Abra Cadaver Read online

  Table of Contents

  Abra Cadaver

  Copyright

  Praise for ALASKA HEART

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.

  Abra Cadaver

  by

  Christine DePetrillo

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Abra Cadaver

  COPYRIGHT  2012 by Christine DePetrillo

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Black Rose Edition, 2012

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for ALASKA HEART

  “If you’re in the mood for a cozy fire, a cup of cocoa and a hot romance, you don’t need to go any further than ALASKA HEART.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews (5 Books)

  “This is a great book. Christine DePetrillo really takes the readers on a trip to Alaska, and on a ride on a whirlwind romance. I recommend that you go and buy this book. You won’t be disappointed.”

  ~Happily Ever After Reviews

  (5 Tea Cups, a Recommended Read)

  “There are only a handful of characters in the novel and, by making sure that each is well developed and integral to the plot, DePetrillo gives the story a cozy feel.”

  ~RT Book Reviews (4.5 Stars)

  ~*~

  Praise for LAZULI MOON

  “A magical gem, a yummy doctor, a spunky archeologist and a very bad man all combine to make this a real page-turner.”

  ~The Romance Reviews

  “The characters are likable, the romance was smoldering, and the pacing was excellent. Anyone looking for a great adventure story with a happy ending will not be disappointed.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  Dedication

  To the OC gals

  Chapter One

  Holly Brimmer stared at the dead body resting in the grass in her backyard. She knew it wasn’t truly human, but shit, it sure looked like a real person. This one was actually good-looking. His rusty brown hair was only slightly matted with dried, greenish blood. Must not have put up too much of a struggle. His skin wasn’t that post-life purplish color yet either. He still appeared fresh, as if he might pop open his eyes and say, “Just kidding! I’m not dead.”

  But that wasn’t going to happen. This fellow had definitely taken his last twirl on the carousel of life.

  She inhaled the summer-heated air and exhaled slowly. How did I end up here?

  “I don’t know why you insist on burying them, Holly. Demons only last eighteen hours after death, and I like to burn the bodies before then anyway.”

  The mere sound of his voice tensed every muscle in her already stress-beaten body. If she could take back one horrible decision, Keane Malson would be it.

  Keane leaned on the threshold of the back porch door. If he stood up straight, his head nearly hit the top. For a man of his size, he moved like a butterfly—absolutely no sound whatsoever. The snake tattoo circling his left bicep twitched as he folded his arms across his chest. Holly loved snakes, but that one slithering in black ink across his pale flesh confused her. She wanted to stay away from it and inspect it more closely at the same time.

  Stay away from it, Holly. Snakes bite and Keane probably does, too.

  Sifting out another slow, even breath, she glanced toward him.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “As if you’re having second thoughts.”

  Second thoughts? Try fiftieth, at least. Too late now for take-backs or do-overs. She was stuck with him. All part of the deal.

  A lousy deal now that she had thought about it some. Glancing down at the body again, she wondered what had possessed her to agree to such a bargain. Fear, pain, stupidity? A little of all three?

  “Demons don’t need burying.” Keane stepped out onto the back porch, careful to stay in the shade. “They’re killers.”

  “Shut up.” Teeth clenched, she sank her shovel into the grass and cut into the soft earth. The grave was easy to dig because she kept reusing the same spot. He was right. Demons didn’t need burying. Every time she opened up the two-foot deep rectangle, only ash remained of the previous demon.

  Still, she couldn’t stop herself. The demon body had started out as a human. It got cheated out of a proper burial the first time when possession occurred. Didn’t the human that once owned that body deserve a decent send-off?

  “Holly.” Without a whisper of noise, he walked to the edge of the porch. He wouldn’t go any farther. “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. I warned you.”

  “I know, I know. While I was half-conscious. Just go inside, okay?” She hated when he watched her.

  “I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of these demons. I kill for you.”

  She cringed. “Right, thanks.” She didn’t turn around until she was sure the back door had closed.

  Alone now—well, if you didn’t count the deceased at her feet—she leaned her chin on the handle of the shovel. Good thing she lived in the middle of Virginia—in the middle of freaking nowhere—without meddling neighbors to see what she was doing. Only the crows watched, shaking their sleek, black heads at her from the fence posts. They knew what she was doing, what Keane had done. They knew it wasn’t right. The universe had a natural order, and she wasn’t playing by the rules.

  “Shoo!” She flapped her arms to scare the crows away. They all scattered, but they’d be back. They always came back to hold court, to accuse.

  She dug the rest of the grave in silence. Sweat trickled down her face, into her eyes, down her back. She desperately needed a drink, but she wasn’t about to go inside and run into Keane if she didn’t absolutely have to. The less she was around him, the better.

