Grave Danger

By: K.E. Rodgers

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A Smashwords Edition

Published By:

K.E. Rodgers on Smashwords

Copyright © 2010

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is coincidental.

Author Note: I’ve always had a thing for a good ghost story. They’re creatures engrained in almost every culture, past and present. Despite the vast amounts of literature using ghosts as characters or elemental themes, I believe there is always room for more. I came up with the idea for this story with the city of St. Augustine in mind first. It too is an interesting character. I’ve visited this oldest city many times, amassing numerous pictures, along with historical books and fictional books from local writers. This is a rather unorthodox story of love between two very unlikely persons. But in the end they seem to complete each other very well. Of course I can’t forget my infatuation with the other dead people. The flesh-eaters in my story or what you might know as zombies. An unappreciated, misunderstood species. They’re not likely what you would expect. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Clarissa Schofield woke on the eve of her twenty-ninth birthday to find herself dead. It was an unsettling and quite new experience to be dead. She had never died before and therefore had no idea what to expect.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned at the face staring back at her. It looked very real - very human, but at the same time it was not. Even as inexperienced as she was by the logistics of death, she knew with no uncertainty that she was a ghost.

To be honest, death wasn’t how she had envisioned her birthday celebration to play out. Clarissa should be eating guilt free birthday cake and laughing with her friends, opening gifts and drinking enough cosmos to get her to that point where she was tipsy but not overly drunk. Birthdays were a celebration of life and the fact that you made it one more year. However, being dead took the helium out of that would be happy moment, turning her balloons of life to lead and her dreams to dust.

Turning away from her spectral visage in the mirror she transported herself from the Orlando hospital to the open streets of an entirely different city.

She didn’t know why she was here or what had drawn her to this city. Something inside her had compelled her to this exact spot like a deathly honing beacon. Somehow, Clarissa knew this was where she belonged.

The old city gates stood at the entrance of the oldest part of St. Augustine; a lasting monument to the history of this ancient city. St. Augustine boasted the fact that it was the oldest city. More accurate, it was the land where oldest colonized settlement existed; predating the settlements of Jamestown and Plymouth by forty some odd years. That first settlement no longer exists, but the structures that stand in their place give visitors a personal look at American and Florida history. Preservation and tourism are keys to keeping this ancient city alive and thriving.

St. Augustine was a cultural and historic icon, but even more famous than the Spanish charm of its buildings, the colossal structures built by Flagler and his ilk or simply the tropical beauty of the land, were the legends of its paranormal inhabitants. Long before New Orleans claimed itself a Mecca for the unnatural world, St. Augustine laid the grounds for ancient magick. Within this city of old there existed the deathly inhabitants of two communities.

They co-exist with a frayed and thin strand of mutual understanding. As long as the two abide by the rules laid down long ago, their acceptance of the other remained intact. Their bitter and apathetic attitude of the other likely stemmed from the simple truth that each possessed what the other could never have again. For the flesh-eaters, that was a soul and for the ghosts the feeling and look of human flesh.

And in this land of ancient magick, Clarissa found herself a new member of the Eidolon, (ghost) community. She knew nothing of the legendary flesh-eaters and even less about being a ghost. To her, the entire paranormal world was the warped imaginings of oddball people. Clarissa prided herself on living in the real world, not fantasy land. But she no longer lived anymore.

Evening darkness was just now descending on the city, heralding the tourists who were beginning to emerge from their hotel rooms, ready to prowl the streets for drinks, shopping and excitement.

A family of out-of-towner’s walked casually past Clarissa on their way to a sightseeing tour of the city. It was a ghost tour, one of many which the city provided for visitors to the area. Too bad they didn’t know they had just walked right past a very real ghost. The living creatures didn’t as much as turn their heads in her direction. It could certainly be seen as a waste of their time and money to go on these tours if they didn’t even have the capacity to see one right in front of their fleshy faces.

Clarissa folded her arms around herself, a tight hug to hold herself together as she stood at the entrance to St. George Street which led to the Spanish quarter of St. Augustine. She felt ridiculous simply standing alone in a crowd of living creatures, not knowing what to do next. There should have been a handbook to go along with being dead like in the Beetlejuice movie. Yet, despite her discomfort, Clarissa felt a strong compulsion to remain here, like the essence of the city was calling to her. In her deathly form she seemed more attuned to the magick of this land.

“Good, you didn’t get lost. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go looking for you.”

Clarissa whipped her head around, focusing her eyes on a man as he came strolling up the sidewalk. She watched him as he maneuvered through a group of tourists who didn’t bother to glance in his direction as he came ever closer to where she was standing.

He looked to be in his early forties with silver wings on the sides of his otherwise dark brown hair. Clarissa always thought that on men peppered gray hair gave them a distinguished and worldly look, a sexy unconventional look. He smiled at her as he drew closer, showing a little dimple in his handsomely scruffy cheek.

“Are you talking to me?” Clarissa asked hesitantly.

She gave herself a mental reprimand. It was obvious that he was addressing her, as his sharp focus was undeniably right on her otherworldly form and not on anyone else. It was the first time in days that anyone had actually looked at her and not through or around her. To others, it was as if she no longer existed. But she did exist, even if it was in a strange and unnatural form. More than anything she wanted to be acknowledged; for someone to speak to her, even just a glance at her in passing. It wasn’t much to ask for.

Clarissa had spent the first days of her death walking the halls of the Orlando Regional Medical Center, not knowing why she was there or even who she was. Her death was a blur of mixed up feelings and thoughts. In death, even her own name was beyond her grasp. All she knew was that she had died and was now relegated to this deathly animated state for an undisclosed amount of time.

No one would speak to her. And as she screamed and ranted at them to take notice of her right in front of their oblivious faces the truth of her new existence became clear. She was a freak of nature now, an abomination of the natural world. So the doctors, nurses, hospital staff and patients ignored the hysterical ghost and never took notice of her effervescent presence.

After six days of haunting the halls of the hospital, she gave in. A trip to the nursery where they kept some of the newly born living had solidified the truth in her mind. Normally she wouldn’t have been allowed to see the tiny living creatures, but because the nursing staff ignored her deathly presence, she could slip into the room undetected.

They were beautiful little things and they were so lucky to possess the one thing Clarissa would never have again. She wasn’t flesh and blood anymore. Therefore she couldn’t belong with them. Clarissa would never touch the world with the flesh of a mortal. She was nothing but a spectral of her living self.

Running a finger along one of the living creature’s cheeks a ghostly moan resonated in her throat. The babies’ warm skin tingled along her cooler skin. If skin was what one would call the strange coating over her form. It wasn’t like the living’s skin. Instead it was something composed of electrical currents and an ancient magick long forgotten by time.

It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t have to give any of this up. She shouldn’t have to end her life. Not yet, at least. Was it so much to ask that she be allowed another thirty, forty years before she bit the dust? Twenty-nine was too young to die, but then some died much younger than that.

Clarissa departed the Orlando hospital, leaving behind any hope of living again. Finally, she had come to grips with her death and so felt the pull to her new home in the old city.

Looking up at the kind face of the first person to see her in her spectral state, she was momentarily comforted. He, in turn, held out his hand in welcome as he stood in front of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as she lightly placed her hand within his grasp.

Clarissa hesitated for a few seconds, trying to draw information from her ghostly brain. It was difficult at times to remember much about her living self. Death had seemed to strip most of the living memories along with the flesh. The identity of the living was lost to the recently dead, for a time at least. Death was such an all consuming experience. It would take awhile to remember who she had been before it.

“Clarissa,” she answered, finally remembering that fragment of information. “My name is Clarissa Schofield,” she continued, speaking as if she were in one of the support groups for living creatures seeking help for some personal issue. But the dead had no issues. Death should have meant the end of such living concerns. “I just arrived, but I’m not sure why I’m here. You’re dead too I guess.” He nodded. “I’m dead. I know that.”

“Hello, Clarissa,” he said, giving her hand a friendly and comforting squeeze. “I’m Henry Portier. I guess you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place.” She shook her head in the negative as he continued. “I’m here on behalf of the Eidolon community of St. Augustine to welcome you to our city. I know this is a difficult time for you. I’m a kind of a polestar for the community; a guide for our newest citizens.” He let go of her hand.

Henry was a ghost, just like Clarissa. That was why he could see her. Clarissa had no idea there was such a concept as a ghost community; citizens of the dead organized into a united congregation. She just assumed ghosts wandered the earth alone. That was why they moaned and ranted so much.

“How did you know I would be here?”

Henry pointed up to the ancient gates of the old city. Clarissa turned her head to look behind her and up at them as well. Two large blocks of stone, aged by time and human influence, they remained standing even in this modern time.

“The old city gates are like a honing beacon to the newly deceased. You felt the pull of the magick of the land. It is strongest here. Likely because so many of the living pass these gates, it leaves a mark which calls us in.”

Clarissa could feel it too. Now that she was dead, her other senses were stronger. The ability to detect the magick of the land was just one of them.

Henry outstretched his arm in front of him, touching the old stone. Looking over his shoulder at Clarissa he gestured for her to do the same.

“When one of us is made, you can feel it in the stone,” he continued as he watched her hesitantly put her hand to the gate. “It makes a quivering movement. It’s almost as if it were alive inside.”

Clarissa moved closer as she put her hand on the old city gates. As her fingers brushed the cold stone, she felt the movement of energy under her finger tips. It really was alive. Or at least, it felt that way.

“Are there a lot of us here?” Clarissa whispered. He was the first of her kind she had met.

He took his hand from the stone pillar. “A few,” he answered, “But not as many as in other places around the world. We are a quiet community and don’t like to be as showy as some of the dead in other haunted locals. I think you’ll find us to be normal enough for our kind.”

Henry looked around at his city. The beauty of this land trumped any of the more haunted ghostly communities in the surrounding area. He had traveled to New Orleans on a short vacation trip some years back. It was exciting, but the paranormal inhabitants were entirely too chaotic for his tastes. In his opinion, they didn’t co-exist as amicably as he was used to and he was more than happy to come home to his own haunted town, leaving the craziness of the ‘Big Easy’ to the more adventurous soul.

“Have you gotten a chance to see much of the city yet?” he asked as he started walking around her onto St. George Street.

Clarissa shook her head, falling in step beside him. Henry was her ghostly tour guide as they made their way through town, pointing out stores and historic land marks. He was rather knowledgeable about the area. They meandered down the popular street, full of tourists and locals, shops and restaurants on either side. It was a long stretch of road where no cars were allowed to venture, taking pedestrians through several blocks until they reached the open square of the Plaza de la Constitucion.

No one bumped into them, nor did any of the living walk through them on accident. Though no one took notice of their presence, subconsciously the livings were able to step around their forms even without realizing they were doing so.

“How long have you been like this?” Clarissa asked as they paused at a cross road that intersected Hypolita with St. George. Not that a car could do much damage to their non-corporeal form.

Henry laughed at her expected question. “I assume you mean, how long have I been dead?” he spoke frankly.

Clarissa made a shamed face at her indelicate question. It wasn’t polite to ask such a personal question of someone you had just met. And death was very personal. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted before he could continue. “That was rude of me. I was just curious to know because I want to know what to expect in this existence and you seem to be so knowledgeable. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he assured her, a quick and friendly smile in her direction. They crossed the intersection and continued forward. “I’ve been residing in St. Augustine for several decades now since my death in 1924. Before that I resided in Maryland, both during my life and for a brief time after my death. But I’ve come to prefer this city above others. This is my home and I can’t think of a better place I’d rather spend this existence than right here in the Sun Shine State.”

Clarissa agreed with a silent nod as she watched the tourists. It was a nice place and she could get used to calling this city home. “I’ve been here a few times on vacation. There’s a favorite restaurant of mine, my friends and I used to go to it every time we came to visit. But I don’t remember what it was called.” As Clarissa spoke those words, an image of herself and two blurred shaped people sitting in a local restaurant flashed in her brain.

It was a memory of her living self, but still fuzzy from death. For the death of her, she couldn’t remember the names of those two people, but she knew somehow that they were friends of hers. Those same friends were likely now aware of her untimely demise.

Henry became aware of her sudden sadness and confusion. Clarissa was only recently dead and it would take time to acclimate herself with her living past and her deathly future. It was something they all had to go through. Death was nothing new to this world and yet it still mystified much of the living.

“It will take some time to adjust to this existence,” Henry spoke, looking at a couple as they held hands in the streets, walking quickly by them. “Who you were and who you are now, it’s a struggle for supremacy. In your head your mind knows that life no longer exists for you, but in your heart you still feel the need to be connected. The significant memories of life are imprinted on the soul and we can retain some of what we were in this form. But it takes time to remember the rest and even then we are not the same.”

“That’s speaking mildly.” She answered with a sarcastic bite. “I know I’m not the same. I’m dead.” She shook her head as another image of her herself and a man popped into her brain. They were arguing over some issue. She knew it was not unusual for her and this man to fight as they fought viciously and often. Suddenly the picture was gone from her brain, disappearing back into the shadows.

Clarissa looked earnestly up at Henry’s sympathetic face. “I don’t know who I am,” she spoke the terrible truth. “I’m not sure I even exist anymore. I know it’s somehow wrong that I should still be attached to this world. But at the same time I know that I should.” Still looking up at her ghostly companion she searched his face for answers. “Am I making any sense to you? I know I must be the worst ghost ever to exist. I don’t think I believe in the paranormal world or ghosts.” She turned away from him, wiping at her cheek to make certain that she wasn’t crying. That would make him feel uncomfortable, she was sure. Clarissa continued.

“I have to be honest and confess that being dead really sucks right now. It was my birthday a few days ago. That’s when I died, on my birthday.” She wiped at a stray glowing, shimmering tear. “How convenient,” she said. “At least I’ll never forget the day of my death. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” However that wasn’t entirely true. She knew she had died on her birthday, but not how she had died or even why. That was something her brain would not – could not think about yet.

Henry knew exactly how she felt. In fact, they all did. None of them had ever thought to find they were dead, at least not so soon. Being dead was not as easy as many of the living believed. It brought with it a whole new set of complications. A ghostly existence was full of the same pit falls of the human condition. The lack of a pulse or a fleshy body didn’t make those issues less or non-existent.

“You’re behaving exactly how anyone in your situation would.” He grinned at her statement about being a terrible ghost. “I think you are going to be a wonderful ghost, Clarissa.” He sobered a little. “Sometimes, it does suck to be us, but then again it could be worse.” There were some who had a worse existence than the Eidolon. “Don’t people always say that life sucks too? I think that if people can make the statement that ‘life is what you make of it’ then we can say ‘death is what you make of it’. Would you agree with that?”

“Yes,” she answered. Clarissa knew that she could never go back to the world of the living. Henry was more than correct with his assessment. By the very nature of the world it was up to her to find a semblance of happiness in this deathly existence. “You’re right,” she continued. “I’ve never been dead before, but I can certainly make a good try of it.”

“Now that’s the right attitude,” he encouraged. “And of course, you are not alone in this world. The rest of us will always be here if you need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you, Henry,” she said, truly appreciative of the Eidolon community and their spokesperson. She smiled up at him. It was the first time she felt like smiling in days. Clarissa had been so grief stricken by her death, it was nice to be with someone who understood what she was dealing with. It made her wonder about Henry’s death, but she figured he would tell her in time and under the right circumstances.

He grinned down at her, glad to see the sadness gone from her eyes. “I don’t know about you,” he said as he steered them to the right, into an open courtyard with hanging plants and a pretty little fountain that housed some smaller shops and a tavern, “But I could definitely eat something right about now. What about you?”

Chapter 2-

Clarissa had a sudden hunger pang at his words. She wanted to eat too. In fact, she hadn’t eaten anything since finding herself dead several days ago. All the drama that went with the grief over her unexpected demise had overshadowed the thought for food. But now she was thinking about it and it didn’t make any sense. Being dead, she no longer needed food to survive. However, the craving for food was still much a part of her ghostly psyche.

“How can we eat if we don’t have bodies,” she asked as they walked into the local tavern. The wooden sign outside the restaurant was engraved with the words, Happy Haunts, in bold red and green lettering, slightly dull and worn from sun damage and time.

“We can eat just like any other human only it’s spectrally made. It’s just as good as the living’s food. The only difference is that it’s made with magick.”

“Then if we can simply conjure food, why do we need to go to a tavern to eat?” The saying that food could not pop up out of thin air was entirely inaccurate in the ghostly world.

“I could make us something, but I doubt you would want to eat anything I could produce.” He nodded to a pair of ghosts in the far corner and pulled Clarissa toward the table. “I’m not very good in the art of cooking. It takes a bit of skill and knowledge to make food, even in this existence. Everything I try to make comes out bland or over done and more than not burned. So I gave up and left it to the pros like Clare.”

Inside the dimly lit interior of the tavern, light caste dancing shadows along the aged wooden walls and floor. Local pictures and cut out’s from newspapers hung from frames on the walls. The place was a family owned restaurant and not because everyone who worked here was blood related. It was more that they all had a strong connection to one another. It was tangible in the air.

There were several groups of people sitting at square hard wood tables, with tops rubbed smooth by numerous hands, talking and eating, large plates of high cholesterol, artery clogging foods and tall glasses of cold beer cluttering up their tables. It looked like any other local eatery in town. The only difference was that it was owned by a dead couple.

Anita and Roger Mendez opened up their establishment sometime around the nineteen forties. It was a casual joint that catered to locals and tourists who could come in and lounge for awhile and have a drink of something cold after a hot day of sightseeing under the squelching Florida sun.

They served both the living and the dead. With the help of some living staff members they had the means to do so. Everything was on the up and up in regard to legal issues. The dead could not own property nor could they serve to the living. For that reason the Mendez’s were required to hire living workers to accommodate the living patrons, and a middle man of the living persuasion had to be used to keep up with the finances of the building and all monies made. Most of the money made was used to keep up the tavern and pay the living employee’s. A small portion went into the community pool of money that supplied the needs of the ghostly citizens.

It would be a surprise to the living to know that the St. Augustine Eidolon community owned their own homes in the area. The local citizens wanted to live as normal an afterlife as humanly possible. The physical trappings of humanity like a home, helped to create that normality.

It was full tonight at the Happy Haunts and not all the seats were occupied by the living. The dead enjoyed good food and conversation just as much as any other human.

Henry and Clarissa made their way to a table with two ghosts already occupying seats at it. No one mistakenly sat in their laps or tried to make off with the chair under them. The living simply pretended they were not there.

Henry offered Clarissa a chair at the table and she sat down in the offered seat. As she did so her mouth almost watered at the smell of good cooking coming from the back kitchen. She tucked herself closer to the table as Henry took the seat next to her.

Henry began the introductions with the woman across from him. “Clarissa, this is Eleanor.” Henry introduced the petite blonde woman who Clarissa thought had the most amazingly curly hair. The woman smiled at Clarissa, holding out her hand. Clarissa took it.

“Hello there,” she drawled in a soft southern accent. “As Henry here said, I’m Eleanor.” She gave a fleeting glance to Henry. Her cerulean blue eyes held an emotion Clarissa could not name. As if catching her slip, the undefined emotion quickly vanished from Eleanor’s eyes before turning her attention back to focus on the newly deceased woman across from her.

“Eleanor Masters was my name in my living days, but I just go by Eleanor now. There’s no sense in all that formality.” She let go of Clarissa’s hand. “I hope you’ll be joining us for dinner. We just put in our orders.”

Eleanor tilted her head to the side and studied Clarissa. “You’ve only just arrived to St. Augustine?” she asked.

“Yes,” Clarissa answered, “Only a short time ago. Henry met me at the old city gates.”

“I thought I felt something in the air today.”

Henry interrupted. “Eleanor can always tell when a new one of us is made or comes to the area. She can sense them, even from miles away.” Henry absently reached out and touched Eleanor’s finger tips over the smooth table top for a brief second before pulling away. “It’s an amazing gift, Eleanor has. There isn’t much that get’s past her. She’s too intuitive for anyone to escape her notice.”

“Yeah, it’s a real pain in the ass when you’re trying to pull off a really big stunt and she pulls the rug out from under you. I was this close to getting us in the papers and she goes and rats me out to the spectral feds.” The man continued to grumble under his breath to himself. He appeared to Clarissa to be younger than both Eleanor and Henry, but perhaps a year or two older than herself.

His black hair was spiked up in a messy doo that looked very much like something rock stars had worn in the early eighties. His outfit made that theory much more plausible. Where Henry and Eleanor were stylishly attired in modern fashion casual wear, he wore scruffy dated jeans and a vintage t-shirt. The man was hopelessly stuck in the eighties.

“This is Richard Pomar, our resident poltergeist.” Henry indicated the spiked haired ghost. “He’s a punk who thinks it’s funny to scare the tourists with his ghostly antics.”

Richard sneered at Henry. “What else is there to do around this snooze town? That’s what being a ghost is supposed to be about, scaring the shit out of the living. It’s what they want. What do you think they all flock here for?” He mused up his already chaotic looking hair, casting a wicked grin at Clarissa.

“I just give the people what they want. It is one of the most haunted cities in the south next to New Orleans. If anything, I’m just keeping up business.”

“Richard is a self appointed Public Relations for spooks,” Eleanor interjected with a little giggle.

“Exactly,” he said, making haunting noises in the back of his throat. Eleanor laughed harder at his antics.

Henry frowned. Haunting the living was fine, but even that got old after a few decades. Richard had died mere twenty-some years ago. He was still ‘living’ up his newly acquired ghost hood. But in time he would fall into the trap that all aged ghosts felt.

At some point, they all began questioning the purpose of their existence. What was the point of this existence on this earth past the point of living? Many of the living believed them unnatural and godless creatures and that perhaps this was a means of punishment. Henry wasn’t sure that was true, but it could be. Was there something waiting for them in the near future, or was this all there would ever be? Just as in life, death seemed tedious and monotonous at times. Every day was a constant struggle to remain hopeful that their existence was not just a fluke of nature.

“Where’s our order,” Richard yelled to the crowded room, bringing Henry back to himself. A few ghosts on the opposite side of the room took notice, raising their eyebrows and looking at each other with knowing expressions. Richard was in his usual pleasant mood. His outburst didn’t faze them as they returned to their own conversations. “I swear we’ve been waiting an eternity,” Richard continued. “Shake a leg back there,” he ranted. Turning to talk to his own table, he turned to speak to Clarissa. “Some of them move like death warmed over. Just because their dead don’t mean they have to move at a corpse pace,” he complained.

Clarissa wasn’t sure how to respond. The living took no notice of Richards rant except for a few of them who rubbed the chill bumps from their arms. When a ghost becomes overly emotional, the living could detect them, but not always.

“Don’t be so impatient, sugar,” Eleanor chided kindly in her soft Georgia accent. “It’s busy tonight. Our order will be out shortly.” She looked at Henry. “Perhaps you could go see how things are going in back. And order something for yourself and Clarissa. I haven’t seen so much dead in one place since the civil war ended,” she said in joke.

Henry nodded in agreement, scowling at Richard as he got up to see what was going on in the kitchen. It was indeed packed tight in the place. Just as he was about to go through the connecting door that led to the kitchen, a spectral waiter came out from the other side, nearly colliding with him.

Nearly running into each other, Henry managed to move aside, out of the way of the waiter and his large tray.

“Hey, Henry,” the waiter called. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” He held an oversize tray of tall beers and plates of food. There were a couple of thick milk shakes too. The dead didn’t have to concern themselves with counting calories. It wasn’t like they could have a heart attack or some other health issue that plagued the living.

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry responded casually. “Busy tonight, isn’t it?” he asked as more people filed in through the front door.

