1 Broken Hearted Ghoul Read online

  My body wouldn’t move. I just stood there, waiting for the impact. I wasn’t scared, and didn’t seem to care that I was about to be splattered all over the street. I can’t explain my reaction.

  As suddenly as the bus was on me, someone scooped me out of harm’s way. I saw the phone fall, clattering on the street. My eyes went toward the blue sky above me.

  For the first time in two years, I lost consciousness.

  Chapter Six

  I was still alive, comparatively speaking. I had survived anyway.

  I was lying on an old-fashioned, black velvet chaise lounge with lace doilies on the arms. At first, I thought I was in a coffin. It took my mind a moment to orient itself.

  I’m not dead. The bus didn’t hit me. Someone pulled me to safety.

  Had Brandon rescued me?

  “Awake at last!” It wasn’t Brandon.

  The man speaking was tall and lean, like a ballet dancer. He had broad shoulders, and a lightly muscled chest with narrow hips and long legs.

  He was dressed like a character actor from a Renaissance festival. His black pants met sturdy black boots that were highly polished. He wore a burgundy vest that was embroidered in gold thread, and a long-sleeve white tunic. There was a big knife at his side that appeared to be covered in jewels.

  He pulled up an antique arm until he was close to me. “How do you feel, my lady?”

  “I’m okay, I think.” I sat up slowly, and looked around.

  Everything in the room was like a re-make of a Robin Hood movie. There were wall sconces with fires burning brightly in them, stuffed animal heads, and swords mounted on pieces of wood. There was also a lovely, ancient Persian carpet on the floor

  “Where am I? How did I get here?”

  “I brought you here straightaway. You are safe from that contrivance.”

  My head was clouded. Did I hear him right? “I passed out?”

  “No doubt it was panic and fear, my lady, when the apparatus came so near.” He raised his left brow. “Do tell what that thing was.”

  “Thing?” I was still caught up in the idea that I had been unconscious. “Oh, you mean the bus?”

  “Bus? What an odd name. Is it run by magic?”

  “No.” I stopped studying the room, and studied him instead. “Who are you? Why are you dressed so weird?”

  “Weird?” He scanned his clothes and then looked at me as he got to his feet. “My name is Lucas, my lady. And the witch I am addressing?”

  Witch? I tasted the word as he had when I said his clothes were weird. “If you’re talking about me, I’m not a witch.”

  “Not a witch?”

  That seemed to unnerve him more than my critique of his clothes.

  “What made you think I was a witch?”

  “Good lady.” He smiled and seemed genuinely confused. “Only a witch could have called to me. Only a witch could have brought me hither to this strange place.”

  I was sure I’d never seen him before—I would certainly have remembered if I had. He was striking rather than handsome—slightly wavy black hair, bluer than blue eyes between thick, black lashes. His face was like something from a painting. He didn’t look real.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was interesting trying to figure it out. “I’m Skye Mertz.”

  He frowned, and put his hand under my chin, scrutinizing my face thoroughly. There is no denying that you do not look human.”

  His eyes on my face were unnerving. Chills went through me at his touch. I couldn’t look away from him as he completed his careful examination. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Lucas laughed. There were smile lines near his eyes, and a wonderful dimple showed in his lean cheek. “Touché! You see through me then. That is not something easily done. Proving again that you are certainly a witch.”

  “You’re right that I’m not an ordinary human,” I agreed. “But not a witch. There aren’t any real witches here.”

  I almost took that back. How could I be sure? I didn’t think there were zombies before two years ago either.

  In any case, I wasn’t a witch. That was all that mattered.

  “What kind of human are you then, Skye Mertz? From whence does your magic come?”

  Magic again. Maybe he was talking about the tattoo on my heel. It was against the rules to discuss it with outsiders. Was this some kind of weird test?

  He tapped his chin. “I wonder why you are here. Why now?”