  The corpse made a sickening thud when she muscled it into the empty grave. Dead bodies—even dead demon bodies—were so heavy, so uncooperative. She got a good whiff of decaying flesh. Apparently her guest was not as fresh as he appeared. Shouldn’t demons smell less organic? Hard to believe this body would be ash in a few hours.

  Fighting back a dry heave, she shoveled the dirt over the body and rolled the grass back into place. Standing over the grave, sh
e said, “May your next incarnation be filled with every happiness.” She had no idea if demons destroyed human souls, but she wished the souls well, just in case they got another chance.

  She reached into the pocket of her long sundress and pulled out the rose petals she’d stashed there. Letting the bright pink petals flutter to the grass like velvet feathers, she kept back the flood of tears that always threatened to cascade out. She used to be so normal. She missed normal.

  By the time she hosed off her shovel and stowed it away in the shed, a light rain sprinkled over the grave. Couldn’t hide outside any longer. After knocking the dirt out of her work boots, she climbed the steps to the porch and pulled open the back door. Keane sat at the kitchen table with a map spread out in front of him. She knew what he was doing. The same thing he had been doing since he came to her and ruined her summer vacation.

  She poured herself a glass of lemonade, dumped it back into the pitcher, and took out a bottle of wine instead. If she had to be cooped up inside with Keane, she was going to be good and liquored about it. She wished he would have some wine. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so dark and sullen all the time.

  Don’t feel bad for him, she warned herself. He didn’t need her pity, and she wasn’t going to start thinking he had feelings. She was better off regarding him as the demon killer he was.

  She slid out the chair across from Keane and sat with her wine glass. She could have gone into another room, but what was the point? Her farmhouse wasn’t enormous. They’d eventually cross paths.

  “Where are you going next?” she asked.

  He turned the map around so she could see it.

  “Seattle?”

  He reached under the map and pulled out today’s newspaper. After flopping it on top of the map, he pointed to the story he’d circled.

  She read the headline. “ ‘Police Suspect Tag-Team Serial Killing in Seattle.’ ”

  “Demons. No doubt. Figured I’d take them down.” He sat back in his chair. If their arrangement had been different—if Keane wasn’t whatever he was—she would have been into a guy with his appearance. Jet-black hair flopped carelessly atop his head, and a shadow of a dark beard framed his jaw and mouth—his lusciously full mouth that rarely curled up into a smile. She couldn’t ignore the sharp blue eyes that spent a great deal of time silently studying her or the taut muscles that rippled under his T-shirt. Any woman would have paid big bucks for Keane’s long eyelashes and smooth skin.

  “Stop that,” he said. “You know better.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  She did know better than to check him out. Keane wasn’t an option. Maybe if the only other bodies she’d seen in weeks hadn’t been dead ones, she wouldn’t be so drawn to him.

  Not that he was alive. Not really.

  Keane didn’t like seeing her look so…so hungry. It made him hungry, too. It also made him feel responsible and he wasn’t. Holly had made the choice. True, he had been the one to offer it to her, but she could have said no. He actually had wanted her to say no. In all his centuries—all the way back to the fourth century B.C. to be exact—no one ever had said no. He couldn’t blame them. Everyone wanted a second chance.

  When he first met Holly in mid-June, she was tangled with the twisted metal of her car on the side of a rain-slicked road about five miles from her home. A cell phone was in her palm, and her organs were failing as sirens echoed in the distance. She’d be dead before they reached her.

  “Holly,” he whispered in her ear.

  She gurgled over the blood pooling in her throat.

  He traced a finger down what remained of her left arm. “Holly, you don’t have to die.”

  Her glazed eyes searched his face. Even with her flesh shredded away from her cheek, she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone he’d ever met in his lonely, endless time on the planet.

  “I can save you.”

  She snaked her right arm around her stomach and grabbed onto his hand with a strength that surprised him. She managed to nod.

  “It comes with a price. A pretty heavy one.”

  She nodded again and coughed up a mouthful of blood onto his arm. Holly blinked and writhed in a sudden burst of pain. Her half-conscious gaze dug into Keane.

  “I can’t take it back once you’ve agreed.”

  Her hand tightened on his as she drew in a sharp breath that never got exhaled. Her pulse crawled to a stop as her grip loosened. Blood drizzled from her nose. The life left her.

  She hadn’t verbally said yes. Keane always made sure they did, but with Holly, he couldn’t walk away. Her eyes, which must have been a vibrant green when not seconds from closing forever, had stirred something indescribable inside him. Something he had long since resigned to live without. Something he’d shut off to keep others safe.