The waiter set his tray down on a nearby stand. “You’re telling me. It’s like half the town is here.” He moved his hand over the tray and the plates hovered up from it, the beers following suit along with the shakes. They floated through the atmosphere on their journey to the ghostly patrons at one of the tables. He turned to look back at Henry. “We’re just about out of our supplies for the living. I had to go send a couple of staff on an emergency grocery run.”

“Well, I guess it’s better than having no business at all,” Henry pointed out. They were lucky people were still willing to come out and eat, especially after dark. They had gone to great lengths to keep the stories of the others out of the local papers for fear that it would cause them to lose the draw of tourists. The city lived off its tourism, just like many of Florida’s cities. But if tourists knew what prowled the streets at night, most would likely never come back.

The man nodded in understanding. “You’re right. I don’t mean to complain. I know we’re lucky to still be in business what with,” he trailed off. It didn’t bear talking about. He quickly changed direction. “It’s just that the living staff tires out a lot faster and they can’t work as long. We thought about cutting our hours so they could go home before full dark, but we can’t afford to lose that kind of money.” He scratched his head at the problems they were dealing with. He was in charge of keeping tabs on both the living and dead staff members. Right now, his job was becoming more difficult.

Focusing his attention on Henry, “Anyway,” he said, picking up his tray and folding it under his arm. “So what can I get you?” he asked, materializing a pad and pen in his hand. He waited expectantly for Henry’s order.

“I’m with the table over there,” pointing to where Eleanor, Richard and now Clarissa were sitting.

The waiter gazed over at the table in the far corner. The blonde woman and the black haired man he knew from other encounters with them in the city. But the second woman he had never laid eyes on before tonight.

She was rather young looking with long straight brown hair and bright brilliant blue eyes. With his exceptional vision, even from this distance, he could see the blue of her irises darkened around the edges to a darker cobalt blue. Her skin, which had likely been pale in life, was even more pronounced in death. It made her hair seem that much darker and her eyes look like sparkling jewels next to her porcelain skin.

“I got the two there,” he indicated the older woman and man, “Their orders should be coming up soon. I can put yours and the other woman’s with them. It won’t take that much longer. So what’ll you have?”

Henry looked to where the others were sitting, watching Clarissa as she gazed about the busy tavern, taking notice of everything. It was all so new to her. Like a child she was staring intently at a table full of ghosts who were drinking and chatting loudly. Clarissa was likely surprised with how normal they appeared. But the dead were normal humans. For ghosts, death didn’t diminish their humanity. They just lived a different lifestyle from the living world.

Henry turned his focus back to the spectral waiter. “We’ll have the same as them. I don’t think Clarissa is a picky eater.”

He jotted down their orders on his pad. Using his pen he pointed to Clarissa, “She’s new here isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her at Happy Haunts before.”

“Yes,” Henry spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. Death was a sensitive matter. “She’s new, if you know what I mean. She passed away a few days ago in Orlando. She just got in today, but I imagine she has been wandering around out of sorts. It was her birthday and I thought we could do something special for her to make her feel welcome.” Henry finally managed to remember the waiter’s name. Sometimes he was bad with names.

“It’s Josh, isn’t it?”

Josh nodded, still looking at the woman.

“Do you think Clare could whip something up for her? I know it’s busy and you’re all over worked.”

Josh continued to stare at the young woman with whom they were conversing over, but lost inside his own head.

He himself had died some sixty years back and even though he’d been dead for awhile now, the memories of his first few days as a ghost still haunted his existence. Much of his memories of life were vague recollections. As if that part of his life had been nothing but a dream. Death had overshadowed that reality and for some time it was difficult to even recall being alive.

Now after so much time had passed he was able to separate and examine both sides of himself, his past as a living man and his present as a ghost. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for what she would have to deal with in this existence. But it couldn’t be changed. However, if there was any way to make it easier on her, he would try to see if he could help.

“Yeah,” he responded, with a mental shake bringing him back on point. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe she’d like it if I brought some of the other staff to come out to greet her too.”

Henry agreed that would be something that would please Clarissa. With that settled, Josh went back into the kitchen while Henry made his way back to his table and a still irate Richard.

“Well,” Richard asked impatiently as Henry took his seat.

“It should be another few minutes,” Henry answered, leaning back in his chair.

“Jesus,” Richard swore loudly, “How hard is it to manifest a couple of beers and some hamburgers? It’s not like she’s creating a culinary masterpiece.” He slumped in his chair very much like an impatient child. “I’d fucking starve to death if I wasn’t already dead to begin with.”

“You know you’re not making a good first impression in front of Clarissa,” Henry barked back with a tilt of his head in Clarissa’s direction, as he pointed out the obvious to the moody ghost. “You’re giving in to the stereotype that ghosts are whiney.

Richard made a derisive snort at that comment, folding his arms across his chest.

“I suggest you stop acting like a dick and start behaving more like the respectable ghost you should be by now.”

The two men glowered at one another. Clarissa glanced at the petite blonde, Eleanor. The woman simply shrugged her small shoulders and smiled sweetly back at her. Apparently the two men didn’t get along so well despite being friends. Apparently it was best not to interfere.

While Henry had gone to see about their order and had stopped to talk to the waiter, Clarissa had taken the initiative to introduce herself fully to the two ghosts across from her. They had both been more than pleased to have her join their community. It was extremely comforting to know that she wouldn’t be alone in her death. And from what she could see of ghostly life, it wasn’t that much different from that of the living. They drank and laughed and behaved like any other normal human being.

The four of them sat quietly for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the old city. The living were living it up good tonight, the dead not that far behind.

Eleanor was the first to break the silence. She turned to look at Henry across from her. Henry, take notice of her beautiful blue eyes on him, stopped frowning immediately.

“Is Clarissa going to be staying with Mrs. Connors? I know she would be pleased to have her.”

Henry nodded in assent.

“That’s good. I just saw her this morning on Cordova and I told her I thought she’d have a new guest staying with her tonight.” Eleanor smiled to herself as she recalled the living woman.

Turning her attention to Clarissa she continued. “Mrs. Connors is the sweetest living woman you’ll ever meet. She’ll probably fuss over you like you were her own baby girl. She’s like that. It’s so sweet.”

Henry interjected. “Most of the new citizens of our community stay with her until we can find a permanent residence for them.” He looked questioningly at Clarissa. “I hope you won’t mind sharing a place with a living. If you do, I could set you up in a hotel for awhile.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she assured him. “This Mrs. Connors sounds like a decent living and I don’t mind staying with her. Then I guess she can see us.” She remembered Eleanor saying that she and the living woman had spoken. “How is it that she can see us, but none of the others can?” waving her hand at the living patrons in the tavern.

It was Richard who answered her. “Most of the living can’t see us,” he explained, “or more likely they don’t want to see us. But some of them are intuitive enough to see beyond their own barriers of reasoning.” He rubbed a hand along his otherworldly chest. “We don’t exactly fit into what is normal to them. Most think of us as a novelty item or only fit to be seen on ghost tours or in the movies. They never imagine us as humans existing alongside of them day after day.”

“I have to say that I was probably one of them,” Clarissa admitted to them all, though she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. She had to wonder if she wasn’t excepting all of this too easily. “The idea of a ghost just seems too fantastical to be reality.”

“And yet here we are,” Eleanor spoke as she reached out and put her hand over Clarissa’s, patting it in understanding. “We are very real, indeed.” Being dead wasn’t easy, she could attest to that from personal experience. But she knew it was the comfort of friends like Henry and pseudo-bad-ass Richard that kept her from a lonely and tortured afterlife. Even Mrs. Connors was a blessing. Through her, she could still be a part of the living world.

Just then their orders came up. Richard exclaimed triumphantly as his beer came floating down to land on the table top in front of him along with a mammoth burger and a plate of fresh steaming fries, lightly salted. A Ketchup bottle manifested itself on the table too. More plates and mugs floated down from above like manna from heaven as Clarissa watched wide eyed at the spectacle.

Clarissa picked up her own glass as she watched Richard tear into his burger with the gusto of an animal or a teenage boy. It felt solid and very real in her hands. It was even icy cold, as it should be. Taking a hesitant sip of her beer she realized it even tasted real. Amazing, she thought.

Henry took a big bite of his burger and turned to look at Clarissa. He swallowed before he spoke. “Tastes pretty good doesn’t it? You should try the food.”

Clarissa picked up her burger from the plate in front of her, bringing the tantalizing monster slowly to her mouth. She took a small, hesitant size bite. As the spectral food touched her taste buds she could feel their collective gazes on her, watching as she tried her first ghost meal. She chewed the very tangible food around in her mouth before swallowing. Putting the burger down on the plate, she looked at each of them, reading in their faces their excited expectation for some response.

“It’s very good,” she appraised the food, “I don’t think I could have made it better myself. The living chefs have nothing on Clare’s cooking.”

They all smiled and laughed in agreement before returning to their own food and drink. There was little conversation as the four of them devoured their meal.

Just as they were almost finished, several spectral staff members from the tavern came through the kitchen door, coming over to stand in a formation around their table. They all had very welcoming expressions of their ghostly faces as they gazed down at Clarissa, the newest citizen of their community.

Clarissa knew she would likely forget their names as they introduced themselves to her, but at least she might remember their faces if she met them again. In turn, each spoke welcoming words, saying how glad they were that she would be staying on in their city.

Then as a surprise, Josh presented her with a small round chocolate cake.

“We had Clare make it up especially for you,” Josh said with tender smile, as his laid the cake in front of her. “If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.” Then he stepped back with the others as they broke out in song.

It was a sweet little number, a celebration of ghost-hood. Clarissa enjoyed their performance immensely and thought that the group of ghostly singers all rather talented. Likely some of the staff had been professional vocalists in life.

When they finished, Henry, Clarissa and Eleanor clapped in approval as did several of the other dead patrons in the restaurant. Richard clapped grudgingly out of respect. He didn’t care for the style of music which was more like old timey barber shop.

“Thank you all so much,” Clarissa exclaimed, looking between the tavern staff and the three ghosts at the table. “I’m really glad I came to this city.” She looked down at the lovely cake. “And this is the proverbial frosting on the cake. You all have been extremely generous to someone you don’t even know.”

Josh looked down at the sweet young woman, seeing glowing moisture in her ghostly eyes. He had been younger than her when he had died. He understood what it felt like to have the threads of life cut so short of your expectation. “That’s what being a part of this community is like. We take this deathly existence in stride and see to it that no one feels alone or unappreciated.”

“Even jerks like Richard here,” Henry interjected. “He might be as annoying as hell, but he is still one of us and we don’t forget that.”

Richard rolled his eyes at their melodramatic speeches. “I feel so loved right now, old man,” he said snidely. “Hurry, get me a tissue. I think I’m leaking,” he cried out in ridiculous Richard dramatics.

Clarissa just smiled. Their bantering just made this existence that much more normal and human. She glanced down at her cake again, taking in the little masterpiece. As a centerpiece the cake had on it a small pink skull, smiling up at her in welcome. In the empty eye sockets were red roses fringed with ice blue coloring on the ends of each petal. Made from candied sugar, the skull was more sweet and girly than gruesome. The cake itself was covered in a thick chocolate frosting. Tiny sprinkles made into the shapes of arm bones, leg bones and skeletal feet were arranged over the surface. The sprinkles were also died pink to match the skull.

“Do you mind if I try a piece of that, Clarissa?” Richard asked with a boyish looking hopefulness on his face. He was a charmer underneath that blowhard, punk attitude. There was likely a very sweet and endearing side to Richard. It would just take the right person to bring that side out of him.

“Sure,” she answered, pushing it toward the middle of the table. “Actually,” she continued. “You should all try some of this.”

And with those words several silver spoons and forks materialized on the table. Clarissa looked to the staff, telling them to try some as well. They didn’t decline her offer. Clare made the best spectral food in town.

Eleanor removed the pretty pink skull from the top of the cake, setting it on a black and gold napkin. “This is too pretty to eat. I’ll just set this here and you can take this home with you.” Then she picked up her own utensil and scooped up a large piece of delicious confection.

They devoured the cake until there was nothing but crumbs left on the crystal plate.

Chapter 3-

Henry and Clarissa left Happy Haunts a quarter before midnight. The night air would have likely chilled them if it weren’t for the fact that they were already dead. Richard and Eleanor had eagerly accepted the responsibility of taking Clarissa around town tomorrow; showing her the ropes of this afterlife.

The Eidolon Community of St. Augustine went to great lengths to create and maintain a valued lifestyle for its citizens, to co-exist in this world with the living, who for the most part, went unaware of their influence in the old city. They watched out for the livings, keeping those who would harm them from taking complete control of their world.

The dead needed the living. Henry had explained to Clarissa that for the ghosts it was a matter of business. With no living customers to sell to, then there were no profits to buy the lifestyle the ghosts needed to assimilate into living culture; tangible items that connected them with the livings.

It worked out as well that the livings profited from the ghosts, increasing tourism to the area by their presence alone, putting money in everyone’s pockets. It was a solid partnership that benefited all.

Unfortunately, all was not at peace in the Sun Shine State. Henry and the rest of the Eidolon community couldn’t escape from the others. In recent years, the citizens and tourists of the oldest city had to contend with other deadly residents, ones that could leave this city in tatters if left unchecked. The monsters of this world were never far from their doorsteps. For those living in the city of St. Augustine, the monsters resided across the ancient Bridge of Lions on Anastasia Island.

The flesh-eaters, zombies to the livings, had staked their claim on the area centuries ago. When the European settlers ventured out to explore a new and strange world, the stories of the flesh-eaters were written along with theirs. The land was caste in magick, dark forces best left alone. The wars and bloodshed that was so much a part of the first decades of this community stirred up the magick and created a monster.

The numbers always began as a select few. And then like a cancerous cell, their numbers grew. Those livings who first tried to make a home in St. Augustine were confronted by this creature, taking a number of them to their graves.

It was believed by many residents in St. Augustine that the flesh-eaters of today were created as a curse to the white men and women who forced the natives from their homes. The land itself created these monsters. The magic of the ancient ones making what once was human into a soulless killer. But even such theories are questionable.

The search for the genesis of the flesh-eater was in some respects as conflicted as the search for the creation of mankind itself. Henry and the others couldn’t fully comprehend the beasts and though they tolerated them they believed them more than evil. They and others believed these creatures as cursed or damned. Some friendlier thoughts were that they were lost and confused bodies searching for completion. Much like the ghosts they were forced to take the hand dealt to them by death. Manage the best way they know how to survive. What was clear and undeniable to those in the know was that these creatures did exist in our world.

Their reign in this city had seemed unending. But every predator was susceptible to another. The hierarchy of nature combated this threat with the creation of a higher authority. The death dealers or death bokor enacted the blow that all but extinguished the flesh-eaters, driving them from the city, putting to rest the damned and soulless.

For two hundred and sixty years there had never been a flesh-eater in St. Augustine. Until one day, approximately thirty-eight years ago, when a clan of them moved themselves back in to the oldest city. They planned to stay for good this time.

With the need for death dealers so low after the years of peace, at this critical time for the city there were none to be found. Drastic measures had to be considered for the safety of the larger population. So a bargain was struck between the two communities, the souls with no bodies and the bodies with no souls. Each would share the city and the living that passed through it. The livings had to be sacrificed for the good of all. It was a fact that Henry and the others rarely liked to dwell on, simply sweeping the truth under the rug where the cover of darkness could keep the bloody stains from view.

“Do you think we would be bothering Mrs. Connors, showing up like this at her home so late at night? It’s almost midnight and she’s likely already in bed asleep.”

Henry and Clarissa turned down a narrow side street. Mrs. Madeline Connors lived a few blocks west of Grace Methodist Church, a short walk from the historic downtown.

“No,” Henry assured Clarissa. “Maddy stays up later than most. She’s a bit of a night owl. And besides, I called earlier telling her that I thought you’d be coming home today. She will be up and waiting for us to arrive, I’m sure.”

Clarissa took in his words about coming home, rolling them around in her brain for a few minutes. The thought of being welcomed home struck an emotional chord inside her. She couldn’t remember ever having another home and this place just felt right to her deathly senses.

A mid-October breeze ruffled Clarissa’s hair, blowing it in her face, tickling her nose. She brushed it away, scratching her nose out of habit. The night was eerily quite as most of the locals had already secured themselves in the safety of their homes. She noticed this but didn’t think it odd that the streets were for the most part empty of people, living or dead. Clarissa never imagined there was any other reason for the change in atmosphere.

But the truth of the night was far from pleasant. Clarissa didn't wasn’t yet aware that when the sun sank away from the city those who controlled the day turned ownership over to the creatures of the night. Anyone foolish enough to disregard the changeover had the misfortune of being swiftly and expertly swallowed up, consumed by the dark. And when light came, never heard from again.

A group of tourists on a walking ghost tour stood at an intersection, all their gazes looking up at one of the old Bed and Breakfasts. The tour guide was re-telling one of many ghost stories about the city, specifically one involving poltergeist activities in one of the rooms. The young man continued, captivating his audience with a story of his own encounter with the paranormal world. Everyone loved a good ghostly tale, as evidenced by the numerous livings who shelled out the cash to hear them.

Henry paused across the street from the congregation of livings. It was one of the last tours of the night. Clarissa halted mid-stride when she too noticed the group. They stood watching the tourists and their guide, enjoying a free show as the tour guide held up an EFM device, waving it around, searching for a paranormal presence.

“You see folks,” he talked loudly to the group, “I’m picking up a bit of activity. It looks like we’re not alone out here.”

A woman grabbed her boyfriend’s hand, an excited smile on her face. The man in turn stared off into space, a bored-out-of-his-mind expression on his face. He was one of the non-believers.

“When I move the EFM this way, you can notice the change on the dial. Whatever it is,” he pointed the machine in the opposite direction of the two ghosts. An EFM or electromagnetic field meter was one of the basic equipment used by ghost hunters. However, the thing didn’t always work properly in the field, other frequencies tended to interfere with the paranormal currents. “It’s in that direction.”

“Have you ever actually seen a ghost in person, not just one of their tricks like turning on the facet, but a real ghost sighting?”Someone in the crowd asked the question, but Clarissa couldn’t see who it had been. It had definitely been female and something about that voice was almost familiar.

The tour guide shook his head in assent. “I have. ‘Bout two years ago I saw a man going through my CD collection. At first I thought I was being robbed, he looked so real. Black hair, looked like he was straight out of some eighties cover band.” He scratched his head, smiling to himself as he remembered the strange encounter he would never forget. “I asked him what the hell he was doing in my house. He looked at me, a stupid grin on his face like he knew a secret I didn’t. He said I had a great collection and wanted to know if I died could he have it. Then he vanished, one minute looking as real as you and me and then nothing. It was the greatest experience of my life.”

The bored man rolled his eyes, not believing the story was anything but a ghostly tall tale. His girlfriend on the other hand loved everything paranormal and was more than eager to share her ghostly encounter. She believed her hotel room was haunted and wondered how she could investigate it. The tour guide was more than pleased to tell her that back at the shop, where they began the tour, were EVP’s and other paranormal hunting devices to outfit her as an amateur ghost hunter.

“So, do you really think that woman saw a ghost?” Clarissa asked Henry. “You know that ghost he described? It sounds a lot like someone I know,” she said with a half grin. “What do you think?”

Henry folded his arms, shook his head in exasperation and nodded in agreement. Richard loved to put on a show for the people, a left over trait from his living days. Most of the paranormal activity in the city was conducted by him or somehow connected with him. “That’s the kind of shit Richard lives for – or dies for, either one – you know what I mean. I’m only surprised he didn’t steal anything. But I guess it’s good for business; can’t be a haunted city without haunting the living.”

Clarissa laughed, causing a stir in the air. The street lights dimmed and brightened, causing someone in the crowd to scream. The tour guide calmed her, trying to tell her that ghosts are usually not malevolent and to think of them as wandering spirits not demons.

“Oh, sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Did I make that happen? I didn’t mean to.”

Now Henry laughed, this time causing the street lights to blink on an off in rapid succession. More people screamed and you could hear the tour guide yelling over the startled voices as he assured them that no one was trying to hurt them.

“You’re as bad as Richard, Henry.” Clarissa scolded him good naturedly. “When I did it, it was accidental. Now make the lights stop blinking before you give those poor people a seizure or a heart attack.”

“I’m just keeping up business, remember?” he explained with a devilish grin. “I’m making sure those people are getting their monies worth. Hopefully they’ll go home and tell their friends and family what a great experience they had in our city and convince them to come for a visit as well. Word of mouth is a strong tactic in business.”

The street lights darkened, plunging the streets into darkness then in the next second they came back on, burning overly bright before returning to normal. At first the group was completely silent. Standing motionless as if afraid that even though everything appeared normal and safe, something could easily pop out and kill them. That wasn’t far from the truth. After a few hesitant moments the group of livings took the opportunity to move on to the next destination on the walking tour.

“I think they got their monies worth and then some.” She watched as the group ambled away from them, some of them huddled together for protection from the things that darkness hides. “I even think you made a believer out of some of them.” Clarissa noted the man who had earlier looked so bored and uninterested, now scanning every little shadowy corner, waiting for the night creatures to leap out and attack. He held tightly onto his girlfriend’s hand, clutching hers in a death grip.

“We need to go now, Clarissa,” Henry said, all the lightness of a moment ago gone. His tense, clipped words worried her. Just like that something had changed, the situation turning serious. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting and I need to get you home before it gets any later.”

They continued onward, their leisurely pace replaced by hurried steps. Clarissa didn’t understand what had changed from a few minutes ago, but whatever it was, she realized that the darkness was something not only the living feared but the dead as well.

“Henry,” Clarissa nearly shouted, “Slow down, you’re walking too fast. I can’t keep up. What’s the matter? Why are we in such a hurry now?” She thought for a moment, using senses that she had yet to completely understand. “What are you afraid of?”

They were moving through backyards, cutting between houses. They had left the bustle of downtown and were now on residential area, far from tourists. Few street lamps glowed around them, making the tension more oppressive with the lack of light.

Henry didn’t slow down, but he did explain. She would find out soon enough and it was for her benefit that she knew the truth about the world around them. It was a complex situation and would take too long to go into full detail. But he could give her a basic tutorial so that she would know how to be safe.

There were some aspects of their world that even Henry couldn’t fully comprehend, secrets that were kept even from him.

“It’s not safe to be wandering the streets at night.” He began. Clarissa was too newly developed and didn’t fully comprehend her own paranormal abilities. She would be an easy target for the flesh-eaters and if caught unaware by one of them she wouldn’t know how to defend herself. Clarissa was also an appealing soul to their dark appetites, her soul strong and bright, and a tasty treat for the damned and soulless.

“What do you mean? We’re ghosts, Henry. The night is when we are supposed to roam. At least that’s what all the stories about us seem to reason, we haunt the living at night when they are most afraid. That’s how it works isn’t it?” They were dead. Nothing could harm a ghost. At least that’s what she assumed. Well, except for maybe an exorcist or a catholic priest. But even then she wasn’t so sure. As a ghost, Clarissa believed that danger was eliminated once she was beyond the grave and that such troubles wouldn’t be part of her afterlife. It seemed she had been wrong.

Henry stopped walking so suddenly Clarissa smacked in to the back of him, causing a spark of electricity to arch out from the contact. He swiftly turned, a blur of movement, taking her shoulders, steadying her as he bent down to look directly into her startled eyes.

“The night does not belong to us anymore, Clarissa. I should have told you from the beginning what you were getting yourself into when you first came to our city. I guess I didn’t want to scare you away and I was hoping to wait until you were completely settled in to this existence before forcing this on you.”

“Scare me?” Clarissa murmured. “Aren’t we the ones who do the scaring around here? You can tell me Henry. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as you think.”