  I’d had enough of the magic, and the Renaissance wear. Lucas was breathtakingly—well, breathtaking, but I couldn’t sit around all day looking at him. “I have to go. Thanks for saving my life.

  I staggered to my feet, but would have fallen if it weren’t for him holding me up.

  His face was very close to mine. “Sometimes even extraordinary humans can be disoriented by the use of magic.”

  “I didn’t use magic.” I pushed myself away from him, but ended up flat on my butt on the chaise again. Maybe this was why zombies didn’t sleep. “Look. I really appreciate what you did for me, but I’m not a witch, and I don’t have magic. I have a job to do. And you should go and find the nearest Renaissance fair. Real people don’t dress that way.”

  “My clothing again?” He sneered. “Look to yourself, woman! Only an appreciation of your lush form in my arms as I carried you here might have told me that you are indeed a female dressed as a male. Who are you hiding from?”

  “I’m not hiding from anyone!” Lush form? In other words, he felt me up while I was out. “And you’re lucky I don’t tear you a new one, hero! In this world, we arrest men who grope unconscious women!”

  “This makes no sense to me!” He flung out his arms, and began to pace the carpet. “I arrive here, unbidden, and know not who brought me, or why I am come.”

  “Sounds like a personal problem, cutie.”

  “Cutie?” He railed at me. “What manner of speech is this?”

  I had to get out of there. He was certifiable. Of course, I’d be rescued by someone who didn’t know his ass from a hole in a tree!

  “I’m sorry that you don’t know why you’re here.” I pushed myself to my feet slowly, hoping the dizziness would pass. “Maybe it’s something you can meditate on or find an app for. Right now, I have to leave.”

  “No one is stopping you, my lady.” He made a gallant bow, his head almost touching the carpet. “Or perhaps it is you who cannot leave, despite yourself. I have heard of such things happening. A witch who denies her magic is still a witch.”

  My head hurt. I glanced at my phone—there were three texts from Abe. I had to get going. “You want magic?” I withdrew the stun gun from my pocket.

  “I seek the truth, lady. If magic be part of it, then I shall take that as well.”

  “Good.” I switched on the stun gun. “Try some of this on for size.”

  He twitched and jerked, finally falling on the carpet at my feet. I made myself leave him there. I was sure he was fine. He looked healthy. Every police officer had to go through it as part of training.

  I knelt to check his pulse, and touched his face. His dark lashes lay against his cheek, his mouth slightly open. His handsome face was young and very innocent. Too bad he was crazy.

  * * *

  I had no sense of time about when the bus had almost hit me, and when I’d awakened with Lucas. It might have been an hour, or it might have been a day.

  It was a struggle getting to my feet, and staying there. I couldn’t understand why I was reeling. The bus hadn’t hit me, and yet I felt like it had.

  I focused on the items in the room until I could stand solidly without feeling as though the world was tilting.

  The front piece on my cell was cracked, but the heavy case around it had kept it from breaking when I’d dropped it on the street. My movements were clumsy and exaggerated, but I was slowly getting over it—whatever ‘it’ was. I couldn’t coordinate my fingers well enough to call Abe back. Whatever had hit me had given me a wal
lop.

  When I checked the time, it had been three hours since I’d left Brandon at the coffee shop.

  I went carefully down the stairs of the old building, and out on the cracked sidewalk. I knew the coffee shop was close by. Maybe a large amount of caffeine would do the trick. After all, it helped when you were drunk.

  I’d had a concussion once after a perp had knocked me in the back of the head with a blackjack. It didn’t feel this bad. I’d gone home for three days, and accepted everyone’s sympathy while I watched TV. Outside of a headache, I felt fine.

  Not like this.

  Was this magic, as Lucas had said? Not my magic, but maybe someone else’s. I started to ask Abe or Brandon. I didn’t want them to see me this way. I had to try the coffee first.

  I staggered into the coffee shop. The place was deserted. I ordered two, double-shot espressos, and found a seat. The man behind the counter asked me if I wanted a fresh cinnamon roll. I shook my head mutely. The smell was enough to make me gag. I’d never thought so before.