  The sirens screamed closer. He didn’t have much time. Gripping the door frame, Keane tore the front of Holly’s car off with his bare hands like a sheet of paper from a spiral-bound notebook. Ripping metal screeched, echoed off the walls of rock on either side of the highway, but Holly didn’t stir. Her lifeless body slumped against the bloodstained car seat until Keane placed his hands on her chest. Heat built between her chest and his hands. Flashes of energy sparked, then a shockwave of hot, white light zipped throughout Holly’s body. Air instantly filled her lungs, bones snapped back into place, skin knitted over deep wounds. Within moments, her eyes were open, and she got up from the car seat without any help.

  She stood beside Keane and pushed her wet, copper tresses out of her face. Keane watched as she inspected the tears in her clothing and the bloodstains. She ran her fingers over the exposed flesh on her arm. Skin that had been ripped open moments ago was now flawless.

  “I was dead.” She flexed her hands, her fingers. “Wasn’t I?” She looked back to the wreckage that used to be her car. A shiver rippled through her, and Keane knew what question she’d ask next. “What did you do to me?”

  “An abra cadaver,” he replied.

  “A what?” Holly’s gold-flecked green eyes narrowed as she gazed up at him.

  “Abra cadaver.” Keane rubbed the back of his neck. Gods, I hate this part. The part where he had to explain the deal. It never went well. Hundreds of thousands of people brought back from the dead, and it never got any easier to tell them what it all meant. Keane wasn’t sure he’d ever known what it all meant. No one had ever explained it to him. He just knew what he had to do. What he was compelled to do. He only hoped that someday he’d be forgiven.

  Chapter Two

  Holly’s vision cleared. The magnificent white light that had warmed her face faded as cold rain drizzled along her neck. Had she glimpsed heaven? She could have sworn she’d seen her grandparents, both dead five years now, illuminated in that misty, powerful light. How was she still alive?

  She remembered the accident, the shrill screech of her tires on the wet, summer-hot asphalt as she swerved out of the deer’s path that rainy June day just after school had ended. It had bounded onto the highway directly into her lane, and while her mind told her not to make any rash adjustments in her course, her hands succumbed to the natural instinct to get the hell out of the way. Once her car slid, she couldn’t regain control. The vehicle had careened into the rocky hill flanking the highway, and the hill had won the battle. Pain had coursed through every molecule of her body as blood slicked her slashed skin.

  Standing next to this strange man, she brushed bits of shattered windshield off her jeans. Judging by the amount of blood staining the denim, she should be registering her name with whoever manned the Heaven Admissions front desk.

  “Hi, I’m Holly Brimmer. Here’s all my paperwork,” she should be saying to a golden-haired angel.

  “Great. Let’s see.” Angel should be tapping a feather quill to his chin. “Oh, car accident. So sorry. Sign here and take a left after the Pearly Gates. Granny and Pop are waiting for you, and they’ve made all your favorite foods.”

  But instead, Holly was h
ere. Still on Earth. Still breathing, living.

  “What’s your name?” she asked the man standing beside her. Sweet Mary, he was tall. Her throat was dry and scratchy as if someone had cleaned it out with a wire brush.

  “Keane Malson.”

  “I’m Hol—”

  “Holly Brimmer. Yes, I know.”

  “How do you know?” She studied his face more closely to see if she recognized him. No. This was a man she’d definitely remember meeting.

  “Not important.” He rubbed at his slightly bearded jaw.

  Tall, mysterious, and well…gorgeous. All wonderful qualities in a man who had saved her life.

  “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Don’t thank me yet. There are terms to this magick, Holly.” Keane regarded the crumpled and severed frame of her car.

  “Terms?” She followed his gaze.

  Why does it look as if someone has run my car through a massive table saw?

  The car was torn in half, the front end completely separate from the back. Rain pinged off crinkled metal, pooled in leather seats, washed away signs of her almost death.

  Another shiver rattled her bones as ambulance lights came into view down the street. At least that was normal. She remembered hitting 9-1-1 on her cell phone before Mr. All Dressed in Black had appeared.

  She started walking toward the approaching ambulance, but Keane grabbed her arm.

  “C’mon. We have to go. I’ll explain at your house.” He steered her toward a sleek, black motorcycle across the street.

  She shook her head. “I should let the EMTs check me out. Maybe something’s hurt inside. Something we can’t see.”

  “How do you feel?” Keane asked.

  She took a moment to think about that question. “Wonderful. I feel wonderful.” And she did. Head to toe. Better than before the accident.

  He slid onto the bike, started it, and handed her a helmet. “Then you don’t need an ambulance, EMTs, or a hospital. Come on.”

  The ambulance was nearly at the scene now. She volleyed a glance back to her car. No way she was driving that thing home. She wiped rain off her forehead as she looked at Keane’s motorcycle. He patted the seat behind him, and Holly thought about all the risks she never took. How she always let logic and responsibility guide her. How she always played it safe and almost died before she’d done anything outrageous in her life.