Henry furrowed his brows, squeezing her shoulders as if he could somehow impart this information through their connected touch. Most ghosts did not touch one another as it was seen as an intimate connection between souls and if Clarissa had been any other learned ghost she wouldn’t have let Henry touch her. It was also a way to control a spirit, to touch one and manipulate it to do whatever you wanted it to do if you had the power to do so. But Clarissa knew none of this; for now.

She wasn’t getting it and Henry hated having to frighten her to make her understand. She already had enough to deal with just being dead. She was young, not just in human years, but in death years as well, only a few days old and already faced with danger. A grave danger that could end her existence, a death unlike the one she had already passed through, a complete annihilation that would destroy what was left of Clarissa Schofield.

“Come along, I’ll explain,” he whispered, pulling her arm and propelling them quickly to their destination, moving so fast now that their feet barely touched the ground.

“Let’s begin with this. We have an understanding of sorts with the creatures who reside over on Anastasia Island, just over the Bridge of Lions. We call them flesh-eaters, but you might have heard them called by other names, zombies in particular. They can only cross the bridge at full dark, but they usually never start to hunt until much later.” It was a lot to cover and the history of these creatures was unfamiliar to Henry. But Eleanor knew, she could tell Clarissa all about them. He just wanted her to know not to trust them or to ever let herself be alone with one of them. The strange relationship the Eidolon community had with these monsters still confounded Henry and he didn’t like having to share his city with them, let alone its people.

“During the daytime hours, the city belongs to us. You know that the shops, restaurants and tourism stuff, that’s run by us. Every ghost tour you’ve ever been on, here or in any other state is operated by a ghost. Tourism itself keeps the city alive and running and we all prosper from the exchange. It’s a solid partnership we have with the living.” Henry turned his head, looking behind them, making certain that they were not being followed. He couldn’t detect any of them close, but he knew they would be out there soon, taking lives. It made him sick if he thought about it too long and he couldn’t do anything to change the status quo in this world.

“When night falls,” he continued, facing forward and moving them quickly to Mrs. Connors home, “we must turn the city over to the flesh-eaters.” He paused, remembering when they had first encountered the clan of flesh-eaters. They had come back after so many decades and this time they couldn’t be put down so easily. The flesh-eaters were here for good and they all had to make sacrifices to keep the peace. It was a utilitarian method, sacrificing the few to save the many, but one death to spare thousands was still one death too many in Henry’s view.

“Are you telling me that we have zombies living in St. Augustine and that their eating the locals? That’s awful.” It was more than awful it was disgusting and cruel to allow such creatures to wander their streets at night devouring people. Killing innocent humans, there was no reason to allow such atrocities of nature to exist.

But that didn’t explain why Henry feared for her safety, and he did. He was worried something terrible would happen to her. Something involving one of them that would truly destroy what was left of her existence. “What can a flesh-eater do to one like us? Can we be destroyed or devoured by one? Is such a thing possible?” Clarissa didn’t really know anything about these creatures but she guessed that they needed blood or flesh of living humans to keep themselves intact. A ghost had no body or blood and couldn’t possibly meet their needs.

“Yes,” he answered. “We can be just as easily destroyed as a living human. Only if they consume us, without a body or blood there isn’t much left; they kill us for good. There is nothing left of us to exist in this world or the next. It would be as if we really no longer existed, our energy would become theirs and we would be lost. A ghost is not the flesh-eaters primary source of nourishment, but there is something about the fact that our form is composed from a human soul that makes us appealing to the soulless creatures.”

Mrs. Connors house was coming into view. A two story wood planked structure with intricately carved hurricane shutters on the front windows. The front porch was a wraparound, large with wide sets of stairs leading up to the double door front entrance. A Florida southern house, it dated back to the late nineteenth century, passing through the generations until it came into the ownership of one Madeline Connors; a special lady with unique paranormal gifts of her own.

All the lights were on in the house. She was indeed expecting them tonight. Clarissa and Henry stepped up onto the front porch which was occupied by outdoor furniture: a set of chairs and tables, potted plants and hanging vines from a trellis that ran along the entire front of the house. It was a place to spend quiet afternoons drinking iced tea and talking with friends and neighbors.

Henry pushed the button on the doorbell, setting off the chimes inside the house, loud enough that they could be heard from outside. They stood silently as they waited for Mrs. Connors to answer her front door. If Maddy was any other kind of woman she might have been scared out of her wits at finding two ghosts standing at her front door. But she wasn’t easily scared and to her, the supernatural world wasn’t so different from her own.

“Don’t ever go outside this house alone at night, Clarissa. I am very serious about this. If you need anything at all, just inform Mrs. Connors and she’ll contact one of us. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Henry’s face drew tight with concern, his usual cheerful eyes turning cold.

“I understand, Henry,” she assured him. “I won’t go out unless I’m with you or someone else. But tell me something. Why would we allow these creatures to exist in our city? If they’re as evil as I think they are then we should not be making bargains with them, allowing them to have our city. It’s like making a deal with the devil. You may think you’re sparing the masses, but you’re not. In the end the devil always wins.”

She looked up at one of the nicest ghosts she had met and wondered more about his past. He was a protective sort of man and she could appreciate that to some extent. Right now she sensed he was extremely concerned for her well being, her safety. “Why are afraid for me? I don’t scare that easily.”

“I know and that is exactly what worries me.” He looked off into the distance, into the night that consumed the old city. Tonight someone would die a most horrible death and he couldn’t do anything about it. Death was part of life; he had firsthand experience with the reaper. His own death had been gruesome and unnatural, but the fact that he knew people were dying tonight and his people were allowing the murders to happen in their city made his insides twist in knots; a purely psychological reaction because he didn’t have any guts to knot up.

This woman was special, a much needed addition to their community. Or maybe she would be a threat to them all. It was yet to be decided. Henry wondered how the night creatures would react to her. He never wanted to actually find out, hoping that she would keep away from them as long as possible.

“There is more to you than you realize, Clarissa.” Henry spoke, looking down at her ghostly form. “You are a powerful soul and you don’t even realize it. The flesh-eaters would literally kill to possess you. Stay away from them.”

Clarissa wanted to speak with him further on the matter, but just as she opened her mouth to speak the front door opened revealing an older woman, a warm cheerful expression on her slightly wrinkled face.

“Oh good,” she sighed. “You’re both finally here.” She extended her hand in welcome. “Do come in, Henry.” She turned to eye Clarissa intently, “Ms. Schofield, it’s lovely to meet you at last. It will be such a delight to have you in my home. Well, come in. I’ve made up your room, Clarissa.”

Mrs. Connors continued to twitter away as they followed her into her house. Henry closed the front door as he and Clarissa were shown around the house. He had visited Maddy many times in the past as he had known her since she was a child, giving her the nickname Maddy when she was just a kid. Now his little Maddy looked older than he did and one day she would die and leave him. But it was something that his kind always faced. And the truth was that he didn’t want this existence for her. When her time came, he didn’t want her to stay behind like the others even if that meant he would never see her again. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to concern himself with this for a few more years.

“Mrs. Connors is different isn’t she? There is a strange glow about her that I haven’t seen on the other livings in the city. What is she?” Clarissa walked beside Henry as they trailed behind Mrs. Connors, who was still talking up a storm about her home, explaining the history of the house and the décor in intricate detail.

“Maddy is a psychic among other things. Isn’t that right Maddy?”

Mrs. Connors looked behind her, scanning between the two ghostly persons in her home. She nodded her ascent before turning around and continuing forward. “Something like that Henry,” she answered simply. Then she resumed the detailed tour of the house. Maddy wasn’t boastful about her abilities, preferring to allow others to come to their own conclusions about her. She was a simple woman with exceptional skills when it came to the unnatural world.

Henry left the women after several minutes, insisting that he had much to do before the morning lights touched the city. Kissing Mrs. Connors hand in a gentlemanly fashion, he gave Clarissa a single look that reiterated his earlier statement. She was to remain inside Mrs. Connors home until Eleanor came to get her in the morning and under no circumstances was she to leave the house before full light. And so Henry left her in the more than capable living hands of Madeline Connors, psychic and other things not yet guessed at, a woman who Clarissa could see was more than a simple living woman.

Clarissa couldn’t help but notice that Henry planned on walking home alone despite his warning that it was unsafe to travel through the city streets during the darkest hours. These safety rules he had imparted upon her apparently didn’t rule his actions in the city. But he was an aged ghost, far more familiar with these dark creatures than she and could likely take care of himself if he had a run-in with one of their kind.

She didn’t ask anything further of Henry on the issue of flesh-eaters in their city, nor did she think it appropriate to discuss the matter with Mrs. Connors. Though, Clarissa was sure that the woman knew just as much about them as anyone else in town. She, as a living, was most at risk from an attack by them. It disturbed Clarissa to know that the ghosts Mrs. Connors served could easily put her in jeopardy by allowing the flesh-eaters to roam the streets. The humans were caught in the crossfire’s of this strange alliance; used as food for the undead. Clarissa wondered if knowing the truth was better than not, or if simply be blissfully ignorant like most of the living was best.

Clarissa watched through the front parlor windows as Henry strolled away from the house, his steps unhurried but quick. Then he disappeared, swallowed up by the night so she could no longer see him.

She turned away from the window, hearing the footfalls of Mrs. Connors as she came down the hallway to join her. Mrs. Connors had left her in the parlor as she had gone to the kitchen to return a phone call from her grandson, Jackson. He would be coming over here tomorrow for one of his weekend visits. Jackson kept late hours like his grandmother, much to his parent’s disappointment. They feared he was more like her then he should be.

Clarissa’s hearing had improved with death, other senses heightened as well. Mrs. Connors heart beat was a heavy rhythm in Clarissa’s ears, her blood pumping through her body, a cascading rush of fluid in a being that was complete, living. Clarissa was drawn to the presence of the living, sensing them even from afar. She felt her own wrist, pressing her fingers to the veins there and felt nothing, no flow of blood or twitch of nerves. Her system was silent, her flesh cool, but there was something living there under the illusion of skin. It was not the flow of blood that coursed through her system, but the energy of the immortal soul and something else she couldn’t name. And in Clarissa, it was strong.

Mrs. Connors entered into the front parlor, seeing immediately her newest house guest. She was young, her skin pale and glowing in her deathly state. Anyone seeing her in this existence might mistake her for one of the angels. But Maddy knew about such deities to know the difference. For death to take a person at such an age was a sadness that many of the living experienced. Death did not discriminate. He took any and all who crossed his path and without remorse.

Maddy took in the sight of this young ghost and wondered what she would be like in a few years, even in a few months after living here in St. Augustine. Even now after only being recently created, it was clear that she was an exceptional being. Clarissa possessed a powerful soul that with enough time and encouragement could easily rival the aged ghosts who ran the oldest city. And they might not be so pleased to know that someone could usurp their authority in the world of the dead.

“Would you like to come and see your rooms now, Clarissa? I’ve set you up in one of the rooms that face the front yard and the city. You can see a bit of the church from your bedroom.”

Clarissa tilted her head, a single nod. “Thank you, Maddy.”

They had agreed earlier to set aside formality and call each other by first names from now on. Madeline was accustomed to being called Maddy. At first it was only Henry who had called her by such a name and then it had suddenly caught on until she was Maddy to everyone as well.

Clarissa followed Maddy up the narrow staircase to the second floor. At the moment Clarissa was the only dead resident staying at the house. Henry and the others in the city had homes of their own and after a time so would Clarissa. It was one of the requirements that all ghosts asked for, a home of their own where they could be at peace and feel safe. It was obviously something left over from their living days.

Maddy told Clarissa about her grandson, Jackson. He would be over some time tomorrow afternoon after school. A senior in high school, he didn’t have any future plans for himself after graduation. Maddy knew he would figure it all out in time. His parents were constantly away on business trips and so left their only son with his grandmother a lot. It was clear that he loved his grandmother despite it being un-cool for someone his age to want to hang out with an old woman. And it was clear that Maddy loved her grandson unconditionally.

Jackson could see ghosts just as easily as his grandmother. Another thing his parents found disturbing about their son. Conversing with the dead was not something they approved of and they secretly hoped that he would go away to college and forget all about his grandmother’s gifts and her paranormal friends. But so far Jackson had no intention of ever stopping his visits to St. Augustine or his grandmother any time soon.

“I hope your stay here will be pleasant enough. I know it must be difficult sharing with a living. But I promise that as soon as things can be arranged we will find you a place of your own.”

They had by now reached the landing and were making their way down the silent hallway to Clarissa’s room. “You must be exhausted from your journey.” She opened the door on her left, letting Clarissa walk through first.

Clarissa was tired, an improbability considering she was dead and no longer needed sleep to survive. But she was wary. She just wanted to rest in peace, to think about her new circumstances and to simply relax her brain. Going to the window that faced the front yard and the city, the river and sea coast beyond. Lights illuminated the old city and somewhere out in the night the flesh-eaters were taking down the living like cattle.

What did they look like, she wondered? What poor soul was being taken down by them at this moment, exterminated by the monsters of the night? It was a strange world she found herself part of, the dead and the living so close yet never completely united. The ghosts allowed them, the living, to be sacrificed to these undead corpses and they thought that was okay. It wasn’t, not by any standards okay to condone murder.

Clarissa drew the curtains closed, turning away from the window, trying to block out the image of a living being consumed by an animal of the night. Instead she took a close look at her rooms. Her space consisted of a small sitting room which she was now standing in. A connecting French door, that was now set open, led into a moderately sized bedroom. The entire apartment was outfitted in reproduction antiques, though some of the pieces were likely authentic. The style of the décor was elegant and stately, dating to a time in American history that enjoyed luxury, turn of the twentieth century or slightly earlier.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Maddy questioned as Clarissa moved about the sitting room, touching objects as she passed: a crystal vase of flowers, a ceramic bowel and pitcher, a lace doily that lay on a circular end table. She touched these things because she wanted to see that she could.

“No, thank you though.” Clarissa responded quietly, not looking at the woman, still lost in her own thoughts. She took a seat on an upholstered arm chair, folding her pale hands on her lap. She looked down at her hands, running her fingers along her jeans. “I’m a little tired it’s true, but you don’t need to fuss over me. I can take care of myself.”

Maddy nodded her head in understanding. “Okay,” she said. “If you need anything, remember I’m in the room across the hall from yours.” She backed out of the room, taking hold of the brass doorknob. “Good night, Clarissa. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that said, she pulled the door closed, leaving Clarissa alone with her thoughts.

Chapter 4-

“Did you rest all right last night, Clarissa? Mrs. Connors told me over the phone that you kept your lights on all night.” Eleanor had phoned the house earlier that morning for a quick chat with Maddy and to see how her newest guest was doing.

Maddy had said that Clarissa seemed a little out of touch, distant and quiet. But that was to be expected. She said she thought Clarissa was a nice young woman who would fit in well with the rest of the community. Eleanor had agreed with that and informed the older woman that she would be over to pick Clarissa up so she could take her around town and have some girl time before Richard would join them.

Clarissa had been sitting quietly in the front parlor while Mrs. Connors was doing a bit of light cleaning before her living guests arrived. On Fridays her ladies group came over to socialize and most importantly to gossip about town affairs. The group was a cross between the Red Hat Ladies club and the occult. They didn’t sacrifice any animals or pray to any mythological deities. They were just a couple of grown women who happened to have close ties with the supernatural world.

Eleanor had noticed how drawn into herself Clarissa was, a total contrast from the woman she had seen leave with Henry last night. She had seemed so happy then and now she appeared extremely reserved.

“The truth is I’m just trying to understand how I fit into all of this; my role in this world. And when Henry was taking me home last night he told me about theses flesh-eaters that the community allows to have the city during the night, using it as their hunting grounds. I guess Henry freaked me out a little.”

“Henry doesn’t always know how to explain things the right way.” Eleanor took Clarissa’s hand into the crook of her arm, patting it in comfort. “I’m sorry if he scared you. That was not his intention. He’s a very protective man, very rare in these days. It’s just that you are so inexperienced in this world, he wanted you to be safe.”

“Henry said I can’t go out at night, at least not on my own. So if I want to do anything after dark I have to be chaperoned like a little kid. He explained that these flesh-eaters are permitted free reign over the city and if they saw me I could get hurt, killed even.”

They were shopping today. Clarissa was still wearing the clothes she had woken up in at the hospital; the clothes she had died in. Shopping was a task that irritated Richard. He had made clear that he would rather die all over again than be forced to go shopping with Eleanor.

The Eidolon community had several dressmakers on hand who catered to a specific dead clientele. Just because they were dead didn’t mean they couldn’t be up on the last trends in the fashion world. Like the food they could create, the ghosts had to have clothes specifically created for their non-corporal forms using an alternate technique from the living, again with the use of magick.

“That is true,” Eleanor answered. “But you have to understand that when they come over that bridge they have only one objective, to feed.” Eleanor knew quite a bit about the supernatural beings in this world. She did her best to try to understand them even if their lifestyle abhorred her.

“Why don’t they stay on their side of the city, on the island? Why do they come over the bridge at all into the downtown area?” Not that that would be any more acceptable. The livings on either side of the river were in danger from these undead flesh-eaters.

“They prefer to have access to the city and downtown area on our side and to use the island purely for housing. The feedings are only in the downtown area so those on Anastasia Island are safe, I guess, from their appetites. It’s like that phrase I’m sure you’ve heard about, not eating where you do your business. In this case the flesh-eaters remain on the island during the day and cross over the bridge at night.”

“I still don’t get it, but I know what you’re saying. So they cross the bridge at full dark and come into our city and consume our people, then when the light comes they go back across the bridge and spend the day on the beach.” What was it that forced someone to consume another human being? It was cannibalism at its worst. Clarissa voiced her thoughts aloud. “How can they do that people?”

“It’s an all together consuming need they have that drives them. We don’t completely understand their species, but we know that without constant ingestion of living human flesh they will break down and become mad until there is nothing left of them, without a soul they would crumble into nothingness. Really, they are more like animals than humans. The flesh-eaters in our city co-habitat as a clan, but sometimes they move about alone. In either case, nothing can stand in their way when that appetite for flesh takes over their systems.”

Eleanor glanced over to see Clarissa’s drawn face. “I’m sorry. I’m just as bad as Henry. You’re not afraid, are you? You just need to remember to take certain precautions when dealing with the others. If we stay out of their way, they won’t get in ours.”

“How can you say that? They’re eating the locals and more likely the tourists. If they really are these demonic-like soulless beasts, what is stopping them from coming into our homes? There is no such thing as staying out of their way, pretending like they don’t exist and letting them eat innocent human beings. If they wanted to they could take over the city.”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, they couldn’t. This is our city,” she said emphatically, stressing each syllable, her words staking a claim on what she believed was her right of ownership. “The flesh-eaters only control a portion of the city and only at night. They cannot enter our homes or businesses, nor are they allowed to overindulge on our livings. They do not eat children or innocents as far as I know.”

Eleanor continued. “If people were disappearing right and left, don’t you think the media would catch wind of it, making it into a story of rising crime in the area? We already have enough of that as it is. If that happened the tourism would drop to almost nothing and then where would they be? It is for their benefit that they do their business discreetly and with as little causality as possible.”

“Is that what these livings are to you, necessary casualties? Are we truly that heartless to feed our citizens to these creatures so we can be safe? Like human cattle or pigs, we treat them as expendable so we can pretend we have some control over the city.”

Eleanor stopped walking. She turned to give Clarissa a cold, hard stare, her lips thin, her pretty mouth drawn down in a frown. “Look here,” she bit out, “I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do. As far as I’m concerned I wish we could get rid of them for good, but we can’t. There was a time when we had the tools to exterminate these abnormalities of nature, but we’re at a disadvantage here and believe me, the death toll could be so much higher if we hadn’t stepped in and made these arrangements. I may not have a heartbeat anymore, but I am not heartless.”

Clarissa looked away from that hard stare. Perhaps she was right. If left to their own ruling, these flesh-eaters would consume the entire city in a single feeding frenzy. Maybe in some sick way, this arrangement was the lesser of two evils.

The Eidolon community kept much of the community safe from the night stalkers. Only those foolish enough to wander around alone in the dark were consumed and only when necessary as Eleanor had said. They didn’t kill for fun but for survival. However, Clarissa had trouble wrapping her brain around the concept of death as a necessary need even if it meant sparing others. Even if it was the lesser of two evils, it was still an evil in and of itself.

“I’m sorry,” Clarissa apologized, turning to face Eleanor, seeing the other woman’s pinched expression. “This is still so new to me. I didn’t mean to insult you or the community. Please forgive me if I hurt your feelings.”

Eleanor let out a long breath, her face relaxing into its usual calm disposition. She nodded, taking Clarissa’s arm back into her own as then continued walking down the streets of the old city.

She laughed. “That was our first little skirmish, you and I. It’s a sign, you know, that we will be great friends.” She gave Clarissa a lopsided grin. “Only best friends fight like that with each other. It’s a rule somewhere.”

“So you’re saying people who fight with each other are really good friends. Then Henry and Richard must be extreme bff’s,” she exclaimed sarcastically. “Do you expect us to argue like they do?” She hoped not.

Clarissa was glad that they could get past this first argument even though she knew it wasn’t completely settled. She couldn’t find it in herself to agree with Eleanor, but she had sense enough to understand her reasoning.

“If we are lucky, then yes. We’ll argue about a lot of things, call each other horrible names, then apologize and make it up to one another by going shopping.”

Clarissa smiled. “You have it all planned out, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I know everything.” She flipped her beautifully curly blonde locks over her petite shoulders forcing Clarissa to laugh as well as lifting the mood considerably.

“Okay, all knowing being, let’s go shopping. We’re supposed to meet Richard for lunch, remember. He would be upset if we made him wait to eat.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Oh, heaven help us if we keep poor Richard from food,” she said with obvious sarcasm. “It’s a good thing he can’t change or he’d be as massive as his house. As it is, his ego is just as big.”

“He’s not so bad,” Clarissa contradicted. “I think he has a kind of sweet nature once you get past the surliness and bravado. He’s a nice guy.” She caught Eleanor giving her a curious look. “What is that all about?”

A sly smile crept over Eleanor’s lips. “Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, giving Clarissa a knowing look. “You have a thing for Richard, don’t you?”

“What?” Clarissa shouted in astonishment.

“You do.” Eleanor laughed. “You’re blushing all over right now. Oh, that is too sweet.”

Ghosts didn’t actually blush like living humans, rather their soul’s aura changed to accommodate the change in emotion.

“I’m blushing,” Clarissa touched her cool cheeks, “because I’m embarrassed by what you are thinking about right now. You have a very active imagination. Did you know that? And what you were just picturing about me and Richard would make even Richard blush all over.”

Eleanor’s smile faltered. “You can read my thoughts.” She made it a statement.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “Can’t you? Can’t the others do that?”

“No,” she answered, a frown replacing her smile. “And I know only a handful of ghosts who can. Henry was right; there is something very different about you.”

Now Clarissa frowned. “I can’t stand these cryptic comments. No one ever explains what they really mean when they say things like that to me. I’m just an ordinary ghost like all of you. I look like you, don’t I? There is absolutely nothing different or odd about me.”

Even as Clarissa spoke these words she knew they weren’t true.

Eleanor looked like she wanted to start another battle of friendship. Clarissa really wasn’t in the mood to engage in any more clashing of pros. She just wanted to have a normal day with her equally normal group of ghost friends. For now, she would forget about the flesh-eaters and there would be no more talk about her being a freak in the paranormal world. This time Clarissa pulled Eleanor along as they walked together down the street.