  My pulse zoomed as I finished one espresso, but my hands didn’t feel numb, and my tongue wasn’t glued to the roof of my mouth. I drank the second.

  By that time, I realized that Abe was going to be upset that I hadn’t brought in the zombie whose time was up. I’d never even finished the call to Debbie. He probably knew that too.

  I could finally read the letters and numbers on my cell phone. My vision had cleared, and I could walk without being dizzy. The caffeine seemed to work. I was relieved, and I wanted to know who Lucas was, and what he’d done to me.

  Chapter Seven

  The outside of the hotel where Lucas had taken me wasn’t much—a run down piece of property with other derelict shops around it—like the rest of the neighborhood. The hotel sign was embedded into the stone at front of the building. Hotel Nashville.

  At least I could see it clearly on my return.

  I’d decided everything—including Abe, the zombie pickup, and Debbie—were going to have to wait until I talked to Lucas again. My curiosity was ramped beyond high. He’d accused me of having magic. Who was he? Why the Renaissance act?

  Did he have magic?

  I pulled out the 9mm Beretta I usually kept in the glove box, and held it close to me as I opened the door to the old hotel.

  There was trash on the stairs that I hadn’t even noticed when I’d left. The place smelled like something had died in there. I could see spots where a cold, homeless person had started a small fire in a bucket or some other inappropriate container. Half of it had melted, and had burned the stairs. The place was a firetrap.

  There were no footsteps in the thick dust that covered the stairs. Cobwebs blew in the icy breeze from a broken window. Funny how I hadn’t noticed how rough this was when I’d come downstairs. We’d been on the second floor—I’d noticed that.

  Lucas was in bad shape to stay at a place like this. He may have made the most of the interior, but it was a slum around that room.

  Despite myself, I started worrying about him. I’d left him helpless and alone after stunning him. I hoped nothing else had happened. A little late to think about it now.

  I followed the stairs to the second landing, and walked down the moth-eaten carpet past empty rooms with doors standing open. There were holes in the walls and floor. I stepped carefully around them. Smashed bits of furniture were all that remained of what had been left behind.

  My gaze fell on a motley teddy bear on the floor. It had been made with real fur that was now ragged and coarse. This had been here for a long time. The small hotel had been empty for years.

  All of the doors to the rooms were open, some kicked in and broken—with the exception of one. It was that room that I entered. I can’t explain why I was drawn there. The floors were just as dusty. Cobwebs and grime colored the walls and ceiling. I didn’t want to know what the rust-colored stains were on the floor.

  I saw a bright spot of color. It was a fresh flower that had been left behind. It had to be Lucas. In all the decay and debris, it was the only thing living.

  I lifted the deep, red rose from the floor, and walked to the open window that faced the street. I felt sure this was where I had been, and yet, nothing of the plush interior remained. The strong perfume from the rose tantalized my senses.

  Magic? Maybe.

  Was all of it an illusion? Had I really almost been hit by a bus? Was Lucas real—or had I imagined him too?

  I thought about what he’d said about the use of magic having a disorienting effect on some people. If there was one thing I was definitely sure of, it was that I had no magic besides the tattoo on my heel. And that wasn’t mine—it was only borrowed from Abe.

  The man was a whack job. I’d been vulnerable, somehow. I started to throw the rose on the floor. I couldn’t. I tucked it inside my jacket before I left the hotel.

  Downstairs, three older men were fighting over a sandwich they’d found in the trash. They looked up as I went by, and then ignored me for the food.

  * * *

  Howard Welk lived on Old Hogshead Road near the small town of Madison.

  I slowly urged the van across a narrow bridge that spanned a river that separated his house from the main road. The bridge was one of the better-made ones that used both wood and metal in construction. Some of them outside the city looked prehistoric.

