Fragile Spirits (18 page)

T
he motor was still running,” Alden said from the driver’s side of the Mustang, holding up a set of keys on a long smiley-face lanyard.

Vivienne leaned in through the passenger window. “Grandma’s tarot deck is on the backseat.” She opened the door and dug the cards out from among the fast-food wrappers and empty cigarette packs. She fanned through the deck. “Some of them are missing.”

Maddi put her hands on her hips. “So, some game cards are missing. It’s irrelevant.”

Vivienne got right up in her face. “Tarot is not a game, and it’s my grandmother he’s got, so to me, nothing is irrelevant. If you want to cover up your grief over Lenzi, or your fear of Smith, or your jealousy of Cinda, or whatever baggage you’ve got by being a hostile bitch, do it to someone else. I’ve got a job to do.”

With that, Vivienne tromped down the middle of the narrow road, deeper into the cemetery. For a moment, we all stared at each other in amazement, then Maddi chuckled. “You know, I think she really might pull this off.”

“I know she will.” I ran to catch up with Vivienne. She had slowed her pace by the time I fell in step beside her.

She stopped and turned a full circle, eyes closed.

“You won’t be able to feel him if he’s possessed someone,” I reminded her.

“Well, that sucks,” she said, opening her eyes.

Alden joined us, and not long thereafter, so did Race and Maddi.

I scanned the north side of the cemetery, looking for any signs of life among the broken, vandalized monuments. I had to squint against the relentless salty wind blowing off the beach that made the bushes and trees sway in the moonlight as if they were human. “There!” I said, pointing to a larger mausoleum in the back corner. Its black iron doors were thrown open wide with a light coming from inside.

“Oh, crap, I hate creepy stuff like this,” Vivienne said, striking out toward the light. We followed in silence.

“It’s probably a trap,” Maddi said.

“It’s certainly a trap,” Alden answered. “But we’re on his turf now. His rules. He plays dirty. Even when he was alive, he played dirty.”

“So do I,” Vivienne said.

Our feet crunched in the long, dry grass as we passed through several rows of unkempt and neglected graves—tragic testimonials to long-forgotten lives—and I suddenly felt very small and insignificant. Just one more person.

But I wasn’t just one more person; I’d been given a chance to make a difference. It wasn’t about being remembered, it was about being worthwhile.

A retaining wall no more than a foot high surrounded an elevated plot on our right. Four stark white headstones with lambs on top stood between two larger headstones adorned with stone urns. I studied them as we crept past. All four in the middle marked the graves of small children ranging in age from less than a year to seven years old. That could easily have been me, had it not been for Charles and the IC.

When we were within several yards of the mausoleum, Vivienne stopped, tilted her head, and listened.

Behind us, Race stepped on something that made a loud crack, and we all flinched.

Vivienne held up her hand, and we stilled, holding our breaths, but no sound came from within the mausoleum.

Vivienne shook her head, then moved forward.

“You kept me waiting,” Smith’s voice called from inside the small, pale stone structure shaped like a chapel. “I don’t like to wait.”

Race gestured to Maddi, who crept around behind the building.

Vivienne was the first to go inside. She had to stoop to get in the arched doorway. I followed.

Tibby sat on a stone bench at the back of the cramped space, holding a knife against the throat of a terrified girl with red hair who looked to be just out of high school. Her eyes darted to each of us as we entered, making a silent plea to save her. I kept my face emotionless and my eyes on Tibby, hoping to not agitate Smith to the point he killed the girl. He gestured for us to sit on the long concrete slabs, which had at one point held coffins.

Vivienne positioned herself at Smith’s right side, closest to the girl. I sat next to her. Alden and Race occupied the slab on the opposite side of the space.

In the center in front of Tibby was a small, round table covered with one of the scarves from Vivienne’s house. A candle flickered in a brass candlestick, illuminating the objects on the table: five kitchen knives and five tarot cards placed facedown in a straight line.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Vivienne said. “I see you’ve taken up a new occupation, Smith, besides being a thief.”

Tibby’s head jerked toward her in an unnatural motion.

“That’s what you were executed for, right? Being a petty thief?”