Clarissa was looking through a rack of dresses and skirts, trying to pick something out to wear. Eleanor had explained the concept of clothes to her and that ghosts had the luxury of changing out of their death garbs if they wanted. The death garb was permanent, but the new clothes would have to be changed. Because they were magick meant that they didn’t last forever. She would pick an item out and then Lizzy, Mrs. Elizabeth Sands, formally speaking, would duplicate the design to Clarissa’s form. Like the indulgence of food, the creation of clothes for their otherworldly bodies required magick as well as knowledge of the art. It was a luxury to the community to have talents like Mrs. Sands or everyone would be forced to continually wear the outfits from the time period each of them died in.

“What the hell is taking you two so long?” a voice barked out, followed by the appearance of Richard who popped into the shop right next to the rack of clothes Clarissa was perusing through.

It was such a surprise to see him pop in like that Clarissa almost screamed. She had forgotten that they could do that, shift through space. Clarissa did, however, clutch her chest and take a sudden step back before she was able to compose herself.

“Don’t do that,” Clarissa hissed. She would have to remember that she wasn’t a normal human being anymore and that the world of the dead was different, were people could just skip through the atmosphere. So far she hadn’t used much of her new talents as a ghost. She should think about exploring them more fully in the future because if she had Richard wouldn’t have surprised her, she would have sensed his approach.

“You scared me to death, Richard.”

Richard raised one dark eyebrow, pushing his messy hair around on his head. “A little difficult to do, don’t you think? When you’re already expired as it is.”

“It’s a figure of speech, smart ass,” she said with small grin. Clarissa resumed her search through the racks of clothes, still unsure of what she wanted. She pushed through the stock of winter skirts, ignoring Richard as he leaned against the clerks counter.

Eleanor stood across from them on the opposite side of the tiny store, gazing at herself in a full length mirror. Lizzy was handing her another jacket to try on, elbow length with large brass buttons down the front. She nodded to herself as she turned left then right, trying to see the look from altering angles in the mirror.

Lizzy’s store, on Charlotte Street, had a cute wooden sign outside the glass doors shaped like a pin cushion with a large knitting needle. It was difficult to find her place of business if you weren’t dead or among the few livings connected with their world. Lizzy loved her shop, spending most of her hours in it or thinking about how she could improve upon it. Her entire afterlife was about fashion, a leftover trait from her living days. She felt most at peace when she was thinking about clothing designs.

“You’re both killing me with this damned shopping spree. What the hell do you need to change your clothes for? And you’ve been at this crap for hours.” Richard folded his pale arms across his chest, sporting his usual vintage tee. He never changed out of his death clothes, ever. “I could be eating a delicious medium rare steak right now, but no, I’m here watching you two play princess dress-up party.”

“Oh Richard, stop complaining.” Eleanor took off her jacket, handing it back to Lizzy. “You’re dead and as far as I know don’t really need to eat to stay alive. Besides, you can stand to be a little more patient. There are more things in death than food. So make yourself useful and help Clarissa pick something out.”

“I’m not your personal assistant, Elle,” he said bitterly, using his nickname for her. Richard watched as Lizzy strolled toward him with a stack of clothes Eleanor had discarded in her arms. She was a small woman with reddish brown hair that she kept in a short bob cut. The clothes looked like they were trying to swallow her up, only her face and legs were visible.

“Lizzy,” he called as she came closer to him, “Why do you always bend and scrap at her majesties every bidding?” He pushed himself away from the counter, removing the hefty stack of clothes from her arms. He tossed them in the back room. “She may be an Eleanor, but she’s no queen. Unless there’s a queen of drama,” he made an evil face, “Well then that’s all her.”

“You’re one to talk Mr. Poltergeist.” Eleanor hissed, looking at him through the mirror. “I’m sure if you looked up drama on dictionary.com you would see a picture of your ugly face.”

Lizzy ignored them both. It was in their nature to be argumentative with each other. The three of them, Henry, Richard, and Eleanor, they engaged in regular confrontations with each other, but seemed to always work things out. One moment calling each other awful names then laughing and going out on the town together the next day. Eleanor and Richard could dish out insults like practiced professionals.

“I wouldn’t stand so close to that mirror, oh wicked queen. Are you planning on asking it who is the fairest in the land? I wouldn’t if I were you; you might be a bit disappointed to know the truth. Ah, stand back Eleanor. I believe there’s a crack starting in the glass.”

Clarissa and Lizzy could see that these two enjoyed being cruel to each other and could easily go too far and seriously hurt the others feelings. Clarissa took Eleanor and Lizzy took Richard. It was best to separate them before the heat of their bantering turned into an uncontrollable firestorm.

Clarissa walked over to Eleanor, another jacket that Lizzy had handed to her in her hands. She helped Eleanor try it on and complemented her on the look of it. Lizzy took that moment to distract Richard from further hassling Eleanor.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Richard? Perhaps a new shirt would be nice?” Lizzy questioned, forcing his attention solely on her. She took out a catalogue from behind her counter. It had just come in from one of the deadly fashion distributers. To keep up on current trends the larger dead community funded projects such as these to put the information into every soul’s hands. Descendent Digest was hit with readers, rivaling living magazine distributers in readership. And in the fashion world, Phantom Fashion was the choice source for the newest must haves.

“I got this in yesterday. It’s their fall/winter collection.” Lizzy opened the thick magazine, placing it on the counter so Richard could see. Flipping through the glossy pages she searched for something she would like to see Richard wearing. Most of the magazine was filled with adverts, ads for pest protection from the living, creams to keep your ghostly skin looking radiant all year long, or information on ghostly activities in the greater area.

“Do you see anything you might like to try?” She knew he didn’t care for any of this, but it was worth a shot to see if he might at least attempt to wear clothes from this modern era.

Richard leaned over the counter, brushing his arm against her as he looked down at the pages of the fashion catalogue. Lizzy cleared her throat and stepped a few inches to her right. She was his senior by a good ten years or so. But in looks they appeared closer in age. However, looks were deceiving and besides they were from entirely different worlds. If only she could tell her tingling arm that. A brush of his ghostly flesh against her and she was turned into a spectral puddle.

“No one actually wears clothes like this in public.” He pointed to the page. “This guy looks like a total pansy in that get-up.” Tapping his ghostly finger he continued. “This is female propaganda against guys like me to get us to wear these stupid outfits. I’ll keep my own threads on and save myself the embarrassment.”

“You’re being ridiculous and I think he looks very nice. You see the cut of the shirt sets off his chest and it’s a good color for his complexion.” Lizzy fingered the photo, imagining Richard wearing the clothes the model was sporting so well in the photo. Richard would look really good in something other than his usual eighties rocker outfit, which in her opinion lost its appeal soon after coming into fashion back then. Now, he looked more than dated. Maybe he wasn’t a pretty boy model, but he had a decent build and a masculine handsome face that would showcase the fall collection superbly.

But Lizzy suspected that Richard kept his aged look for reasons other than because he couldn’t stand current fashion. He was holding on to more than his old wardrobe. She could relate to whatever hurt kept Richard from moving forward with his afterlife. Though she would never say so, they were kindred spirits, lost and lonely souls.

“Is this what you like, Lizzy?” Richard furrowed his dark brows leaning forward till their faces were only inches apart. “These kinds of guys with their prissy haircuts and tailored designer duds, is that what you’re into?”

Lizzy could feel his ghostly presence so close to her. It was exciting and frightening. She had never been attracted to another ghost, not in her entire death. She’d never thought about such things. Moving here three years ago from New York, she had pictured having a different existence. But in all her planning’s she had never thought about love.

She was aware that ghosts could and did have relationships with each other. Mr. and Mrs. Mendez was one couple in particular. Finding love even in death was a special blessing as those two had both been fortunate to find.

“Sure,” she answered him. Turning her head, she met him, eye to eye. She noticed he had green eyes with flecks of brown in them and they were spectacular. “I’m a dressmaker, so of course I like to see put together men, prissy hair and all.”

He didn’t seem to like her answer, pulling back as he made a disgusted face at her. “That just figures, doesn’t it?” he said angrily.

Lizzy folded her arms across her small chest, defensive, raising her delicate eyebrows up at him. “What do you want me to say, Richard? That I like guys who dress like they went to bed and woke up the next morning in the same cloths. I like fashion and I like guys who take the time to dress to current fashion and don’t dress like slobs.”

If she had wanted to wound him with her words, she succeeded. Lizzy could cut through his protective snarky exterior and do serious damage to the man underneath. He was stuck in the eighties and for a damn good reason. A reason he wasn’t ready to explore even after all these years.

Richard had only his pride left to him. His death had stripped almost everything else away and he knew with absolute certainty that Mrs. Elizabeth Sands would forever be just out of his reach. She was too damn good for him, too nice and too innocent. She deserved a guy like the one she had pointed to in the glossy sheets of her fashion catalogue, not him.

She had come to St. Augustine three years earlier from New York City where her still living husband lived with his new family. After more than thirty years of watching him live his life she had taken the final step and left him behind. Her husband had remarried several years after her untimely death, creating a new family; one that she couldn’t be part of. But she still kept her married name which stated quite clearly that she had yet to move on completely. Richard knew that she would never let him take the place of her husband in her heart. He would be a fool to ever think she would.

“I’ll be outside.” He spoke in a chilling voice. “You can send them out when they’re done playing dress-up.”

Richard turned and walked away from Lizzy, never seeing the bright tear slip quietly down her pale cheek.

Lizzy quickly dabbed at her eyes, turning away from the other two women so she could compose herself in private. She had been cruel to him, but he had been asking for it for a long time. And she had lied. She didn’t want some picture perfect magazine model. Lizzy wanted a handsome rebel, bad boy who never brushed his hair except with his fingers. One that looked like he threw on whatever garment was closest at hand at the time, a bedraggled smart mouth that not only haunted the streets of St. Augustine, but haunted her dreams as well. And she would be a fool to think that he would find her in any way attractive.

Usually, the few times he did speak to her, he was questioning everything she did or didn’t do. He was bossy and argumentative and he would never want to be with a push-over like her. They were too much of an opposite to ever be compatible; that whole line that opposites attract was total bullshit.

Lizzy sighed as she moved to view herself in a small table mirror, fixing her hair and wiping at her face. Her ghostly pale reflection stared back at her with sad eyes. But the real sadness lay deep in her heart where no one could see. Her real heart might be dead and silent, but her soul’s heart wanted what so few of them ever found, a connection. As a ghost, she felt she was distanced from much of the world. It was only with the connection of souls that this existence became somewhat bearable.

Plastering a false smile on her mouth, she turned to the two women. It was best to keep secret dreams in the safe keeping of her inner soul where no one else could hurt or crush them. In some ways Lizzy believed she deserved this pain, some misdeed in her past existence forcing her to exist in this form as punishment. Seeing Richard flirt and talk with other women was that punishment. And surprisingly that hurt much worse than watching her husband marry another woman. Richard Pomar would forever be out of her reach.

Lizzy turned her thoughts away from such melancholy. Being a dressmaker for her community was rewarding and she was a prized citizen within the city. She had even been selected to dress noted figures in the community at large, not just the ones in St. Augustine, but those at the very top of the paranormal world. If not for her love of fashion, Lizzy would be a wandering broken soul; this kept her grounded. And right now she needed to be grounded, or be swept away by despair.

Lizzy helped Eleanor finalize her selections and pick out some much needed outfits for the city’s newest citizen, Clarissa. The woman was strangely unique though at first it wasn’t noticeable. It would be interesting to find out more about her. Lizzy, like Eleanor had a talent for sensing the paranormal currents on a higher level than the others. Clarissa was a soul they hadn’t seen in quite some time.

Chapter 5-

“What are you daydreaming about over there?” Richard waved his hand in front of Clarissa’s face bringing her attention back to him and Eleanor. They were having lunch at The Boneyard Grill, a barbeque joint just off of San Marco Ave. It was one of Richard’s favorite places to eat that served red meat specifically.

“Clarissa, anyone home in there?” Richard was sitting across from her, Eleanor on her right in a booth by the window which overlooked the street. It was after lunch hours now and the place was a ghost town, literally, with only a few ghosts occupying seats in the restaurant.

They had, upon Richard’s insistence, ordered each a two inch slab of medium rare sirloin. If you didn’t know better, you might think it had actually come from a cow. Clarissa had barely made a dent in her steak. Her mind was too preoccupied to enjoy her food, but she couldn’t deny it wasn’t delicious. Clare had some competition with the owner and barbecue expert Frederick Vern; Dead Fred to his friends. He served up some of the best barbecued beef and pork; it would be a sin to cover it in sauce. If you even tried to put ketchup on one of his creations you were swiftly booted out the front door.

“You are felling all right, sugar? You don’t look so good.” Eleanor placed her hand over Clarissa’s, feeling the inner turmoil within the young ghost’s soul. “Whatever it is, you know you can confide in us.”

“Yeah, you look like death warmed over.” Richard stuffed his mouth with more of his steak. “Maybe you need to see a doctor or something. It could be life threatening. How about an exorcist or voodoo priestess? That might work.” He eyed her plate with interest. “Are you going to eat your cornbread?”

“No, go ahead.” Clarissa answered, staring out the window. Cars zoomed by, pedestrians lining the sidewalks and just beyond that she could make out the Old Jail House. Now just a tourist stop and ghost hunters’ destination, it had once housed hardened and toughened criminals. Yet even now, the living claimed that some inmates had yet to leave their cells. It was fun for them to imagine a ghost peeking at them from a second story window, or a lady dressed in old fashioned clothes walking up and down a deserted highway, there and then gone. That rush of adrenaline that the living got from believing they say a real ghost was addicting and even in these modern and scientific times, still an unsolved mystery. The paranormal world was an exciting adventure that science was just beginning to unravel.

“What are those ghosts doing over there?” Clarissa asked her companions as she watched a couple of ghosts follow in line behind a group of tourists on a ghost tour. “Why are they walking with those livings on the tour?”

“Oh, they’re tourists too, out-of-town ghosts.” Eleanor answered, looking out the window and across the street as the group stopped in front of the jail. They were too far away to hear what the tour guide was saying, but she could make out the faces of the tourists as they switched between looking at the jail to turning their attention back on the guide. One of the ghosts brought up his camera from a strap around his neck and snapped a photo of the building.

“They’re on the tour as well, I would imagine. They look like tourists to me,” Eleanor took note of their attire, “Northerners, just from the look of their outfits. The snow-ghosts always come down around this time of year, not because of the cold weather of course. I’m not really sure why. I guess maybe they get confused between the living and the dead during the winter months. Everyone starts looking a little dead after being in those kinds of conditions.”

“But why would they go on a ghost tour?” Clarissa watched as one of the ghosts made a face in front of the hangman’s scaffolding as his friends clicked away with their cameras. “Is that like a Hollywood celebrity going on a celebrity tour bus? You’d think a ghost would find a ghost tour boring. What excitement is there when they know perfectly well that ghosts do exist and they happen to be one?”

“It’s just good fun and it’s not so much about the ghosts as it is about the history of the place. We are one of the oldest ghostly communities. People come from all over the country to see us, even other ghosts.” Eleanor cut into her steak, bring her fork to her mouth and taking a lady-like bite. “I met a couple last year who have made it a point to go to every haunted city in the country and next they’re going overseas. They take pictures, of course, and scrap book everything. Sometimes they send me the photos of their latest adventure.”

“It’s true,” Richard joined in. “Last month we had a wedding in town. Bride and Groom came from out west from some state that I guess doesn’t have a large ghost population. They wanted to get married in St. Augustine, of all places.” He laughed, pushing more food in his mouth. “Totally pissed off the New Orleans ghosts I’m sure. They get all the attention. I don’t know what it is about Louisiana and the supernatural but its fucking weird up there.” He swallowed, taking a sip of his soda before continuing. “So the whole town is invited and it’s a big community affair. Even the big wigs from Washington come down. The bride has some connections, a friend of a friend kind of deal and she’s in with the Eidolon politicians. Clare made this huge cake. I swear it was as big as this room.” He spread his arms out wide. “It had to have at least thirty tiers. It’s never been my desire to go to a wedding. They’re not my thing. I went for the cake and the out-of-town ghost ladies.”

“He’s such a charmer.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Richard doesn’t care how dead they are. He’ll chase anything in a skirt. In fact I wonder if that is even a requirement anymore.”

A chunk of corn bread hit Eleanor square between the eyes. It was a spectral cornbread so it didn’t pass through her like living food did. Ghosts could manipulate objects, pick things up or sit on objects. But if they weren’t paying attention the tangible world could pass through them; hence that ghost phenomenon of passing through walls or falling through floors.

“Hey,” Eleanor shouted, picking the cornbread off her lap and throwing it on the table. “That was terrible. I have crumbs all over me now.” She swatted at her clothes, brushing imaginary crumbs off her blouse. She glared at Richard across the table. “You are so going to pay for that.”

“I think that was rather tame on my part.” Richard snarled through light lips. “Questioning a man’s sexuality isn’t something to be taken lightly. As for retaliation, bring it on Southern Belle. It’s kind of fun to see you get your hoop skirts all in a bunch.”

“You’re such a jerk.” Eleanor threw her napkin at him. He caught it in the air, wiping his mouth with a dramatic flourish.

“Frankly my dear Eleanor, I don’t give a damn,” he said with a tilt of his head and a fairly good southern accent.

“Tell me about this town hall meeting.” Clarissa interjected. Richard had informed them earlier when she and Eleanor had finished shopping and joined him on the street that the community had issued a town wide meeting tonight to discuss important issues. Richard hadn’t gone into detail about what these issues were. “What exactly is the reason everyone is getting together for?”

“I just heard about it this morning.” Richard answered her. Putting the napkin down on the table, he brushed his fingers through his unruly hair. “It was a spur of the moment set up, but I imagine that everyone will be there. Usually town meetings are a big snooze fest and no one ever goes except for the few ghosts that apparently don’t have an afterlife. I personally have only been to a few and that only because someone said there was going to be food served afterwards.” He eyed Eleanor.

“Oh, did I say there was going to be food?” She returned his look with an evil little smile. “I guess that was my mistake.”

“Tonight will be different though.” He returned his attention to Clarissa. She was new to their city and as of yet hadn’t been partial to the recent events that had been plaguing their city. And things weren’t getting better, only worse. However, like all political issues, it had taken a catastrophe to make the big wigs wake up and actually try to do something about it.

Unfortunately, it was too late now. The damage had been done and even if they could somehow resolve the problem it wouldn’t change the fact that these people had to die for anyone to even begin to start caring.

“Why do you think that?” Clarissa wondered what a ghost town hall meeting would be like. She had been informed by Eleanor and Richard that the community was run by Diplomatic Authorities and they were not voted in, rather they happened to be some of the oldest and strongest of the Eidolon world.

There were four of them, two women and two men, who orchestrated the running of the ghostly community. It was their job to ensure safety to their citizens and even the livings to some extent. They had been in charge since long before anyone could remember, having resided here in St. Augustine the longest out of anyone.

Like a usual town meeting the four would preside over the gathering, bringing to the table the current issues that affected the dead community. And surprisingly there were a few. As the ghost owned or ran much of the businesses in the area they were affected by economic strife and issues that one might associate with the living. But much of the time, the issues were specifically ghost related. Tonight’s meeting would discuss an issue that affected them all; the living included.

“I guess you already heard that we aren’t the only paranormal beings in this city.” When Clarissa nodded, he continued. “Well, this issue we think has to do with them. We’ve been dealing with the flesh-eaters for quite a few years now and so far our associations with them have been going relatively smoothly. Meaning it hasn’t gotten out of hand.”

“If your idea of running smoothly means only a handful of livings have died because of these creatures, then yes. I’m sure it has.” Clarissa wondered bitterly what sort of numbers was acceptable to the Eidolon community before they believed things were getting out of hand. To them it seemed a few deaths here and there were nothing to them. But then when it was someone you knew about, cared about, who was served up as a flesh-eater entre then the issue became personal.

So who had died and left these political authorities in charge? In this case, it was they who had died and voted themselves into office. In Clarissa’s opinion they were doing a terrible job and if it were possible she would like to see them all impeached from office.

“So I can see where you stand on all of this.” Richard could tell from her tone of voice that Clarissa had no liking for the concept of allowing the flesh-eaters to reside in their city. It wasn’t something he cared for either. Richard had only moved here after his death and the clan of flesh-eaters had already moved themselves in across the river several years earlier. As far as he knew, there had never been another way of life without these other deads. He didn’t hold much sway over the community and like the rest of them, had to adhere to the authorities in these matters.

“If you think I like having to watch my back all the time from these things, then you’re wrong. You’re not the only one in the city who hates having them among us.”

Clarissa looked between her two companions. It was clear that neither of them were sympathetic towards the flesh-eaters. But even if they did reject having them in their city, they still did nothing to change it. For thirty-eight years these creatures were allowed to consume the innocent livings in order to continue their depraved un-dead lifestyle. That was thirty some odd years to long in her opinion. Something should have been done long before now. They should have known that one day they wouldn’t be able to keep the beasts at bay and in a single night these creatures could take out the entire city. If the Eidolon community had any sense at all they would find a way to exterminate all of these soulless beasts as soon as possible.

“Then why do we let them roam in our city at all, Richard?” Clarissa stared hard at the male ghost in front of her, trying to see beyond his outer souls shell into the inner man beneath. She could see that he was a complicated soul, but then every ghost she had met was equally complicated in some way. They kept secrets from others and even from themselves. Richard in particular wouldn’t face what had been done to him during his living existence, simply keeping that psychological door closed and locked so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.

“Stop trying to read me, Clarissa.” Richard barked, giving her inner soul a little push in warning. An arch of electrical current zapped him back causing him to fall through the bench he was sitting on and slide across the floor before he skidded to a sudden stop. His hair, always a mop, sticking in all directions was now even crazier looking, vibrating from the shock. His entire body was blinking, the currents over his skin waving like ripples on a pond.

Richard’s eyes had gone wide for a few seconds, a measure of fear flashing in his green eyes. He had been knocked on his ass, literally, by a fresh formed ghost-girl. He bet his entire bank account that she probably had no idea she could even do that.

“Oh my God, Richard,” Eleanor cried as she leaped over the table, running to his side as he lay prone on the dirty floor. “Are you alright? You’re fading in and out and I can’t get a clear look at you. Can you hear me?” She touched his forehead lightly with her fingers. And her fingers went through him. Hastily she drew back, afraid to touch him again. Eleanor couldn’t touch Richard, even as ghost. This was strange considering they were made of the same composition and she should have been able to feel him. “Richard,” she called to his still form. He wasn’t moving and he kept staring at Clarissa, not saying anything. It worried her. What had happened to him; was it something Clarissa had done?

Richard’s soul began to settle down, his aura quieting over his form and he once more became tangible. It had been the most tripped out experience of his existence and he had no idea how she had accomplished it. He had thought to just give her a push as a warning to back off. Richard had no idea that Clarissa would react on some long forgotten instinct and fight back. Even now he could still feel her touch on his soul; it was like the fingers of death had grabbed hold of him and this time it was going to finish him off.

Richard blinked several times and realized that Eleanor was fussing over him like a mother, touching his forehead, his arm, turning his face this way and that to get a good look at him. Her face was strained with concern as she brushed his hair off his forehead now that she could touch him again. They had been friends for awhile now and sometimes he forgot that. He wasn’t used to having people care about him the way she did and inside where no one could see he loved Eleanor like the sister he wished he could have known in his living past. He might be a pain in the ass to her most of the time, but he would do anything to protect her and the people he considered family.

Richard looked around the room. The other ghosts sitting in tables across from them stared down at him wondering what the hell had happened to him. His community wasn’t a violent bunch and they had probably never seen a ghost attach. Some might imagine that ghosts were delicate creatures, but even their kind had certain capabilities that could not only harm each other but the living as well.

“Say something, you’re scaring me,” Eleanor pleaded. He had a faraway look in his eyes like he wasn’t quit with them in this world, like he was slipping into the next world. “Richard, what are you looking at?”