  The river was quiet beneath us, barely a trickle of water. It could be turbulent, even destructive in the spring after the winter thaw. In the fall and winter, when it was dry, people could skip from rock to rock across it.

  A sheriff’s deputy was already on the scene. That was unusual. There was also an ambulance and paramedics. I tensed up as I realized that this wasn’t a normal pickup.

  “Are they supposed to be here?” Debbie whispered.

  I maneuvered the van between the two other vehicles. There was also a rusted truck in the yard. It was in such bad shape that it was difficult to tell what color it had once been.

  “No. This is weird. We should call Abe and see what he wants to do.”

  I took out my cell phone—no signal. Debbie checked hers. It was the same.

  “Let’s just go with this. I don’t know what happened, but we can’t leave Howard Welk here. Follow my lead.” I turned off the engine, and stepped out of the van. Debbie and I put on latex gloves as we went. We always brought them with us in case of emergency, though we rarely used them.

  “You from the transport place?” The sheriff’s deputy sent a meaningful glance at the white van. “You know, you should have a sign on the side of your vehicle.”

  “No one said anything about that. Cut us some slack, will you? This is our first pickup.”

  Deputy Martin Cummings looked closer at me from his under wide-brimmed hat. “Is that you, Skye Mertz? I was wondering where you got off to.”

  “Yeah. I was looking for something different after the wreck, you know?”

  I barely recognized him. He’d lost a lot of weight in the last two years. His face was kind of gray—sunken eyes and shallow breathing. Maybe he’d been sick.

  I’d never worked with him, but Jacob had. He’d said he was good at his job without being a jerk. In police work, that can be saying a lot. Not everyone can carry a gun, and handle authority.

  Then it struck me—he was a zombie too. Abe had probably called him first. Maybe because I was late getting out here.

  He nodded. “I understand. And I’m sorry about Jacob. He was a damn fine cop.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed hard on old remorse. “What happened here?”

  “Sign this.” The lead paramedic handed me a form. “We’ll leave you to it. What a mess.”

  I signed for the body. At least I knew how this worked. I hadn’t done anything official for a long time.

  “Where is he?” Debbie asked as she studied the old house.

  “In there.” The paramedic nodded in that direction. “Where did you think?”

  I was reminded that some people d
on’t handle any authority well, even without a gun.

  Martin smiled kindly at us. His uniform was a little frayed at the cuffs and collar, but had plenty of sharp creases ironed into it. “I’ve determined that there was no sign of foul play in this death. Looks like a heart attack to me.”

  I knew that was Abe talking, trying to contain what had happened.

  “Okay. Thanks. We’ll get our stuff.” I grasped Debbie’s arm as we walked toward the back of the van. “They think we work with the transport team that picks up the dead around here. We’ll take a bag in, and collect Howard Welk. Lucky I threw some back here, just in case we needed them for props. You never know what you’ll run into out here.”

  “I’ll walk in with you ladies,” Martin said, as the paramedics were getting ready to leave. “The first time is the hardest. You’ll get used to it.”

  The house was barely a tumble of rocks and wood. The porch had holes in it, as did the roof. One side was leaning toward the edge of the river. It was easy to imagine a flood could take it away in the spring.

  Avoiding the holes in the porch, we went through the front door with Martin.

  There was only one room in the house. It appeared to be used for everything from a bathroom to a kitchen, bedroom, and living room combination. The walls were damp, covered in moss and mold. The ceiling didn’t look secure.

  The dead man was lying on a ratty sofa. Springs were popping out of the nubby brown material that had once covered all of it. His arms were flung out across the back and side. His legs were spread-eagle, most of his lower half on the old floor.

  I had touched the doorway as I entered, rubbing my gloved fingers together on the black greasy stain I’d picked up. “Soot from the chimney, I guess.”

  Debbie shrugged. “It’s about to be a lot worse.”

  “Poor old bastard.” Martin shook his head at the dead man. “Dying out here alone. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, you know?”