Well, she had certainly come out of her corner swinging. Smith’s eyes narrowed, and hate seemed to ooze out of every one of his host body’s pores. “I was executed because I was betrayed.” He tightened his grip on the redheaded girl and she cried out.

Vivienne shrugged. “Spin it however you want.”

Through Tibby’s eyes, he looked at each one of us. “Two are missing. I want all of you, or I kill this girl.”

The girl squeaked again and squeezed her eyes shut. The blade at her neck pressed a dent in her flesh. Any more pressure, and it would break the skin. I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was essential I stay calm in order to keep Vivienne safe.

“Come on in, Maddi,” Race called. “The other one is back in Houston.”

Smith grinned at him. “So you are in charge. Led by a buffoon, are we?”

“I’m in charge,” Vivienne said.

Tibby’s head tilted. “Ah. Much better choice. Your hate makes you a more interesting opponent.”

Maddi ducked under the archway to the mausoleum, and after checking out the room, she sat to my right, eyes fixed on the knives on the table. Maddi was excellent at hand-to-hand combat. She had taken first place in the dagger competition at Wilkingham.

Smith chuckled through Tibby’s tiny body. “Take one, Protector 454. You know you want one.” Maddi remained still as stone. “No, really,” Smith continued. “Every one of you take one now, or—” The girl cried out as he pushed the blade against her skin.

Each of us took a knife from the table in silence, returned to our spots, and waited. The girl’s ragged breathing and terrified whimpers were the only sounds.

I did a mental checklist of the environment. The structure was all stone, with the exception of the iron doors, and there were no windows or other openings. The floor was dirt. Nothing appeared flammable but the occupants. I eyed the candle. Not much risk of that. We were all armed except the redheaded girl, but having the weapon made me ill at ease.

“Now that we are all here,” Smith said, settling back, “we can begin.”

Vivienne’s anxiety spiked slightly, and Maddi tightened her grip on the knife.

“I’m going to lower the knife now . . .” Tibby’s body loosened its grip on the terrified girl a bit. “But you are not going to move, do you understand?” Smith tilted Tibby’s head in that strange jerky fashion characteristic of possession victims. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name, dear.”

The girl said something indecipherable, and Smith shook her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.”

“Rachel,” the girl screeched in a voice bordering on hysteria.

“Rachel,” Smith’s voice repeated with an eerie calm, dragging each sound out as if it tasted good on his tongue. “That’s a lovely name, and you are a lovely girl. I’ve not killed a girl named Rachel yet.” He looked straight at Vivienne. “Need to keep it fresh, you know.”

Vivienne crossed her legs and shot him a bored look. “No doubt. Nothing worse than repetition. Good thing her name’s not Rose. Been there, done that.”

She was brilliant. Playing this just right. She was letting him go on in Tibby’s body to wear him down. His objectives, though, were unclear, which bothered me.

“Did you call the others to come help?” he asked, lowering the knife from Rachel’s throat. “The ones from the classroom?”

“Nope.” Vivienne picked at her fingernails with the knife as if giving herself a manicure without a care in the world. “They can’t come in until the possession is over and the open Vessels are secured.”

Tibby’s eyes narrowed as Smith glared at Vivienne. “If you are lying to me, I will kill you outright. All of you.”

Vivienne met his eyes and smiled. “Promises, promises. I think you’re just screwing with us.”

A low growl came from Tibby’s throat. “Why did you leave the other one behind? The female Speaker who can’t feel me yet?”

Vivienne shrugged. “Who? Cinda? She had better things to do.”

“Pity,” he said. “I wanted to initiate her into her new job in a way she’d never forget.”

Vivienne leaned closer to him. “Well, as the Rolling Stones say, you can’t always get what you want.” She sat back up. “What
do
you want, by the way? What do you
really
want?”

Rachel had inched away from him a short distance during the exchange. He reached over and yanked her flush against him by the hair, and she screamed.

“I want revenge,” Smith said.

Vivienne waved the knife she was holding in a loose grip as if it were a conductor’s baton. “For Rose ratting you out who knows how long ago for whatever may or may not have happened?”

“I
died
because of it.”

“So did she. Over and over again.” She placed the knife across her lap. “Time to move on now, dude. Give it a rest.”