He turned to her, taking her hand from his forehead and squeezing it. Breathing in deeply he blinked his eyes several times as if he was trying to stay focused on her and not be taken away by whatever force had knocked him down. Richard was tangible again, but he hadn’t moved an inch except to take her hand.

His inner soul was quiet and still, his breathing deep but soft. Eleanor was afraid she was losing him. Whatever had happened had somehow damaged his soul and he was slipping away from her and she had no understanding of how to help him. Should she just let him go, move on to the next dimension or fight to keep him with her? It was selfish on her part, but she didn’t want to lose him, not even if it was best for Richard.

Richard tried to speak, making several attempts at producing words, but nothing came out. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to tell Eleanor what had happened.

“What is it?” Eleanor’s voice rose and she was on the verge of hysteria at the thought that this might be the last time she saw Richard in this existence. He was such a jerk most of the time, but he was like family to her.

He had been so lonely and lost when he had first come to live with them in the community. She had known, even back then, that Richard’s living existence hadn’t been ideal by anyone’s standards and his death had been most horrific. He was gruff and moody to most people, but underneath all that she knew that he was a sweet boy who only needed someone to love and care for him. They may be dysfunctional at times, but they were family and she couldn’t imagine continuing this existence without him in it. Eleanor chocked back a sob. Whatever Clarissa had done had damaged Richard’s ability to keep his form intact and his soul must be falling apart. Maybe it had been an accident on Clarissa’s part, she didn’t know. All she knew was that Richard was leaving her.

“Do you see a light, Richard?” Eleanor had heard that some people saw a glow or white light before they went forth into the next dimension. She didn’t believe such nonsense, but she wondered now if such a thing were possible. Eleanor had existed in her deathly state for more years than she cared to count and as time passed she became more jaded to the hopes of ever being complete, of finding her purpose in this existence. She didn’t even believe anymore that there was any hope for people like her.

“I see,” Richard began, his voice wavering, barely above a whisper. He breathed deeply, a kind of hissing sound through his mouth.

“Yes,” Eleanor encouraged. She wanted to know what he was seeing and she wanted to be there with him so he wasn’t afraid. “Is it the light you see? I know people are sometimes afraid to go near it, but you shouldn’t be afraid. I don’t want to lose you, but I think this might be the best for you. I know you’re unhappy here with us and I only want the best for you. Maybe you should let the light have you.” She squeezed his hand, bringing his fingers to her mouth, kissing them. “Go into the light, Richard.”

Richard looked off into the atmosphere, his eyes glazed over like he was staring into a world beyond them. “I see,” he tried to speak again, his voice louder this time. Richard’s hand was clasped tightly around Eleanor’s. He took his hand away and reached out, pointing at each of the other patrons in the restaurant. Then he brought his hand back to Eleanor and smacked her backside, a light smack on her ass before he leaned up and kissed her on her cheek. “I see fucking dead people. What do you think I see?”

Stunned was the first reaction Eleanor felt and then humiliation and finally rage. He had been acting the whole time. And the worst part was that he had been good. The punk had made her believe he was expiring for good and she had nearly cried all over him.

Richard stood up, swaying a bit for a moment then holding out his arms for everyone in the restaurant to see. He bowed to his audience. Eleanor had flopped down on her butt, looking up at him as he made a great show of thanking his spectral spectators; several people actually clapped.

“Thank you, everyone, but I couldn’t have done it without my leading costar.” Richard leaned down and pulled Eleanor up, putting his hands under her arm pits and hoisting her onto her feet. He steadied her. Then he took her hand, bowing again and bringing her into a bow with him. He stepped off to the side, letting Eleanor have her moment to receive congratulations. More people clapped and all she could manage was to blink her eyes several times.

Richard brought Eleanor back to the table where he pushed her into the booth next to Clarissa. Clarissa had almost the same stunned expression on as Eleanor. Both women looked at each other, holding eye contact for several seconds. Clarissa nodded her head at the other woman as if she were responding to some inner conversation the two of them were having. Touching Eleanor’s hand, she leaned over and whispered in her ear.

Richard took a sip of his soda, taking his seat across from the two women. He could see the fire burning behind Eleanor’s eyes and it was just a waiting game before she pulled herself together enough to lash out at him. Upon reflection, his little stunt might not have been as funny as he had planned. It was likely that this time he had gone too far and really hurt her.

Eleanor took several breaths as Clarissa rubbed her arm in understanding. What Richard had done was beyond any little prank he had pulled before. Maybe she was getting too old for his antics, but she had really believed him this time. It had been cruel to force her to think that she was losing him only to have him smack her on the ass and find out he was just playing at crossing over. That was not just a slap on the ass, but a slap in the face. Her emotions were all over the place and she couldn’t think straight enough to even begin to form a coherent sentence. Eleanor wanted to strangle the kid, then hug him so tight and never let him go. And she was totally embarrassed that this had all played out in front of an audience.

“Alright, I’m waiting,” Richard grumbled. “You want to knock me on my ass like Clarissa too?”

“I want to strangle you then hang you upside down until all your ectoplasm runs into your head and your head bursts from the pressure. And that is just to start with.” Eleanor had found her voice and she was totally pissed. “I swear to God, if you ever do something like that again I will tie you to one of the trolleys and let it drag you down the street until your nothing but spectral goo.”

“Ok, I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Richard drawled. He swiped his hands through his hair. It was something he did either when he was embarrassed or confused. Pretty much any time he was faced with a situation he couldn’t handle he messed with his hair. “You played a pretty believable ghost whisperer. That whole ‘go into the light’ and trying to comfort me; it was some really good stuff.”

Eleanor lunged across the table and would have grabbed and strangled Richard if Clarissa hadn’t caught her in time and restrained her. Holding the older women by her arms, she pushed soothing thoughts into her mind, holding Eleanor’s soul as she tried to comfort the turmoil inside her form. She knew Eleanor didn’t really want to hurt Richard, she was simply angry. It had been a terrible experience for all of them. Clarissa had really thought she had damaged Richard. He had pushed at her soul and she had retaliated without realizing it. It had been a reflexive action and even though Richard seemed to have shaken it off she knew that she could have really injured him. In that moment Clarissa realized that there was something about her that was dangerous.

“I’m sorry, Richard.” Clarissa said. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. You pushed me and I guess I reacted without thinking. I hope you are all right and that I didn’t injure you permanently.”

Richard was staring across the table at Eleanor, her eyes focused intently on his face. What he saw in them shamed him. She cared about him, more than he even realized and it had taken a stupid goof to make him see that. When she thought he was passing into the next world she had cried over him, wanting him to stay with her, but knowing that if it was better to let him go then she wouldn’t stand in his way. That humbled him on so many levels.

He touched his ears, wondering if they were growing into donkey ears because he certainly felt like a real ass right now. “I know you didn’t and no I’m not injured. It was just an overloud to my senses. You were just reacting to my push.”

“Don’t bother checking for a tail. I’ll save you the trouble. You are such an ass.” Eleanor’s chest rose and fell as she tried to calm her emotions. Clarissa was helping, soothing her soul with words in her head and her touch. There was something extremely dangerous about Clarissa, but something exquisite and beautiful about her as well. She had almost harmed Richard, yet she was sure that she could heal a soul just as easily. Eleanor wasn’t certain whether she should be afraid of Clarissa or afraid for her.

“Eleanor,” he said. “It was just a joke. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not crossing over anytime soon, okay? If you want to hit me, just do it already. I’d rather have that than you looking at me like you are right now.”

“You deserve much more than me hitting you over the head even though that’s exactly what I want to do. But you’re not worth my time.” Eleanor stood up from the booth, looking to Clarissa and inclining her head before turning away from them both. She walked out of the restaurant, her head held high as she ignored the other patrons in the restaurant who were watching her leave.

Richard’s focus followed Eleanor out the door. He knew he deserved that. The little woman was tough on the outside, but extremely fragile on the inside. It might have been a reason they connected so well. And the fact that she was stubborn might be another reason. She wouldn’t let him forget this anytime soon. Maybe she might start speaking to him some time in the next century if he was lucky.

“You’re not an ass, Richard. But you could have fooled her.” Clarissa watched Richard as he watched Eleanor walk down the street toward her home, her back stiff. Once she was out of sight of them she would most likely crumble. Eleanor had projected her thoughts to Clarissa, telling her she needed some time to herself, but that she would meet up with her this evening so they could go to the town meeting together. “You’re walking on egg shells with her now. I would start being nicer to her for awhile; at least until she cools down from this. You really hurt her this time.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” Richard sighed. “I don’t think I can find my way out of this one so easily. I saw her face; she’s really pissed at me this time. Maybe in a few hundred years though.”

“She cares a lot about you Richard. I get the impression that you can’t accept the idea that someone might actually like you for yourself. I know it’s not really my place to say this, but here it goes. You need to move on, whatever happened in your living past it’s not the same anymore. You’re not that person anymore.”

Richard frowned, looking down at his plate. “That’s easy to say to someone when you can’t even remember your own past.” He looked up, giving her an unfriendly smile. “And don’t think I don’t know that. You might have flashes of memories, but it’s nothing concrete. Do you even know how you died, Clarissa?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even know what I did for a living when I was alive, or remember anything about my family. As far as I know they could all be dead as well. I don’t have a past.” Clarissa fidgeted with her napkin on the table. It was true. She had no memories to haunt her. However, it was the lack of a past that haunted her, just as Richards past haunted him now.

“Then don’t try to tell me how to handle my afterlife when you can’t even begin to figure out yours. I know you’re just trying to help, but don’t. Some things aren’t worth fixing and I’m not worth the trouble.”

Richard stabbed the steak on his plate in aggression. He could feel the other ghost’s interest in their conversation. He had made a spectacle out of himself trying to turn a potential dangerous situation into a farce. And he would be lying to himself if he believed he hadn’t been scared there for a few moments. If Clarissa had actually known her own strength she would have done more than knock the proverbial wind out of him.

“Shows over folks,” he called out over his shoulder to the other patrons in the restaurant. “You can go back to your meal. There’s nothing else to see here.” After a few minutes, most of them took the hint, either returning to their own table conversations or leaving the restaurant all together. And Clarissa and Richard were given a measure of privacy.

“What do the flesh-eaters have to do with the town meeting tonight? You said earlier that you believed they might somehow be the topic of discussion.” Clarissa asked this question only because she wanted to distract Richard from his own melancholy thoughts. He wasn’t quite as immune to them as he would lead others to believe. He might behave outrageously most of the time, but Clarissa suspected it was a way to keep people away from him. His worst fear was to have people pity him if they knew his past, to feel sorrow for the poor soul no one had ever cried over in life or death; unloved and unwanted.

“I know what you’re doing, and thanks.” Richard took another sip of his soda before he began. “It isn’t like this comes as a surprise to any of us. It’s in their genetic make-up to kill. But up until now it’s never been like this, or so they tell me. There have been more unnecessary deaths in the past two months than in the past ten years and it’s getting worse. If something doesn’t happen quickly I have a feeling there’s going to be a war of some kind; dead against dead to see who would get the control of the city.”

“I’m not going to say I told you so because I think that might be bitchy of me,” Clarissa began, her face twisting in a humorless smile. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t actually come true. These creatures have to be stopped. We’ve let them use this city as their feeding smorgasbord for too long and it’s time to put the natural balance back in our favor.”

“As far as I know there aren’t too many death dealers waiting around for a phone call so they can swoop in and take these creatures out. The fact that we have been able to negotiate with them at all is a miracle in and of itself.”

Clarissa scrunched her face in confusion. “What do you mean by death dealers, what’s a death dealer?”

Richard forgot she wasn’t as familiar with their world as he was. She wouldn’t know anything about these supernatural beings that the Eidolon referred to as the Death Dealers or Death Bokor. They were living humans who could control the dead and un-dead, all of them; from ghost to ghoul, mummy to vampire and most importantly the zombie or flesh-eater. And they were rare in these modern times with science relegating their beliefs in the paranormal as the fanciful imaginings of quacks and charlatans. The vodou, a religious practice combining the gods of Western Africa with European Christianity was still a practiced faith in this country. Finding its beginnings in the Caribbean islands when African slaves were brought over from their homelands by the Europeans and later, spreading up into the Florida peninsula and farther north becoming part of the culture in the cities it touched. Most people were familiar with Voodoo and Hoodoo practices of New Orleans, popularized by Queen Marie Laveau in the 1800s. But other forms of Vodou have been practiced in this country even before this country was a country at all.

The swamps and rivers of Central and South Florida housed small Haitian communities who held true to their ancestral African values even when the rest of the population dismissed them. The religious practice of vodou was an inclusion religion which promoted religious tolerance, evolving with its practitioners, incorporating Roman Catholicism and European mysticism. The Death Bokor was created through this religion, though most vodou practitioners would know nothing about these persons. As secretive as the freemasons these wielders of ancient magick kept to themselves. And as time went by there weren’t many bokors on hand to manage the flesh-eaters and so the Eidolon community was forced to manage without them.

“A Death Dealer is kind of like a medium to the paranormal world. Their living humans who can speak to the deceased and through the ancient arts manipulate the un-dead. It’s a very rare talent that only a handful of livings possess and for some time they’ve been a near extinct species.”

“So you’re saying a bokor could control these flesh-eaters.” It was the natural world counteracting the creation of such a monstrous being. If they could exist in this world, then there needed to be something to keep their numbers from spreading.

“Yes, but as far as I know there are no bokors in the St. Augustine area. We’d have to go down south or even farther to Louisiana where most of the vodou population lives; not that those places would know of any death bokors. That is if there is any death bokors left.”

“Would you know a death bokor if you saw one?” she queried. “Are they dressed a certain way to let others know what they are?” These Death Bokors seemed to be an elusive bunch. If it was their natural responsibility to protect the balance of the supernatural world, then they should be out doing so, not hiding away in the bayou or Everglades.

“No, they look just like you and me.” He grinned. “Well, maybe not exactly like you and me. They have flesh and blood to sustain them. What I mean is that they are ordinary looking living humans, but they’re anything but normal. I only know about them from other ghosts, but apparently centuries ago they were like supernatural warriors taking down hundreds of flesh-eaters at a time. Now, who knows if all that wasn’t just an embellished tall tale?”

Clarissa and Richard left The Boneyard several minutes later. Richard offered to escort her back to Mrs. Connors home, but Clarissa kindly declined. It was still daylight and she was getting a little tired of being chaperoned around town. If she was to get used to this existence then she needed to acclimate herself to the city on her own terms and without someone constantly watching over her. Clarissa had an uneasy feeling that she was being carefully watched by the community, making sure that she could be trusted within their city. There were secrets in this city that someone didn’t want let known, she could feel it. But right now at the forefront of her mind was figuring out a way to find a death bokor and bring one into the city.

Chapter 6-

Clarissa left Richard at the corner between Rhodes Avenue and Fletcher Street. He was going to stop off at Henry’s home to get a couple of LP’s he had loaned out back from him. Clarissa nodded her goodbye as he walked away from her. He was such a peculiar soul, she thought. But she suspected that Richard would be a person to trust, someone who wouldn’t turn their back on a friend even if what they were doing could endanger them all. Clarissa shook herself mentally at that last thought. She wasn’t doing anything to endanger the community. If anything she was going to help them.

Testing out her knew spectral abilities Clarissa imagined the layout of the old city, figuring out where St. George Street was in conjunction to where she was standing now. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself standing on the pedestrian thoroughfare. If she was lucky Clarissa wouldn’t accidentally manifest herself on top of a living person or a ghost.

With a silent prayer Clarissa felt herself move through the atmosphere. It was an exhilarating feeling, a strange pulling and tugging as she rode through on the waves of lateral time. It was an experience she hadn’t thought to encounter in this world. Opening her eyes finally as she felt her body settle, she found herself on a busy street. This street always seemed to be the most populated, brimmed to capacity with tourists and locals. And no one seemed a bit concerned that there were monsters eating their friends and family members.

Traveling alone now she continued down St. George Street. She had come through here yesterday with Henry and he had kindly pointed out several local shops he thought she might like to enjoy looking through.

Clarissa nodded a hello as a group of ghosts made their way down the street toward her. Most ghosts she noticed traveled in groups, but occasionally there would be a lone soul. However these ghosts were tourists as evidenced by their outfits. They were all sporting matching t-shirts with the words Florida stitched onto them and a multi-colored palm tree underneath.

One of them stopped her with a hand signal, assuming she was a local ghost. Clarissa paused as they drew closer to her. She smiled as the lead male ghost stepped out from his friends to speak to her.

“You wouldn’t by any chance know how to get to the Fountain of Youth, would you? We’re from out of town as you can guess.” He pulled on his Florida souvenir t-shirt. “You have a great city. We heard through a couple of friends of ours that you have the best haunts in the state.”

“Where are you traveling from?” Clarissa couldn’t help but find the idea of ghost tourists comical. But it could be possible and it did seem logical. Why would a ghost want to spend their entire afterlife in one town? They obviously had the time and ability to travel around the globe. So why not make the most of their existence?

“Ohio,” he said. “Valerie came here once when she was a kid, but back then it was mostly sand and small farming towns. Now you have theme parks and hotels, not mention tourists like us. At first when we made plans for a visit I thought Florida was just a place for retired people.”

Clarissa grinned at his obvious false generalization of the state. “No,” she corrected. “Florida is a very exciting place, not just to visit but to live. I hope you enjoy your stay in the city and here,” Clarissa imagined the layout of the city in map form, creating it as a visual in her hand. “Here’s a map to the city with points of interest on it. This is where we are standing right now,” showing them on the map St. George Street. “Running her finger along the map she pointed out the mythical Fountain of Youth. “There’s a big steel gate that reads Fountain of Youth. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking the map from her. His companions also thanked her for her assistance as they left, continuing down St. George with the map outstretched in front of their faces. Tourists were the same in any city, living or dead. They were always getting lost.

Clarissa followed the street down toward the Happy Haunts tavern, where across the street from the ghostly hangout was a small book store. Henry had said the store was owned by a local family who had moved to the city years earlier from somewhere on the west coast. When Clarissa had first seen the little book store Henry had been quick enough to see the glimmer of interest in her eyes and he had suggested that she check it out. Clarissa had a fondness for reading, more than most. She grew extremely attached to her imaginary characters, sometimes even daydreaming about characters from one story interacting with characters from another story. She would imagine a large get together where all the characters she had ever read about would gather in one room and she would be their hostess, introducing each of them and having fabulous conversations with these imaginary people. It was silly, but she loved her stories and the people in them. They were her friends and even the worst of them had some redeeming qualities. Unfortunately life wasn’t a novel and bad people got away with murder in this life and there were never enough heroes to save us all.

Psychic Imprints couldn’t compete with the larger retail book depots and so they didn’t bother. The larger retailers had to cater to a huge demographic, from teenagers to middle-aged moms and every type in between. But the family owned establishment had no wish to be a conglomerate selling bargain books to the masses. Instead they bought and sold what interested them, preferring to deal with small publishing houses and unknown authors, a risky move during tough economic times. Their stock consisted mostly of fiction, non-fiction, and mostly paranormal, sci-fi and fantasy. Their clients were people who liked to believe in conspiracy theories and truly thought that the old city was haunted.

Clarissa opened the painted wooden door to the shop where a black wreath hung over the outside. Much like a Christmas wreath except instead of holly berries and green and red ribbon, the wreath was adorned in red roses and gold and silver spiders. The windows were also adorned in similar fashion with skeletons and whimsical shapeless ghost cut-outs. It then dawned on Clarissa that it was almost Halloween, a time of year when many of the living enjoyed fantasizing about a macabre world, one with ghosts and witches, vampires and werewolves, demons and ghouls, and all those creatures that put the tiny hairs on your arms on instant alert; the dark night creatures that stalked the living. Except Halloween was only one night a year. The rest of the days of the year most people forgot about them and thought nothing of their safety.

Walking in to the store Clarissa could smell the paper of the books, the dust on the shelves that were probably cleaned once or twice a month. The aisles where tall book cases lined side by side held an assortment of reading topics. An open section near the front of the store had wooden tables, books stacked on top of each other making several towers on each table top.

The walls of the store were covered in wallpaper that in some places was peeling away from the wall, the glue drying out and dissolving over the years. The pattern of the paper was a mass of geometric designs and numerology that at first glance didn’t look very attractive, but then after looking at it from a distance gave a person a strange calming sensation and then the notion came to the observer that they actually liked the look of the paper even if it was old and peeling.

Twinkling lights illuminated the ceiling, which was painted black, making the lights look like stars in a night sky. Cob webs were strewn on every shelf, though Clarissa assumed that it was intentional and not due to neglect. She wondered if the store kept this décor all year long or was this only for Halloween.

Clarissa was alone in the store except for the store clerk who she couldn’t get a good look at because her face was hidden behind a large old tome, her face completely concealed by the book. The clerk didn’t bother looking up when Clarissa began wandering around the store, running her fingers along the spines of books on the shelf next to her. There wasn’t a lot of walking space in the store and Clarissa imagined that new customers to the little book store spent the first few minutes knocking over stacks of books. It was sort of an initiation that every new customer had to go through, but after a few trips and falls they usually got the layout of the store.

Clarissa picked up a book from one of the tables just as a new customer came through the front door. He looked in, glancing around the store before the rest of him ventured in. Young looking, a college student from Flagler College, he glanced over at the clerk’s desk to the woman sitting behind it. Her face came out from behind the book for a second, running her lavender/lilac eyes over his person in a quick perusal before returning her face and focus back on her book.

He took his time walking around the store, every now and then looking over at the young woman behind the book. When the clerk had revealed her face to Clarissa she was able to note that the girl was young as well, likely not much older than the college boy. Her hair was black and straight with lavender streaks that matched her unusual eye color. From what little she had seen of her face in the brief seconds the girl had revealed it, Clarissa assumed the she was of Korean ancestry, but for some alternate features which looked more Western European.

Clarissa watched the young man as he strolled about the store. She made sure that she kept a safe distance from him so that he wouldn’t accidentally bump into her or more likely step through her. But he didn’t even glance at Clarissa as if to him she wasn’t there. For a brief second it made her angry, to be ignored by the living was something she hadn’t quite accepted about this existence.

Clarissa put down the book she was holding as she walked around to another table, standing just on the opposite side of the same table the college boy was standing next to. He was looking through the stacks, taking one and pilling it on another stack as he was going through them. Clarissa picked up a book from the stack of discarded books. Yet he continued to seem unaware of her presence. Even if he wouldn’t acknowledge her presence at least he should have seen a book mysteriously floating in the air. He didn’t.

Clarissa picked up another book, holding both books in her arms. Clarissa continued picking up books as quickly as he placed them down in the discarded pile. At no time did he notice that his discarded pile remained the same height or question where the books were disappearing to. For some odd reason that irritated Clarissa more, though she didn’t know why. By now she had a huge stack of books that reached her chin.

“I hope you’re not planning on stealing all those books,” a voice spoke up in the otherwise silent book store. The large ancient tome fell away from the young woman’s face as she placed it on the counter in front of her. She raised her eyebrows as she took in the scene in her store.

The young man who was putting down another book in the discarded pile looked up and frowned at her. He assumed she was talking to him, considering he was the only customer in the store. “Excuse me?” he questioned in confusion.

“Not you,” she corrected, looking at him then turning her focus on Clarissa who was looking back at her with an identical confused expression on her face. “I’m talking to the ghost across from you. Seriously, just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can raid my store for books. So I hope that you plan on paying for all those books you’re holding.”

“Who are you talking to?” He was looking across from him, but he couldn’t see anyone else in the store, ghost or otherwise. There was however a stack of books that seemed to be holding themselves up from the table. “Is this some kind of Halloween trick you play on your customers? There must be some kind of wire holding these books up like that.”

