tear her gaze away from it.

“Fuck.” With her head bowed, she reached out toward the unfortunate victim, fingers withdrawing, cautious. The lights slithered across her glossy black nail polish. Nate watched her, head tilted slightly, eyebrows bunched together, the breeze pulling a strand of soft black hair over his forehead. When Dev finally looked up at us, I saw a different kind of fear on her face that I’d never seen on any of our hunts. “I knew this guy.”