By his spastic movements, I could tell Smith was agitated. Beads of sweat broke out on Tibby’s brow and glittered in the golden candlelight. “Never.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Whatever. She’s dead again now, so what do you do until she turns up again in . . . oh, say, sixty to ninety years?”

He chuckled. “I kill
you.
”

She laughed and leaned back against the stone wall behind her. “Man, if it takes you sixty or more years to kill me, you’re doing it wrong.” She laughed again.

Smith evidently didn’t like being laughed at. He shoved the girl away and stood, knife pointed at Vivienne, who didn’t even flinch. A quick look around verified that every one of us was ready to intervene, poised on the edges of the coffin slabs.

Vivienne began cleaning under her nails again, not even looking at him as he stood, knife in hand, ready to kill her. “See, you can’t kill me right now for two reasons.”

Rachel scooted to the corner of the mausoleum, huddled on the dirt floor, trembling.

“First,” Vivienne continued, “these fine folks would stop you before you could get to me.” She gestured to us with a flourish of the blade. “As you know, I’m the only Speaker here, and when you go for me, two of them, Alden and Maddi, will fill the open Vessels while the other two take you down, leaving you nowhere to go but out.” She met his eyes. “And what fun would that be? You’d be right back where you started. No dead Speaker. No dead Protector. Nothing. Just you waiting again. And waiting sucks, doesn’t it?”

Smith sat Tibby’s body back down on the concrete bench and placed the knife on the table. “And second?”

I met Alden’s eyes briefly. He understood that she had just given us directions as to how she wanted this handled when it went down. Alden flitted his eyes to the girl huddled on the floor, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Maddi nod almost imperceptibly once, letting him know she would soul-share with Rachel or Tibby, whoever was open at the time.

“Uh-uh,” Smith said, wagging a finger at Alden and Maddi. “Everyone stays in their own body, or I kill the girl and Grandma. Are we clear?”

Vivienne got up and stretched. “Nope. You won’t do that either. The Protector that gets into the girl’s body will instruct her, and her body is a lot stronger than you are in Grandma’s. To top that off, killing Grandma puts you back at floating around and waiting again.”

She stood opposite him at the table. “Which brings me to my second point. You brought us all here for a reason. You already killed Lenzi, or Rose, or whoever she was to you . . .”

I looked over to find Alden balanced on the very edge of the coffin slab, knife clutched in his hand with his other in a fist. I hoped he knew her nonchalance was an act. He could feel her soul just as I could, so certainly the calm, uncaring outside was clarified by her controlled rage on the inside.

“And after killing her, you could have just disappeared again, but you didn’t. You want something, and you’ve set up this elaborate scene to get it.” She gestured to the table in front of her. “You’ve gone to a whole lot of unnecessary trouble, seeing as how you’ve already achieved your usual objective. You want something else, and I know what it is.”

A twisted grin stretched across Tibby’s face. “Do you, now?” Smith’s voice rumbled. “A fortune-teller like your grandmother, are you?”

She smiled. “Yep. You bet. Do you want me to tell your fortune?”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Smith dies.”

I was worried she would be mad that I’d interrupted, but she grinned at me instead. “Nah. That’s his past. I was going to read his future.”

“No.” His voice was loud and harsh. Then, it softened into the sickening cordial voice he used on us at first—the one that made every one of my nerve endings burn and tingle. “No, I believe I will tell you your fortunes first.” He gestured for Vivienne to sit, and she did.

“Now, um . . .” He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes. Rachel. Sweet Rachel. Please come sit next to me again.” He patted the bench with Tibby’s hand. “I would like a cigarette, please.” He held out his hand and waited while Rachel, shaking so hard it took her several tries, fished a pack of cigarettes out of her Windbreaker pocket. “Anyone mind if I smoke?” He looked right at me, and I almost vomited. “No? Excellent.”

Rachel held the pack out to him, and he stilled her hand and took a cigarette. “Do you have a lighter, dear?” He asked, holding the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

Shaking so hard she dropped the pack of cigarettes on the floor, Rachel dug in her pocket again and pulled out a lighter. Smith nodded as a cue, but her hands trembled too hard to even light it. Over and over again, she tried to make the lighter ignite, until she crumpled to her knees sobbing.