“I’m talking to the other customer. She’s standing across the table from you and the books you think are floating she’s holding in her arms. If I’m not mistaken I think she was trying to get your attention.” The young woman addressed Clarissa. “Isn’t that correct? Would you like me to introduce you two? I could be like your dating medium. What do you think?”

“Are you crazy?”

“You can see me?” they both said at the same time.

Clarissa dropped the stack of books back onto the table. The young man actually jumped when he saw the books fall, but he recovered quickly.

“That’s a pretty good trick, but I don’t believe you’re actually conversing with the dead. If there really is a ghost in this store you’ll have to do something bigger than make books float in the air for me to become a believer.” He reached across to take a book from the once floating stack. For a moment he felt a chill at touching it as if someone had put the book in a freezer. He quickly dismissed the absurd thought.

“What’s your name so we can be properly introduced,” the young woman asked him. Putting her elbow on the counter she leaned on her hand.

The young man scratched his forehead, finding the idea of being introduced to a ghost something crazy paranoid people did. Some of his friends liked to believe in this paranormal nonsense, but he didn’t buy into any of it. He admitted the world was full of some bizarre anomalies, but ghosts were not one of them. “It’s Kevin,” he finally answered. “What’s yours?”

She smiled coyly, brushing her fingers through her dark hair. “My name is Leah Moon. My family owns this store and I work here as their underpaid slave. What about you, are you from around here?”

He shook his head, glancing once more across the table from him. He still saw nothing. Kevin wasn’t even sure what a ghost should look like. He guessed that one would look like a normal human being only less fleshy and possibly see- through, like their body was covered in cheese cloth or something transparent. “I’m going to school at Flagler College. It’s my second year and I had some free time so I thought about checking out your book store. You got some interesting stuff here, but I can’t imagine anyone comes in this store often.”

“We do well enough and even people like you who don’t believe in the paranormal seem to enjoy at least pretending for awhile that such a world might exist; a place where ghosts are in fact an everyday part of life. And speaking of ghosts, I didn’t get your name.” Leah turned to address Clarissa. “What’s your name?”

Clarissa looked between the two livings. Kevin was trying to see her, but his focus was just off so that he was looking beyond her and not at her. He was trying too hard and he didn’t really want to believe she existed. However, the young woman, Leah, had her eyes focused straight on her face. She could see Clarissa.

“My name is Clarissa Schofield. It’s very nice to meet you.” Clarissa smiled and nodded her head in acknowledgement. “I just moved to St. Augustine and I had no intention of stealing your books. But you were right about the fact that I was trying to get his attention. I don’t appreciate being ignored.”

Leah nodded her head in agreement. “Yes,” she sighed. “I can imagine that it doesn’t feel so nice.”

Kevin stretched his hand out, reaching across the table as if trying to feel what he couldn’t see. “What are you talking about?” He almost came in contact with Clarissa’s form, but she jumped back just in time.”

“Hey,” she shouted. “Tell him to stop doing that.” Clarissa backed away as Kevin came around the table to stand in the spot where Clarissa had once been.

“It’s cooler here than it was on the other side of the table.” Kevin looked up, wondering if there was an AC vent above him that would explain the change in temperature. There wasn’t.

“Clarissa didn’t appreciate it when you tried to make a grab at her.” Leah smirked as she watched this non-believer try to use logic to make sense of what was happening in the store. “In all honesty I can’t blame her. If she were alive you wouldn’t have tried that. Give the dead some respect, Kevin.”

“Make her do something. I won’t believe you until you can give me actual, tangible proof that there is someone else in this store with us.”

Clarissa put her hands on her hips as she glared at this living man who wanted her to perform tricks before he would believe in her existence. “Tell him I am not a trained dog to do tricks for his amusement.”

Leah recited the message however she made a few alterations. “She said to tell you that she is not a trained dog and that she doesn’t do tricks for the living. But she thinks you’re rather cute and she wonders if you wouldn’t mind if she came and haunted your dorm room.”

“Really,” Kevin drawled, not believing any of this for a moment. “And does this ghost have a number I can reach her at? Do ghosts even own a phone?” He walked over to the counter where Leah was reclining on her stool.

“I said no such thing,” Clarissa grumbled. “The last place I would want to haunt is in some smelly college dorm room where there are likely all sorts of bacterial monsters and other bio-hazards that even the dead couldn’t stomach being near.”

“She said you could leave me your number and she would get it.” Leah took out a pad of paper from under the desk and a pen. She watched as he wrote down his cell number and his name on the pad. He grinned at her as he pushed it closer to her.

“Maybe you could come along and interpret for us. Or better yet, you could leave your ghost friend to her other hauntings and you could come alone.”

Leah brushed her fingers through her long hair, batting her eyelashes in coltish flirtation. “I might like that. We could investigate your room to see if you have any anomalies that you don’t know about.”

Kevin scratched his head. He wasn’t sure if she was being serious or she was just playing. She was cute and had the most amazing eyes he had ever seen on anyone. She batted her eyelashes at him and he felt like he was in some kind of trance. She was a witch with those eyes. “Sure.”

He bought a book, not really looking to see what it was and walked back toward the front of the store a little bemused. Just as he was about to leave he felt something solid hit the back of his head and fall on the floor behind him. Quickly turning around he looked down at the book that was lying on the floor. Laying face up he could clearly read the title written in large black lettering on the front of the book. It read Haunted City: The Ghosts of St. Augustine.

Kevin rubbed the back of his head as he looked to Leah wondering why she had thrown a book at him. She had clearly been interested in him. Throwing books didn’t fit in with flirtation in his mind.

“It wasn’t me,” Leah defended herself. “Clarissa threw it at you. You didn’t say goodbye. I think you hurt her feelings.”

“Ah, bye Clarissa,” he said to the store. “I’ll see you around, Leah.” He was out the door in the next instant, walking quickly away from the haunted book store. The further away from the store the more he questioned the possibility that ghosts could exist in this world. He knew the locals prided themselves on living in a haunted city, but he had always assumed it was just to promote tourism. Now he wondered if these creatures could be more than a tourist’s gimmick.

“Did you just use me to get a guy’s phone number?” Clarissa glared at the younger woman behind the counter. “And I did not throw that book because he didn’t say goodbye. I threw it because he asked for proof so I thought a heavy book might penetrate that hard headed skull. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing that expression on his face when he turned around.”

Leah chuckled. “I have to admit I enjoyed seeing that look as well. He might be having second thoughts right now about the possibilities of the paranormal. As for using you to get a guys number, I guess I did. But in my defense I didn’t think he would actually fall for it. Most guys who hear you talk about seeing a ghost are quickly turned off and make a hasty exit.”

Clarissa walked up to the counter, looking down to the pad of paper where Kevin had scribbled out his name and number. “I hope you don’t expect me to haunt this guy for you.” Clarissa looked up and focused her attention on this living young woman who was able to see her in this form. “You are not like Mrs. Connors, but you are similar somehow.”

“Yes,” she responded. “I’m an S.S. member like Mrs. Connors, but you’re correct we are not the same.” Leah took the large ancient tome off her counter and stuffed the massive thing underneath it. “I didn’t recognize you as a local and I assumed you might be from out of town. But you’re new to this existence. I can see that now. Most of the older ghosts have a different look about them, a different walk that makes them not quite human. You on the other hand, Clarissa, walk around like you are still living.”

Clarissa folded her arms across her chest. She was a few inches taller than Leah and had the advantage of looking down at the smaller woman. Clarissa hadn’t realized that she behaved differently than the other ghosts. And she didn’t understand what was wrong with behaving like a human being. Because she was dead didn’t mean she wasn’t human anymore.

Seeing the expression on the slightly older woman, Leah added,” I’m not trying to insult you. I’m just pointing out how I realized that you were new to this existence. There is nothing wrong with your behavior. In fact it’s kind of refreshing to have a ghost who doesn’t exploit their abilities. You act like you have to follow the rules of the living world and you don’t realize that you don’t have to anymore.”

Clarissa wasn’t quite sure what Leah meant by that statement and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to find out. Thinking it best to steer the conversation to the topic that she had come in here for, she focused on the fact that Leah was an S.S. (Spectral Services) member.

“So you’re an S.S. member. Then you must be aware that the city is being taken over by these killers from the island.”

Leah nodded. “Yes. I’m more than aware of what’s happening in this city; perhaps more so than you in fact. You said earlier that you only recently moved here. We, the S.S. members, and the Eidolon Community have been dealing with the flesh-eaters for decades.”

“You’re right,” Clarissa admitted. She hated the fact that she was coming in on the tale-end of this issue and had only a limited understanding of the players in this deadly war. Every day, she was becoming more familiar with this existence and how she fit into the old city. Eventually she would find a permanent residence and when her memories of her living self came back, perhaps she would be able to make a contribution to the community like Lizzy or Mr. and Mrs. Mendez did with their shops. But she still knew little about the flesh-eaters or the death bokor who was supposedly able to control these creatures.

“That’s why I thought to come into your store. Perhaps you might have the information I need to understand what this city is dealing with.”

Leah came around from behind her counter. Clarissa could now see the rest of her. True to her lavender streaked hair she was attired in a similar color scheme. Black was the dominate color in her wardrobe, a combination of a black velvet skirt with lavender stitching that created a swirling pattern over the fabric, a matching velvet blouse with puffy sleeves with a lavender fishnet long sleeve fitted shirt under it. The only jewelry she wore was a necklace with a small silver charm that was the Korean word for spirit.

Coming around the counter, Leah looked up at the older woman. “You’re the first new ghost I have ever met who has been so interested in solving our problem. I wonder why that is? Who were you when you were in living form? That might be a reason you seem to have such an obsession with the flesh-eaters.”

“I don’t have an obsession with the flesh-eaters,” Clarissa retorted, offended that Leah had come to such a conclusion, even if it very well might be true. “What would make you think that?”

“Because,” Leah said, brushing her long black hair over her petite shoulder. “Not only am I a S.S. member which usually means I have certain capabilities that allow me to see the supernatural world. I am a witch. I know more about the paranormal than most of the Eidolon. Well, at least as much as my grandmother knows. She was a shaman in the old country before she married my grandfather and moved to the states. I legally changed my last name to Moon, her name, when I was eighteen.”

“What was your name before that?” Clarissa knew that Korean women did not take their husbands last name when they were married. She didn’t know how she knew this, but the information just seemed to come into her brain unknowingly.

Leah made a disgusted face before she answered. “Scott,” she made the normal sounding surname sound abhorrent. To a self proclaimed witch, it probably was. “My mother married an Englishman and because she was born in the States she took his last name. It’s fine for her, but I wanted a name that bespoke of my beliefs. Both my mother and grandmother are S.S. members too.” Leah walked around Clarissa’s form. “And right now I can see the trouble with the flesh-eaters has really got to you, even more than the others who have been here decades longer. It’s more than just sympathy for the citizens of this community. It’s like your brain in programmed for these creatures, but there was a glitch and when you died you forgot everything you were supposed to know.”

“I know nothing about flesh-eaters except what people have told me,” Clarissa reiterated. “And if my curiosity seems like obsession then it’s because I can’t stand to see innocent people slaughtered like animals by these monsters you call flesh-eaters. I think it is past time that something is done about them and I intend to be one of those people who help exterminate the lot of them.”

“I would be more than happy to help you, Clarissa.” Leah smiled at the ghost woman. She liked this woman and believed her to be a wonderful asset to their community. “However, not to get your hopes up, but there isn’t a lot of written material on the flesh-eaters. It’s difficult to study a creature that consumes anything living within its radar. Anyone who has gotten close enough to find out about them has ended up in their digestive tract. But let’s see what I have in stock.”

Chapter 7-

“Let me see,” Leah mumbled to herself as Clarissa followed the woman around the book store. “We have a lot of stuff on vampires if you’re interested. In some ways they are almost like flesh-eaters; walking dead corpses consuming living blood to sustain their existence. Except in the case of the vampire, they suck daintily at a person’s neck. A flesh-eater would likely snap your neck in half then suck out all the insides. Then gnaw on your extremities like they were a delicious turkey leg. But flesh-eaters don’t like their meat processed or cooked. I guess they’re on the zone diet or the raw diet.”

Clarissa didn’t comment on Leah’s idea of a dark humor joke. “Do you have any books on the religion of vodou? I sort of remember that the practitioners of this faith have some understanding of the creation of zombies.”

“They do, but I’m not sure it will be enough.” Leah moved on to another aisle where there was a collection of spiritual books from a religious or occult perspective. Most people used the word occult to describe a system of beliefs that was dark and usually favored a demonic character like Satanism or demonology. Most forgot that before Christianity became one of the dominant world religions, it too was cast in the light of an occult. The ingesting of the body and blood of Christ could seem to some as a form of cannibalism, an illegal practice in much of the ancient world.

“What do you mean by that?” Clarissa took a book off the shelf, scanning the cover. It was a book of mythology. Many of ancient cultures ventured into the concept of cannibal-like creatures who consumed living flesh and even practitioners of these pagan arts believed in consuming flesh as a religious or spiritual practice. Christianity incorporated these beliefs into their faith system. But the flesh-eater or zombie as it was referred to in modern culture was more of an intellectual concept than a flesh and blood creature.

“There are two schools of thought when it comes to a flesh-eater and even these don’t accurately describe the creatures that live in our city.” Leah took the book Clarissa was holding from her, putting it back on the shelf. “Hollywood, as always, tries to help us understand these night creatures. The eighties in particular seemed to be a high point in zombie mania. And even within Hollywood there are various interpretations on them. Some think they are slow moving, dull witted humans and others make them more active and cognizant. But it comes down to two reasons why there are zombies. One is based on some chemical or bio-logical accident where humans are turned into mindless, angry creatures whose only goal is to consume as much blood and flesh as they can get their hands on. The second and slightly more accurate version is that they are the dead who because of a curse or the influence of a psychic medium re-animated them into something not quite human.”

Leah picked up two books on an opposite shelf, putting them in Clarissa’s hands. Clarissa looked down at her hands. The one on top was a book entitled: Vodou: Life in the Spirit World. The one beneath it was a philosophic study on the human zombie. It looked like a text book and probably read like one. “But you don’t believe either of those theories, do you?” Clarissa questioned as they moved on to the next aisle.

“No,” she said, continuing to layer books on top of the ones Clarissa was holding. “I think they have some solid arguments but in truth the supernatural world doesn’t always make its history so black and white. Everything you think you might know about the flesh-eaters is usually false or almost false. Yes, they do consume flesh and blood, but they are not slow witted or human like as many believe. Flesh-eaters are almost nothing like what you’ve likely seen in movies or read about in a book which is why the Eidolon community doesn’t refer to them as zombies. The zombie refers to an animated human corpse that is without conscious or a soul. I’m not sure if that’s true. These creatures are only as human as they look, and the rest is bestial, but whether or not they have a soul, I don’t know.”

Clarissa had heard this before from Richard. The flesh-eaters, because of the nature of their creation, lost what little humanity they might have once had. The living called these creatures soulless and perhaps they were not wrong. “Do you know anything about a death bokor or I think sometimes they are called death dealers?” Clarissa went to the counter and placed her small stack of books on it as Leah went around the other side to ring up her purchases. “I believe they have some connection to vodou, but very little is known about them. I was wondering if you might have more information, considering you’re a witch.”

Leah laughed. “I’m not really a witch. I mean I don’t fly on a broom stick or cast spells or anything. But the term, witch, is the closest word to describe my talents which to be quite honest I’m not even sure what they are. I just know things or see things that other living people don’t understand or won’t take the time to.” Tallying up the purchases on a slip of paper, she put it in a box marked St. Augustine Eidolon customers.

“As far as I know we haven’t heard of a death bokor in over a century. For all we know they could have all died out by now. The vodou practitioners believe that any spirit in the natural world is vodou. And they believe that they can speak or interact with the dead to some extent. The voodoo priestess or bokor is said to be able to control and create the zombie. However, a death bokor or a death dealer is like a policing force, they dish out justice to the dead. They are the force that can impart death to the dead, all dead, not just a flesh-eater. And it’s not something you will likely come across in voodoo practice, its dark magick. Most of the vodou practitioners will have never heard of such a person.”

“How much do I owe you for the books?” Clarissa reached into her purse for her wallet. Eleanor had helped to pick one out for her today insisting that she have the natural accessories that any normal woman would possess.

“Don’t worry about it,” Leah said, pointing to the box on the counter. “I charge everything into the Eidolon credit accounts. As long as you don’t over indulge, I think you’ll be fine. I’m sure you don’t know this, but I get paid to be an S.S. member.” At Clarissa’s astonished expression she continued. “You didn’t think we worked for the dead for free, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Clarissa admitted. “I haven’t really thought about it. But of course you should be paid for your assistance to the Eidolon.”

Leah went on to explain a little about what the S.S. members did for the dead. “You have to be eighteen to join. Jackson just turned eighteen this past month and he’s itching to be initiated. No one is allowed to join until they turn eighteen and a legal guardian has to agree one year in advance before initiation if you’re under the age of twenty-one. So far Jackson’s parents have declined to agree. Not that I can blame them considering what happened with so many S.S. members recently.”

Clarissa didn’t at first connect what she meant by that last statement until Leah continued.

“The deaths that you mentioned earlier have not just been ordinary citizens and tourists; they have been S.S. members. Until now, they have been off the flesh-eater menu for obvious reasons. It’s a breach in contract to attach an S.S. member and what makes it worse is that none of my people would have been out in the dark for them to get, which means the flesh-eaters are not sticking by the rules anymore, they are coming into our homes.”

Clarissa walked home with her canvas bag of books, one of those environmental bags that all the stores now carried. The store bag was black with a white logo of the stores name in thick curving lettering on the outside. One might assume that the living should have noticed a bag being carried down the street with no human arm supporting it, but they didn’t. It wasn’t that the bag disappeared when Clarissa touched the tangible item. It was more likely that many of the living refused to believe they saw anything as strange as floating bags. A part of their brain functioning dismissed what was right in front of their eyes, a kind of veil that kept the supernatural and paranormal out of their living lives.

Moving up the steps onto the front porch of Mrs. Connors home Clarissa reached for the front door only to have it burst open with a hand from the other side, quickly stepping back as she encountered another living human. He was taller than her by several inches. Except for some of the men, Clarissa had felt like the tallest dead person among the Eidolon community and she wasn’t particularly tall herself.

Jackson paused as he took in the ghost woman in front of him. His grandmother was an S.S. member, a secret society of living humans who worked for the Eidolon community throughout the country. But unlike the Secret Service who protected and worked in Washington, Spectral Services catered specifically to the dead. Jackson wanted more than anything to be initiated into the S.S. He felt he had certain gifts that made him more than qualified to assist the non-corporal entities of this world. Unfortunately his parents hated anything to do with the supernatural.

“Hey,” Jackson called as he flew past Clarissa, taking the stairs in one leap. He was already half way down the street when his grandmother came to the open door.

“Jackson,” she called out, holding her hands to her mouth to amply her voice. “Remember I have a meeting to go to tonight. Be home before seven or else.”

“Or else what,” Jackson shot back as he slowed down, turning around and walking backwards. He was antagonizing the woman, Clarissa could tell. He was grinning as he waited for his grandmother to threaten him.

“Or else I’ll take that motorcycle away from you. I know you’re keeping it on the next street over, thinking that if I don’t see it I don’t know you have one. I think your mother would have a lot to say to you if she knew you were riding around on one of those death rockets.” Maddy grinned, turning to wink at Clarissa before she continued shouting at her grandson who had stopped dead in his tracks in the street. “There is no such luck trying to keep secrets from me.”

“Fine,” he shouted back, throwing his hands up. “We’ll then expect to see it parked outside your house from now on.” He turned swiftly and sprinted down the street to his motorcycle. He had bought it with his own money, paying for the insurance on the thing as well. He had worked to save up the money for years, since his eleventh birthday when his grandfather had written him a 100 dollar check. Jackson had worked every part time job that he could, from helping mow lawns with his friends’ dad’s Lawn mowing business to fishing for golf balls in the ponds at the Daytona PGA golf courses. In Jackson’s opinion it had all been worth it. He had learned over the years that there was nothing girls loved more than a guy on a motorcycle.

“Did you have a nice time today in town?” Maddy asked as Clarissa followed the woman back inside. Her ladies meeting had ended a few hours ago. Jackson had arrived shortly after the women left, on his motorcycle, from his parent’s house in Daytona Beach.

“I did,” Clarissa answered. “Eleanor and I went to Mrs. Sands dress shop and she helped me choose a new wardrobe. Eleanor’s coming over to walk with us to the meeting tonight and to bring over the clothes. Did you and your friends have a good time gossiping?”

Maddy arranged herself on the chaise lounge in the front sitting room. “Of course we did. You in fact were a point of interest to the discussion.”

“Me,” Clarissa exclaimed as she paused, hovering over the plump cushioned couch across from the living woman. “Why would I be of any interest to your ladies group?”

Maddy motioned with her hands to Clarissa. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.” Clarissa sat down hesitantly, folding her hands demurely in her lap as she watched the other woman reach down to the coffee table in front of her. The tea service was still out from the meeting with a pot of tea that was likely stone cold by now. Maddy picked up an unused tea cup and poured the remainder of the tea from the porcelain pot into her cup.

Holding the tea cup in one hand she moved her other over the brim of the cup. Moving her fingers in a counter clockwise pattern, Clarissa watched as the tea inside the cup swirled with the movements of her hand. It had been cold to begin with, but as her fingers moved over the cup the tea began to steam, growing warmer. When it was an appropriate temperature, her fingers stopped. Smiling, she looked over at Clarissa who was watching the cup, her expression clearly revealing she was impressed by the parlor trick.

“Are you a witch too?” Clarissa hesitantly asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“No, Clarissa, and you know that I am not.” Maddy held the cup to her lips, taking a sip of the hot tea before putting it down on a matching saucer on the coffee table. “Will you take a cup of tea with me?”

Clarissa frowned, looking from the tea cup on the table to the unique woman in front of her. “You know I cannot consume living substances, Maddy. You of all people should know that.” It was one of the reasons the Eidolon people used other means to create food and drink for themselves, not because they needed the nourishment but because the little things like eating and sharing a drink with friends made them feel like a normal human being. If Clarissa tried to consume the tea offered to her she assumed it would pass through her and stain the couch, embarrassing herself and Maddy in the process.

“I don’t mean to be insensitive Clarissa. I was just curious about something and I thought we could try a little experiment.” Maddy picked up another empty tea cup. Taking her tea cup, she poured a small amount of the liquid into Clarissa's empty cup. Holding it out to the other woman she said, “Take it. If it spills it spills, don’t worry about it. A stained couch can be easily fixed.”

Clarissa didn’t at first take the offered cup, unsure of trying this seemingly innocent experiment. But Clarissa was not a person to shy away from the uncertainty of life, death had not changed that. Accepting the cup, Clarissa brought it slowly to her lips. For the ordinary manifestation of a classical ghost, the interactive entity could manipulate the tangible world to an extent. They could touch and interact with the world, but it did not interact with them. Unlike a living human, the ghost repelled all physical molecules, and was not subject to the laws of the natural world. The liquid in Clarissa’s tea cup would be expelled by her form instead of being accepted like it would in a living body.

Clarissa held the cup to her cool lips, feeling the brim of the cup on her mouth. She didn’t know what the cup should feel like to her ghostly form, nor did she remember what it would have felt like against her once fleshy body. With slightly parted lips, Clarissa downed the contents of the tea cup in one swift gulp. Closing her eyes, she placed the tea cup back on the coffee table in front of her. For a moment she wanted to believe that she wasn’t dead, that she was a normal living woman, sitting in the home of an equally normal woman, having tea and chit-chatting like any other person would on a quiet Friday afternoon.

“I’ll help you clean up the mess, Maddy.” Clarissa spoke when Maddy remained silent for several more seconds. “There wasn’t a lot in the cup, so it should come out easily if we don’t let it set too long. I told you I can’t drink tea. This was a stupid experiment and I shouldn’t have let you give me that tea. I feel like a child that just messed itself.”

Clarissa heard laughter. As she hadn’t yet opened her eyes, she was confused by Maddy’s response and a little hurt as well. It had been her idea, and now the woman was laughing at her for creating a stain on her perfectly clean sofa couch. “I don’t think this is anything to laugh about. I’ve embarrassed myself and you’re laughing at me.”

Maddy stifled her laughter with a cough and a sigh. “Open your eyes, Clarissa,” she said in a quiet voice. “I think it would be easier to explain if you could see it.”

Clarissa slowly opened her eyes, focusing her eyes on Maddy’s face and not yet ready to look down at her-self and what she was sure to see when she stood up and saw what had become of the upholstery. Maddy’s expression was calm, a large smile plastered across her aged face. Nodding her head, she insisted that Clarissa see for herself the results of their experiment.

Standing up with a quiet dignity that she didn’t really feel, Clarissa turned about and faced the sofa couch. The floral patterned cushions matched the chaise lounge that Maddy was sitting on. A cream color with bursting flowers of pinks and rose red, it suited the older styling of the home. Where Clarissa expected to see brown water spots and crushed tea leaves she saw nothing but pristine fabric, not a drop of tea had marred the couch. Which meant that the tea had been accepted into her body, her form had accepted the offering, making it her own.

Spinning back around to face Maddy, Clarissa saw the shifting thoughts in the other woman’s head. Clarissa could consume living nourishments. She was indeed different from the ordinary specter. And the question that rose in both women’s mind: What kind of ghost was Clarissa? Was she even a normal ghost at all?

“What does this mean, Maddy?” Clarissa stepped away from the couch, going over to the front windows. “What am I?” It was so frustrating, not having the memories of her living self to rely on for comfort. What she did remember didn’t account for much. She knew that she had been a reasonably happy human woman living in the Orlando area. She liked to read and she had once had friends and a family, though their faces were distorted in her thoughts. The answer to her question should have been easy, she was human – she was ghost who used to be human – she was dead. But that wasn’t the whole of the answer.

“It means that you are a very special woman.” Maddy explained, watching the young woman pace back and forth in front of the large front windows. “The gods have seen fit to bless you with these gifts. Don’t distress yourself because you don’t understand who you are right now. In time I think you will find the answers to your past identity and find your place in this world. For now let things just be, there is no sense in worrying over what you cannot change.”

“I think I will just go to my room for a bit,” Clarissa responded absently as she brushed past the sofa couch, not daring to look at it again. “I’d like to rest before tonight’s meeting, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, Clarissa.” She picked up the tea service, leaving Clarissa alone in the front room.

The poor young woman, she thought. It wasn’t easy being odd even in the paranormal world. Clarissa was trying to come into her own with this existence and it wasn’t going to be easy for her, not that it was easy for any of the others. And if Maddy was correct in her seeing, Clarissa was going to be faced with many more obstacles to come.

Chapter 8-

The Government House was packed with people. A large conference room had been reserved and set aside for the meeting, hoping it was large enough to accommodate the unusually large numbers. Eleanor had arrived on Mrs. Connors door step to escort the two women to the town meeting at a little after six in the evening.

Clarissa had spent the remainder of the afternoon closeted in her rooms, going over the books Leah had selected she read. A few had been slipped in unknowingly. One was quite humorous, a non-fiction story written by a deceased ancestor of Edgar Allen Poe; a ghost writer. The woman had written a first person account of her dealings with the melancholy man who spent too much of his time drinking. During his perennial bouts with drunkenness, she and he would have long discussions, and sometimes she would make suggestions to works he had in progress or she made suggestions for future works.

Even though she had enjoyed her afternoon absorbed in her books, she felt no closer to finding the answers to her questions. Accurate information on the flesh-eater was even more difficult to find than the mysterious wolf-man or the Yeti. It seemed to be true that anyone who managed face to face contact with the night creature found themselves on the menu all too soon after that. They kept their distance, preferring to remain indoors until nightfall. Clarissa wasn’t sure if daylight affected their physical form like other night creatures. For all she knew they could just as easily walk about during the day, though they might be less conspicuous in the dark. Clarissa wasn’t even sure of that, as there were no references to the physicality of a flesh-eater. They looked human enough to pass for the living, but their behavior was anything but human.

“Put this on,” Eleanor remarked as they entered into the spacious conference room a quarter before the hour. It was already mostly full and would likely be standing room only once the meeting was fully under way. “I’ve made name tags for everyone so you won’t feel left out if you don’t know people’s names. There are quite a few of us here tonight. I’m not surprised.”

Clarissa nodded in agreement as she placed the sticky paper with her name written on it over her new blouse. Pressing it down firmly, she looked around the room at the Eidolon Community. There were people of varying ages, the youngest being a girl of about sixteen and a man in his mid-fifties. But looks were deceiving because the young girl was about a hundred and fifty-years older than the man. As a general rule, though no rules were ever concrete, the very young and the very old did not take to this existence.

When a person died the body and the soul separated becoming two halves of a once living person. The soul returned to the source of all creation and the body returned to the energy of the cosmos. But outside influences sometimes interfere in this process and the human could become “stuck” in an alternate existence; a ghost of their former self.

Most people in the room were milling about, taking a few minutes to talk to friends and acquaintances. The S.S., the only living humans in the room, mingled with their dead employers and each other. Toward the front of the conference room sat a high oaken desk with four grand chairs behind it. Set on a raised platform, the now empty chairs would soon be filled by the reining diplomatic authorities, the council members of the St. Augustine Eidolon Community.

“Sir, what you have there is what we refer to as a focused, non-terminal repeating phantasm or a class five full roaming vapor,” a deep voice said from behind the two women.

Clarissa turned around to see Richard standing behind them. He was dressed in the same outfit he had on earlier, his hair still mussed and unkempt. He grinned when she smiled at him. “Did you just make a quote from the Ghostbusters movie? I love that movie.”

“That movie was terrible,” Eleanor contradicted, not turning around. She stood looking off into the crowd, her back stiff. “The theatrical arts have taken a real turn for the worst and that movie and all the rest of the popcorn fluff Hollywood shovels out on the masses have turned a beautiful art form into mindless dribble.” She made an unladylike snort, continuing, “A giant marshmallow man and a moving Statue of Liberty, how farfetched can you get? Not to mention that it is offensive to ghosts everywhere. How dare those men think to contain us in a metal box – as if they could do such a thing?”

“It was just a movie, Eleanor.” Clarissa touched her forearm, forcing her to turn around. Richard moved his hair around on his head nervously as Eleanor glared angrily at him. She was clearly still miffed at him from earlier today. “How are you doing tonight, Richard?” Clarissa held on to Eleanor’s arm, making sure she kept put and didn’t storm off like she wanted to do.

“Okay, I guess,” he answered. “What about you, Eleanor? How are you doing?” Richard stuck his hands into his denim jeans pockets, rocking slightly back on his heels.

Eleanor pulled her arm out from Clarissa’s grasp, tempted to fold her arms around herself in a defensive hug. She shrugged her shoulders, looking away into the crowd, ignoring them both. “Fine,” she answered in a clipped voice.

“Eleanor,” he said on sigh.

“Richard,” she responded.

Richard grabbed Eleanor’s small hand and tugged, forcing her closer to him. Eleanor refused to look at him, pretending she was still ignoring him, yet she allowed him to pull her closer.

Richard pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her smaller frame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over her curly blonde head, as he held her in a tight embrace. They were like family; she couldn’t stay mad at him forever. Besides, if she had been truly beyond simple anger, she wouldn’t have let him touch her.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she whispered back, brushing away a few stray tears that had escaped from her cerulean colored eyes. “You don’t deserve to have friends.”

“I know,” he said, patting her back. Richard was all too aware that he hadn’t been the type of person people would have wanted to make friends with. He had been a rotten person in life and only in death had he been able to slightly redeem himself from his past. Even if Clarissa believed differently, he knew that deep inside he was the same miserable bastard he had been in his living past.

“Clarissa, can I see you for a moment.” Henry walked up to the group. Taking in the sight of Richard and Eleanor, he felt a deep seething hatred for his good friend. Henry, despite what others believed, found Richard to be admirable. The man had his list of short comings. Didn’t they all? Yet in spite of all of that, Richard was one of Henry’s friends – no, more than that, he was like family – a family that Henry had never known until his death. However, seeing Richard holding his Eleanor like that put all thoughts of friendship and comrade aside.

Eleanor had moved to the city of St. Augustine some time ago, in the mid- nineteen sixties. Henry had been residing in the city since his move from Baltimore, Maryland in 1938, long before Richard had even been born. Back then it had just been the two of them, not that Richard’s presence had changed their relationship much. Henry had never gotten the nerve to tell her how he truly felt. The three of them had become more family than friends and still Henry kept much of himself from them.

Henry eyed the two of them, wondering if what Richard and Eleanor felt for each other was more than brother and sisterly affection. If it turned out to be more than that, he wasn’t sure if he could be detached enough to not care. He would have to leave the city he had grown to love because he didn’t think he could stand to watch Eleanor with someone else, even if he made her happy.

He made sure to nod his greeting to them both before escorting Clarissa away to the other side of the room. Standing in a half open circle were several residents of the Eidolon community who were conversing with two members of the council; two of the total four. The young woman, Isabella Canova, who Clarissa had seen earlier stood in the middle of the group. She looked no older than sixteen and the youngest looking in the community, but one of the oldest of their kind. Her premature death in 1887 from the white plague that killed many in the city including her own family created a girl who would never physically grow up. She was flanked by her leading council member and their constituents.

Cyrus Cercopoly was a descendent of Greek Immigrants who came to this country more than two-hundred years earlier. Like his council members, their surnames were linked and well documented into the history of this ancient city, giving them the advantage to oversee its inhabitants, dead and living. Cyrus’s death in 1813 at the tender age of twenty-seven made him the oldest classical phantasm residing in the oldest city; residual hauntings and shades not taken into account. After a time, even ghosts lose steam, slipping away into the shadows or crossing over into the next world.

“May I introduce you to two of our leading council members, Clarissa?” Henry walked Clarissa up to the two diplomatic authorities standing in the middle of the group. Taking a moment to finish a conversation she was having with the older looking woman next to her, Isabella turned to look down from her slight height advantage at the newest resident of her city.

“I am pleased to meet you both.” Clarissa spoke with reserved dignity. Isabella Canova was a beauty, true to her Spanish ancestry. She had dark chocolate brown hair with flawless skin and eyes that matched the darkness of her hair. Her youthfulness belied the aged soul within her.

“We are pleased to have you join our community,” Isabella spoke in a soft gentle voice. “Henry has told us much about you and from what I have heard from others, you are quite an exceptional woman. Wouldn’t you agree Cy?”

Cyrus gave Clarissa a thorough examination, raking his eyes from the crown of her brown hair to her new soft leather slip-ons. His eyes roved back up her person until they were once again on her face. “Yes,” he said with a thick Greek accent, “A most remarkable young lady, indeed.” Cyrus smiled down at the young woman in front of him, but the slight show of warmth didn’t reach very far. Cyrus’s eyes remained distant and cold, his body a tall statue of a man who was just as imposing in death as he had been in life. “I think I might be at the disadvantage of losing my seat on the council table before too long. What do you think of our council members so far, Ms. Schofield? Do you believe us to be doing our best for our people?”

Clarissa was the one at the disadvantage at the moment. Cyrus Cercopoly was not a man to make an enemy with and he had seen far too much into Clarissa’s thoughts to be fooled into believing Clarissa if she told him that she thought the council was doing a splendid job of running the city, because in her opinion they were not doing a splendid job. The sudden call for this meeting and the deathly reasons behind it was prime example that The Four had waited too long in taking the much needed action against the flesh-eaters. In Clarissa’s opinion, the deaths of the S.S. members were on their spectral shoulders.

“Don’t badger Ms. Schofield, Cy. She hasn’t been with us long enough to have created an accurate opinion of us.” Isabella moved closer to Clarissa, touching Clarissa’s cheek for a moment. Clarissa felt a shock of electricity run through her system, like a sting, but it only hurt for a second before it was gone. “I would like to invite you to brunch with me sometime soon. We could discuss some of your thoughts about the city and possible improvements. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She continued in her sweet angelic voice. “We could perhaps take a short trip to Paris for a just us girls shopping spree, my treat.” Isabella fingered the collar of Clarissa’s new blouse. “Mrs. Sands does exceptional work. However, I prefer Madame Truveau’s designs myself. The Europeans have such a unique flare for fashion that American designs can’t compare to. You must let me have her take your measurements.” When Clarissa would have declined the offer, she rather liked Lizzy’s unpretentious designs, Isabella pressed forward. “I insist. Do not say no.”

Clarissa felt the sharp sting against her system as Isabella took hold of her hand. Isabella’s cold fingers tightened ever so slightly over Clarissa’s hand. The child-woman looked too sweet for anyone to believe that there was anything like violence hidden under her beautifully cool and composed exterior. Isabella was a woman, despite her youthful façade, and she wanted what she wanted without remorse or wavering on her part. Nothing stood in the way of her desires.

“Yes, thank you very much, Ms. Canova,” Clarissa bit out the words, a false smile on her face for everyone to see. The men and women surrounding them looked pleased by Clarissa’s acceptance to Isabella’s brunch date. Some even had a hint of envy in their eyes that some newly deceased nobody had been given the esteemed pleasure of being allowed into the private circle of the deadly elite.

“Please, call me Isabella. I will send a little reminder to you sometime in the coming weeks,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes, which on closer inspection were not simply brown; they changed colors. Now they appeared bright gold like a cats eyes. Flipping the long wave of her locks off her shoulder, she turned away from Clarissa, a simple dismissal.

Isabella regarded Henry with an innocent look that might have fooled most of the community, but not Clarissa. “Henry,” she sighed. “Will you come and walk with me?” Holding out her delicate hand to Henry she waited for him to take it.

Henry nodded, taking Isabella’s hand into the crook of his arm, leading her away from the others. He briefly glanced at Clarissa, a look of understanding flashing behind his brown eyes. Then he turned away as he and Isabella walked off out into the antechamber.

“May I escort you to your seat, Ms. Schofield?” Clarissa heard the deeply accented voice of Cyrus. “They will return shortly. The meeting is about to start in a few minutes and there will be many forced to stand.”

Clarissa allowed Cyrus to take her hand into his arm and lead her to the front of the room where Richard and Eleanor had already found their own seats. He left her with them as he bowed stiffly to her before walking up to the platform where the council members would be seated. Clarissa watched the brute of a man as he took his leave. His grey eyes were aged and cold stones in the face of a handsome young man. Clarissa’s hand felt icy from where she had touched him. She rubbed it against her heart, pushing his touch from her body.

A few minutes later Isabella came back into the room, walking swiftly down the open aisle leading to the council table. She smiled at Clarissa as she walked past, a girlish bounce in her step. She took her seat between Cyrus on her left and Francisco Fatio on her right. Seated on Cyrus’s left was Hanna Zespedes, the second oldest member of The Four.

Francisco Fatio was the oldest looking of the council members, dying at the age of 47, but he was the youngest of The Four. His death in 1904 was unknown to the community; even his closest constituents did not know the actual circumstances of his untimely demise. He was of medium build and height, a square jaw that complimented his upturned mouth. His overall pleasantness was a complete contrast to Cyrus’s stormy presence on the council.

The only other woman on the council, Hanna Zespedes was Cyrus’s closest rival. Her ties to the first families in St. Augustine made her a celebrity of sorts in the community and she knew it. A small woman with a round face and large cobalt colored eyes, she sat behind the council table like the princess she knew she was. Leaning over she whispered something into Cyrus’s ear, making his usual frowning face draw farther down.

Clarissa watched the quick exchange of words, but she could not hear what they said. She knew it was because Cyrus was aware that Clarissa could listen in, that he was able to block her out by putting a barrier between them. In fact, he had made it a point to keep on guard against her since he had seen her walk into the meeting room with Eleanor. It made her suspicious as to what this powerful man had to hide from the world.

“We begin the town meeting at precisely seven o’clock,” Cyrus’s voice bellowed throughout the crowded room. A wave of silence washed over the chamber as voices stopped and bodies became still in their seats or standing against the walls. “Close the doors so that we may continue further.” The double doors leading from the antechamber into the meeting room were pulled closed with a heavy thud.

Bringing a heavy bronze bell down the open aisle, a man came to stand in front of the raised platform where the council members now all stood up from their seats. Cyrus nodded to the man and he turned around to face the crowd. Striking the ancient bell he spoke.

“With each chime of the bell we remember the souls that have fallen. With the sound we remember their kindness, their generosity, and love of our community. Let their memory remain in our souls forever after. Let us pray that they find rest in the next world as we pray for our own.” He struck the bell again.

“We remember Cynthia Walters.” Clarissa heard the added whispered prays throughout the room, hushed words coming from bowed heads. Most heads were bowed in reverence except for Cyrus Cercopoly whose face remained forward as he starred off into nothingness.

The man continued, striking the bell a third time. “We remember Grayson Rogers.” A short cry was heard in the room. Clarissa followed the sound to see Leah Moon who quickly covered her mouth. She was sitting several rows behind Clarissa with her mother and grandmother. Her grandmother put her arm around her granddaughter in solidarity to her loss. Clarissa reached out finding the information she sought. Grayson Rogers had been Leah’s closest friend since childhood. His death last evening had come as a shock to her, having only found out about it a few hours before tonight’s meeting. Her grandmother and mother had thought it best to keep the information from her.

The bell chimed again as another name was called. “We remember Lauren Adler.” More whispered prays for the deceased filled the room.

“We remember Mary-Ann Gills.” A woman sitting in front of Clarissa sobbed into her hands. She was an S.S. member, her name tag reading Candice Snow in cursive lettering on her sweater. Mary-Ann had been her sister.

“We remember Nancy Burn.” Michael Burn sat next to Candice Snow. Taking her hand he held on tight, squeezing her skin until it turned white, but neither noticed, so caught up in their deep grief. His wife’s death several weeks ago was still a raw and aching wound on his soul.

The bell was struck a final time, resonating throughout the room as it was carried through the atmosphere to the world beyond. “We remember our friends and loved ones, let the spirits of the past guide them home.”

The man’s arm fell down to his side, the bell silenced. His own face was turned down as he whispered a prayer that only he and Clarissa could hear. “Let their deaths not be in vain. Let us rid the world of the monsters that took them from us.” Then he raised his head, his eyes finding Clarissa’s. He was a living human, but he must have suspected that she had overheard him, because he quickly looked away. He took his seat in the front row as the diplomats took their seats.

The meeting continued. Specters and livings alike stood before the council airing their grievances and giving their opinions on the solution to these unfortunate deaths. As Clarissa heard each of them speak, she became more angered against the creatures who had taken these peoples friends, sisters, and wives so viciously. Watching as several of them fell apart before they ever made it to the podium to speak, broke Clarissa’s heart. Death was always hardest for those left behind to pick up the pieces. She was more adamant now than ever to see that these creatures pay with their own lives.

The meeting adjourned several hours later, no closer to a solution than they were at the beginning. All were in consensus that something must be done. But like so many political reforms for change, it would take them forever to draw up anything concrete. The Eidolon community was still at the same disadvantage they were at thirty-eight years ago. There was no one capable of standing up to and controlling these creatures.

The flesh-eaters had kept to the rules for this long. Why the increase in deaths? And to attack the humans closest to the Eidolon community was a smack in the face and a blatant disregard to the treaty. These deaths could not go by without retaliation and it seemed in Clarissa’s opinion that the future would bring war down upon the oldest city.

Chapter 9-

“It is a full blood moon tonight,” Eleanor remarked as they walked home after the town meeting. Henry, who had been gone most of the meeting, had come up to them at the closing of the meeting to take Richard into the secret chamber behind the high council table. The men had bid the two women goodnight and a safe travel home.

Eleanor walked beside Mrs. Connors, Clarissa following closely behind the two older women. Slowing her step, Clarissa gazed up at the full moon in the dark sky. She remembered a little saying about changing patterns of the cool bright orb.

The New Moon rises at sunrise

And the first quarter at noon

The Full Moon rises at sunset

And the last quarter at midnight

Clarissa didn’t have a watch, but it was likely some time after eleven. Under the new ordinances, no one was to be roaming outside their homes or places of business past the midnight mark on the clock. To ensure that everyone returned safely to these places tonight after the meeting several Eidolon members were chosen to patrol the streets and to escort lone souls to their destinations.

“A fine night for mischief making, I think,” Maddy said with a chuckle. She danced down the street, acting like she was twenty years younger. The woman seemed to have more energy than Clarissa and ten-times the exuberance that a respectable woman her age should possess. “If I were only a few years younger, I would be out this night, living it up.” She stretched her arms above her head, closing her eyes. “I would be the moon mistress again.”

“You mean you would be running down the streets, bare-ass naked to the world and getting arrested for indecent exposure. Not to mention the riots you’d cause with your candle dances.” Eleanor danced around Maddy, throwing her hands up over her head in imitation. “I am the moon mistress,” she cried out to the night.

“You know nothing about being a moon mistress,” Maddy said, piqued at Eleanor’s mocking. “Besides we were not naked – we wore shoes and a robe.”

“That was gossamer. So you might as well have been naked.” Eleanor laughed as she remembered the first time she saw Maddy and her ladies group in the forests together.

Eleanor had just arrived to the area and she had never seen this new religion, though it held beliefs similar to the older pagan faiths of Western Europe. The practice of feminist Wiccan, which spread out across the states in the mid-century was a branch of spiritualism that embraced feminine values and created autonomy for women disappointed with patriarchic religions. Maddy herself was not a Wiccan, her faith stemmed from a practice much older.

“That is beside the point,” Maddy argued. “Our clothing was perfectly appropriate for the time period.”

Clarissa listened absently as the two women continued discussing Maddy’s youthful activities. She didn’t feel like joining them in conversation and so lagged farther behind them as they made their way back to the house. Eleanor was planning on staying overnight at Mrs. Connors. There were plenty of spare bedrooms and Clarissa would have someone to talk to if she got lonely during the night.

“Clarissa, stop dawdling back there. You have the slowest walk ever.” Eleanor turned her head to look back at Clarissa. “Is there something the matter?”

Yes.

“No,” Clarissa answered. “I’m just naturally a slow walker, that’s all. You two can go on ahead if you like. I’ll ketch up with you at home.”

Eleanor and Maddy slowed down, both turning to face Clarissa with disapproving looks on their faces.

“You’re not going to walk home all by yourself, Clarissa. Don’t you remember what they told us?” Eleanor thought to grab hold of Clarissa and pull her along, but just as she was about to make a go at it, Clarissa stepped out of her reach.

“I’m a grown woman and I know how to take care of myself.” They stood in the open streets, now empty of pedestrians. Occasionally the headlights of a car would graze past them. It was almost deathly quiet in the streets of the old city.

“Go on without me. I’ll be fine,” Clarissa strongly insisted as the two women looked to each other, wondering what they should do.

Should they allow Clarissa to roam the streets alone, knowing full well that the beasts that walked the St. Augustine streets no longer held to the rules of the treaty? Could they stop her from this decision even if they wanted to? The answer was no to both questions.

“Let her go, Elle, she is clearly a capable person.” Maddy said after a few seconds of deliberation.

“But she can’t – she isn’t capable of – we can’t leave her out here alone.” Eleanor stuttered. Eleanor was deeply horrified over the possibility that Clarissa could come to harm from the night creatures. Even she, who had lived with them for decades, wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could match wits with these otherworldly creatures.

“It’s her decision, Elle.” Maddy spoke in a reasonably calm voice, unlike Eleanor. “Isn’t that correct, Clarissa? If you think you are capable of walking the streets by yourself then who are we to disagree?”

“Fine,” Eleanor concede defeat in the matter. “But do not stay out too late or I will send Henry out to find you and bring you home,” she threatened.

As they continued down the street, leaving Clarissa behind, Maddy turned her head to look back. “Remember what they say about getting what you ask for.” Then she turned back, following Eleanor as they continued on home.

Maddy had had a look in her eye when she had made that rather cryptic remark. Clarissa wondered if the woman knew why she was waiting out in the dark streets, and what she hoped to find. All evening she had mulled over what she could do; how she could help her people and the community. Clarissa had yet to figure out her purpose in this existence until now. Perhaps she was being rash or reckless, but tonight for the first time she would come face to face with the other kind and would find out for herself the true nature of the flesh-eater.

***∞***

It was close to midnight and high on the old bride, The Bridge of Lions as it was aptly named because of the stone figures that flanked it, standing guard over the city, stood two still figures. In the darkness their presence went undetected by the few vehicles that crossed over the bridge at night. As the light slipped away from the world and night descended the solitary creatures of the underworld took to action, coming out of their daytime havens to venture into the city for sustenance and perhaps a little fun.

Corrigan LeMoyne had once been a man, a living person who had spent thirty-one years on this earth before falling under the spell of death. His name, Corrigan, was all that was left of his humanity. He was cursed, like his brothers and sisters, into an existence that thrived on the death of others. No one who lived as they did could count on any reprieve from the unrelenting desire for the taste of human flesh and blood. For some, it was like a madness; controlling their every fiber of being. But for others, like the LeMoynes, who had adapted a measure of self-control, this existence was almost bearable. They only took what was needed, nothing more.

“It’s a blood moon tonight,” Corrigan uttered into the still night. “I smell death on the wind.” He inhaled the cool air breeze as it blew against his skin.

Folding his arms across his muscled chest, he leaned against the bridge railing. Standing at close to six feet six inches without his shoes on, Corrigan was not a man who by any means should be able to hide easily in a crowd. His added girth of muscles didn’t help either. But he was like a wraith in the night, almost inconspicuous until the last moment; the moment before he took a life. By the very nature of a flesh-eater, they were not far from the wild animals in the swamps and surrounding forests. Like the beasts of this world, their bodies were designed to be strong and fast, cunning and resilient. A total contrast to the zombie characters of folklore.

His iridescent blue eyes focused on the man standing a few feet away from him. Corrigan noticed that Chas was completely caught up in his own world. His brother hadn’t heard a word he had said the entire time they’d been standing on the bridge.

Chas LeMoyne liked to point out on many occasions that he was the token black man of the family. In the LeMoyne clan, family meant people who were of agreeable minds, not shared blood. Though they did share blood, just not their own.

Standing a few inches shorter than his youngest brother, Chas was as finely cut a figure of a man as his other brothers. His light mocha colored skin and odd eye color revealed his mixed bloodlines, which at one time had shamed and embarrassed him.

Chas’s father had been a plantation owner, a respectable gentleman living in South Carolina in the early part of the nineteenth century. As plantations went in those days, it had the usual laborers, including imported persons from the continent. Chas’s mother had not been born a slave, but her son had; fathered by the respectable plantation owner. Unfortunately, the man’s wife didn’t take too kindly to the visual knowledge of her husband’s infidelities. In the end, it was Chas’s life that was sacrificed, the final blow having come from his father’s hands.

Chas’s mother had been beside herself over the loss of her only son. In her grief stricken state she called upon forces best left alone. All she wanted was to have her son back, she didn't specify in what condition he would be in. Chas was restored to full vitality three days later, but the man he had once been was an empty shell of his former self. In the beginning, he couldn’t control the natural beast within him. He was a soulless predator; no longer a human man. His father had been his first kill upon awakening in this new existence; his mother had watched.

Seeing the horror in his mother’s eyes and knowing he was the one to put it there, Chas left his home and everything else that had once been part of his living self. Several decades later he was adopted into the LeMoyne clan taking the surname of the clan’s leader, Ambrose. At that time it had only been the four brothers, Ambrose, Xavier, Trueman and then Chas. It had taken several more decades before the men had found their post-mortem mates.

“Chas,” Corrigan yelled over the music Chas was listening to. He was ‘plugged in’ again with his little mp3 playing music device. He had swiped it off a kill several months back. It wasn’t like the dead man needed it anymore. Ever since then Chas had had the tiny buds permanently attached to his ear drums. Corrigan found it irritating to once again find he was talking to himself. He tried calling to him again to no avail.

Chas was bobbing his head to the beat of the song. His bottle green eyes dancing around, looking at everything, but paying no attention to his brother. The volume was set loud enough that the heavy beats of the newest number one R&B song to hit the charts leaked out from the ear buds. Corrigan couldn’t guess the specific song title, but he speculated that Chas had likely bought the song long before it had become a sensation to the masses.

Corrigan smiled to himself, speaking his thoughts aloud he said. “I wonder what Helen’s wearing tonight.” He made an appreciative growling sound deep in his throat, knowing that Chas could hear him. “I wonder if it’ll be that delicate little silk top with the deep dip in the cleavage and the tight denim skirt that just barely covers her ......” Corrigan broke off, on purpose.

“What the hell did you just say?” Chas’s green eyes swung purposefully on his brother. There was a dark rage of madness under the surface of his skin. Chas was fiercely possessive of his woman. His mate, Helen had come into his post-life more than forty years ago after her own death in which she was killed when a civil rights campaign had ended in a bloody riot.

“So you can hear me now, I guess.” Corrigan gave his brother an arched stare. “Anytime you can unplug and join the conversation, I’d appreciate it.”

Chas pulled out the ear buds, stuffing them and the music device in his back pocket. “Be glad you’re my brother or you’d be dead-dead right now. It doesn’t merit talking about another man’s wife like that.” Dead-dead was an explanation to a legally and medically dead person who was taken into the folds of the truly dead; a death you don’t come back from.

“I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.” Corrigan made an evil smirk. “Next time I’ll just keep my sordid thoughts to myself.” Chas looked like he was several heartbeats from knocking Corrigan over the side of the bridge. That is, if his heart actually still beat in his chest. It didn’t. Their hearts made sluggish noises every now and then, but never a true beat like the living had.

“Calm down and stop looking at me like that.” Corrigan shrugged his shoulders absently. “I was just rattling your chains a bit. I don’t think of Helen like that; she’s like my sister.” He came away from the side of the bridge to stand in front of Chas.

Chas gave his brother a hard shove. “Don’t talk to me about rattling chains, boy,” he growled. “You have no idea what it’s like to actually have the weight of irons on your body, to live every day knowing you’re less than the masters animal to him.”

Chas’s father had chained him as a boy inside the smokehouse for days when his father’s family and friends had come for a long weekend visit. The heavy irons weighing the small body down had left bruises on his emaciated flesh. Rarely giving him enough to eat and drink, Chas very nearly died inside the stifling confines of the building. Only with the tender care of his mother, after he had been let loose, saved him from the madness that had taken over his young mind.

Storing the boy away like dirty linens so no one of consequence would know of his existence, Chas’s father was able to distance himself from his only son. Anyone who saw the boy would immediately recognize him as his father’s son; the eyes and the shape of his face, even his ears, all were dead giveaways. Chas had stared at the dead carcasses of the beasts hanging in the darkened smokehouse, hating his father, hating himself for not being good enough. Even now, when all of them were dead and gone, he still felt the phantoms of his past; stealing away into his nightmares and making him relive his life’s horrors.

Corrigan straightened quickly from the blow. Looking down from his superior height, he said. “I know just as much about chains and indignantly as you do. I’ve had the honor of donning my own set for many decades. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know what your father did to you, or that I can’t relate.”

Chas snorted, turning away. Corrigan never related any information about his past, living or otherwise. On a cold winter night, twenty years ago, he had come knocking on their front door, naked as the day he had been born. He hadn’t even had shoes on. That night, he had joined the family, no questions asked. No one questioned what he had been doing for the past one hundred some odd years after his death, where he had come from, or how he had come into this deathly animated existence. When anyone tried to fish for answers, Corrigan responded with a flat voice, “I’m a LeMoyne now, that’s all that matters. My past is as dead to me as I am.” He never elaborated.

The men stood silent once again on the bridge. Corrigan looked off into the downtown city while Chas stretched his limbs. He was under the mind-set that he needed to stretch before each meal otherwise he had terrible indigestion. Corrigan found it a ridiculous reasoning system, but didn’t comment when Chas started jogging in place, his knees coming up to his chest.

Corrigan leaned against a lamp post; waiting. He could feel the minutes tick by in his mind, steadily moving forward until the time he could venture forth over the bridge. From his vantage point at the peak of the bridge he could make out the lighted windows in the stores and restaurants in the downtown area. If the living were wise they would be in their homes, but most weren’t. The livings were always foolish, wrapped up in their illusion of security. Just because they lived in a cement and concrete world didn’t mean they were safe from the beasts of the land. Corrigan and his family were proof of that.

“Well, isn’t it my two favorite men in the world?” a soft feminine voice called out from the darkness. “Have you been waiting for me, boys?” Helen sauntered up the bridge, coming from the east side, her gate casual and unhurried.

Dressed in a pair of dark dyed blue jeans and a black on black sweater set, she looked like a young living woman taking a stroll. Her long midnight colored hair blended seamlessly into the surrounding blackness. With a quick leap she landed softly on the balls of her feet encased in her Nike running shoes. Helen was anything but a normal living woman.

Helen reached up and kissed her deathly mate on his cheek. Taking his hand, she turned to Corrigan who was watching the two of them. She liked Corrigan, though she liked all her brothers and sisters, there was a special place she reserved in her heart for this special man. Corrigan was a simple man, who asked little of his family except that they give him space.

Their home on the island was a massive structure that had required demolishing several old homes and covered ten acres of land. A high cement wall kept intruders out, not for the family’s safety, but theirs. Inside the property lines were a two story main house and three smaller guest houses which were of average size for a standard size home in America. Ambrose and his wife resided in the main house, the brothers and their wives including Chas and Helen took residence in the guest homes.

Corrigan had asked to stay in the attic of the main house, not needing an entire home just for himself. He explained to them that he was accustomed to cramped small places. And the spacious attic, though smaller than the guest house the family offered to build him, was better than where he usually ended up. Helen could only imagine what he must have meant by that. Corrigan’s past was a terrible burden on his soul, a soul he professed he no longer possessed in this existence.

“Are you coming out with us, Helen?” Corrigan answered her with a question of his own. Helen usually preferred traveling with the girls. They had their own feeding practices that either irritated the men or bored them. So the women of the family had decided some time ago to venture out on their own. It usually began with an outing to a bar or club, either in town or the surrounding area. Then after an evening of girlish frivolity, they would get down to business.

“Is that an invitation, Corry?” Helen responded with yet another question. Helen was the first person to refer to Corrigan as Corry, and the only one given the right to do so.

“Cor doesn’t invite anyone to roam with him.” Chas interjected, stretching his arms over his head, and rotating his upper chest. “I’m just here to see that he keeps the numbers down to a minimum.” That wasn’t entirely true. Chas and Corrigan had been roaming together since he had arrived in their city. At first he had been assigned to follow Corrigan to make sure he abided by the rules the others and his family had agreed upon years before. Later they had struck a bond between them, brothers in heart and mind, if not in blood.

“But he’ll invite me,” Helen contradicted. “Won’t you, Corry?” Helen smiled over at her brother. Her greenish-blue eyes were like radiant jewels set in a classically beautiful face. Helen’s parentage, like Chas had been of mixed ancestry. But unlike Chas, both her father and mother had adored their daughter.

“Of course you’re invited, Hell,” Corrigan said, using his nick-name for her. She might appear to others to be a sweet young woman in her mid-twenties, but she was a little demon from hell when she was riled. She was quick and deadly when she was on the hunt for a kill and could take down a grown man twice her size.

“Well, I’m starving. What are we waiting for?” Helen took her husband’s hand, wrapping it around her as she leaned in to him. “I’ve never been out with you boys before. Do you have a favorite pick-up spot? Margaret Ann and I sometimes like to hang out near the bars on St. George Street.”

“We’re not scouting women, Helen,” Chas retorted with a frown. “And the first rule if you’re going to roam with us is that Cor and I will find the kill. You stay back until I call you.” He brushed his other hand over her forehead, brushing strands of her dark hair off her forehead. “Is that clear?”

“I’m not an infant,” Helen groused. “I can make my own kill, thank you very much. But I’m glad to hear you’re not scouting out women. If I did find you doing such a thing I’d have to kill you and I don’t feel inclined to break-in another husband.”

Chas frowned at first before his face broke into a teasing grin. “So you think you’ve house broken me, do you?” he bantered. “And I didn’t say you were incapable of a kill. I just prefer not to have you do it tonight. We’re not on very good terms with the others and Ambrose is having us take less kills because of it. The whiny souls across the way are having a fit and taking it out on us. Seems they’re reconsidering our contract we made all those years ago, maybe even rescinding it all together. Who knows? But we’re cutting back, so let Corrigan and I take care of tonight’s meal.”

Helen reached out and touched his face, rubbing his cheek with her graceful fingers. “As long as you don’t make me do the dishes,” she teased him back. Rising on to her tippy toes she kissed his cheek, moving over to take his lips. She breathed against his mouth. “You are so totally house broken, sweetheart. You just don’t realize it.” Then she screamed as he picked her up, swinging her into his arms as he deepened the kiss.

Corrigan sighed, looking away from the happy couple. Though he had grown accustomed to seeing his adoptive families frequent displays of tender affection for each other he wasn’t as completely unmoved as he would like to be. Since arriving on their doorstep years ago, he had been accepted into the flock, into the family, unconditionally and without mistrust on their part. Being alone for so many decades, he had little memory of what it was like to behave in polite society, to be with others of his kind and not revert back to the animalistic monster he had been reduced to for so long.

“It’s time,” Corrigan said from his position by the lamp post. “Chas, you lead.” Giving Chas the lead would mean that he could choose the location and the mark without interference from himself or Helen. “I’ll follow behind to take watch and Helen can assist you if she’d like.” Helen nodded her head, looking pleased by the arrangement. Helen could either be used as a distraction or as bait for the target, depending upon the situation. “Are we in agreement then?”

They both nodded. Making one more stretch of his arms over his head, Chas made an excited growl in the back of his throat before leaping into a run. In the next moment he was gone, headed for downtown and his chosen target.

“He gets so pumped up before the kill, stalking about the house like a caged animal,” Helen commented as she and Corrigan stood alone on the bridge. “I think that music he listens to is a bad influence.”

“It’s not the music, Hell, it’s who he is. It’s who we all are.” Corrigan once again turned to look down at the city. Lately Chas had become anxious before they went out for the night, but it was only because they’d had to cut back. Sometimes not going out at all for a night or two and then when they did, he became a little wild. That was the nature of the beast; you couldn’t cage it up forever, not without repercussions.

Helen felt that well of pity she kept hidden from her brother rise up. Corrigan truly believed that he was only the monster of legend, the flesh-eater, the zombie, the soulless and damned. Helen thought differently. And though their lifestyle was considered abhorrent to the rest of the world, they were not so different from the others. They loved, laughed and had heartache like any human. They just happened to also be the walking dead. To survive they consumed the living, cannibalism. But was it so different from the living who feasted off of the animals and beasts of the land and sea? The only difference was that their meal came with a name attached; call a pig Susan and you might be reluctant to eat it too.

“You better follow your husband and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.” Corrigan said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’ll see you down there, brother.” And in the next moment she too was gone.

Corrigan stood alone on the old bridge, a strange feeling coming over his senses. Something was different about tonight and he couldn’t begin to put a finger on what it could mean. It was in the air, in the ground, a change had come to the old city bringing with it a new force that he had not felt in many years. Whatever it was, it didn’t bode good news for himself or his adopted family.

He leaped up onto the bridge railing, gazing down at the dark water below. He wondered if he fell, would the darkness take him back once again. No. It would spit him out, because even Lucifer wouldn’t want him in his domain. Corrigan’s eyes were yet again drawn to watching the city lights. Down there, in the ancient city someone was waiting, a force he had yet to encounter but he knew well enough without introduction.

In the next instant he was gone from the rail.

Darkness held the city in its cold hands, soothing it into sleep. For the unwary, this night might be the last they saw of this world.

Chapter 10-

Clarissa wandered down the darkened streets several blocks from her home. All around her the houses of the cities citizens revealed cold, unlit windows with quiet hushed whispers of dreaming thoughts inside.

She had been drifting about the city for several hours now, not sure if she should remain longer or give up and return to Mrs. Connors house where Eleanor and Maddy would surely be up and waiting for her turn.

She had been very nearly close to giving up this idiotic idea of confronting the others when something caught her attention.

Clarissa had become used to the knowledge that she could penetrate the barriers of the human psyche and see into the souls and minds of the Eidolon and the livings. She was never intentionally intrusive and some of them, she found, could keep themselves from her. But what she encountered and stopped her in the deathly quiet streets of the old city was the sound of voices speaking to each other, not with words of mouth, but of thought.

It was as if she had accidentally picked up a line of communication that she shouldn’t have otherwise been allowed to hear, but she could. Clarissa hadn’t met anyone who could converse on such a personal level until now. She wondered who they could be and what they were talking about. Having come in on the tail end of the conversation, she couldn’t understand the context of what they were talking about, almost as if they were speaking in code.

Two males and a female, that was what she guessed from the way the voices were speaking as each held a trace of the essence of the person from which the voice was formed. An internal voice, unlike an auditory voice is distinct and personable and cannot be covered up by an accent or false voice.

They were together, several blocks over from where she was standing, and as far as she could reason none of them were aware that she had infiltrated their private line. Who were they and what were they doing out so late at night? Didn’t they realize that the others were out as well, roaming the streets for their next meal? Clarissa thought to reach out to them and warn them, but some inner warning system held her back. She didn’t know these people, nor they her. It would be wiser to leave them alone, she told herself.

Having come to that conclusion, she turned about intending to go home. She was tired and bored with walking the lonely streets. Perhaps she would borrow Maddy’s computer. She had seen it lying on a desk when she had passed the open door of one of the upstairs rooms. She could maybe wile Eleanor into watching a movie with her. Maddy had a few DVD boxes staked next to her television in the back family room. As Clarissa was thinking about which movie Eleanor would agree to watch with her, a shadow crept along the street behind her.

She felt it more than she saw it, a force of energy bending the atmosphere around her. Clarissa paused, not turning to look at it. It was in her best interest to pretend she wasn’t aware of it yet. She must think of what to do first. But a blanket of fear seemed to cover her, stealing her thoughts as well as the ability to take action. The shadow swept closer, fast, seemingly moving more like a phantom than a human person. It wasn’t human, Clarissa thought. It was a beast.

Chas darted down the street before his brother or wife could stop him. Moving swiftly through the night, he didn’t pause until he found himself several blocks away from his family. Stalking his prey, he moved like a shadow phantom down the empty street toward his destination.

He had felt the intruder only a moment ago, a light presence, as it had remained on the fringe of his mind, almost undetected. Then it had almost reached out and touched, its intentions giving it away when it would have otherwise gone undetected by himself and his family. Chas had taken action, not caring that his brother or wife was yelling at him to come back. Whoever it had been, the person would be dead soon enough.

Searching for the target, Chas paused to see a lone figure of a woman standing in the middle of the street, nearly frozen in place. She was young, looking not much older than he in her stunted existence. Chas had been looking for a man, a strong force of psychic and spiritual awareness, a wielder of strength in the ancient arts, not a woman; a dead ghost woman at that. She couldn’t have been the intruder, this girl who appeared to be scared out of her wits.

Chas drew closer, coming up to her from behind. She was neither short nor overly tall and she looked soft, not a creature capable of taking down one of his kind or even her own. “What is a little ghost girl doing out on a night like this?” he said, his voice the only sound in the stillness surrounding them. She didn’t turn, but remained immobile staring off in front of her.

“I thought I would go for a walk as it is such a nice night.” Clarissa answered him without revealing any trembling in her voice. “It will be dawn in a few hours. Don’t you think you should be heading home?”

Clarissa started to move away, taking a tentative step. She wouldn’t run like a scared little child, but then neither was she planning on sticking around for a little chat with a flesh-eater. She made another move away from him. Clarissa had yet to turn around and look him in the eye. She wasn’t sure she had the nerve to do that yet.

Chas snatched her arm, pulling her smaller form back and forcing her to turn around to face him. Clarissa gasped both in shock at being touched and in finally getting what she had asked for, a face to face look at the legendary flesh-eaters. She just didn’t expect she would find herself this close to one; a few feet of distance would have been preferable.

“Do you know what happens to ghosts who don’t stay home at night where they should be?” Chas glared down from his advanced height at the wide eyed ghosts. Her blue eyes stared up him, the dark ring around the fringe of her irises giving them a strange ethereal look.

Clarissa tried to jerk her arm free from his grasp. His large calloused hands weren’t cold and clammy like she expected, but warm and strong from the blood and flesh he had consumed. Henry had warned her that though a flesh-eater needed the living to survive, a soul would be a tasty treat to fill the empty shell of their beings; at least for a short time. Clarissa wasn’t sure she wanted to be the patsy in order to find out if it were true or not.

He was too strong, she couldn’t pull herself free from him and he didn’t seem to be in any mood to let her go. His bottle green eyes looked down at her from a face that was surprisingly handsome and not grotesque like she had imagined. If she didn’t know better she would have believed he was human and not the soulless beast she knew him to be.

Clarissa felt his grip tighten and saw as his mouth parted and he revealed the beast within. Behind his full, perfectly shaped male lips held straight white teeth except for the canines which looked like those of the beasts of the wild; sharp and precise in a jaw that could crush bones into dust. It was in his mouth that the beast resided, waiting to take its next victim. And in a moment Clarissa knew that it would be her.

Corrigan shouted at his brother, though he knew he was past hearing. He had caught the scent of something and nothing could stop him from going after it. Standing next to a cropping of trees, he watched as his sister hovered over their kill. Corrigan didn’t think to recognize it as the man it had once been. To do so would bring up the consciousness and faint tendrils of humanity he still had left even after all this time. Keeping all that away, suppressed far enough down inside where even he could pretend it no longer existed.

Finished, she looked up at him, a tiny trace of blood dotting her full lower lip. She licked it with her delicate pink tongue, standing up as she came to stand next to him. “Where has he gone off to now? He’s been running off lately and I don’t know why. Go after him Corry; make sure he doesn’t get himself or us in trouble.”

Helen seemed deeply concerned for her mate, so he obliged her. Corrigan sprinted off in the same direction his brother had taken moments before, following his trail. Night’s velvet cloak kept much of the world hidden, but he found it easy to travel through it. The night was his companion, his only friend for most of his existence. They were of similar stuff, both mysterious and misunderstood by much of the planet.

Corrigan found himself several blocks over on a deserted residential street. Only the lamp lights shone against the blackness of the night and he could see two figures farther down in front of him. He recognized the broad back of his brother in an instant, but could not make out the other, smaller figure in front of him.

Picking up his speed he raced to confront them, hoping to stop whatever his brother intended to do to this other obviously weaker person. Just as he was upon them though he watched as his brother, a deadly threat to anything in his path was flung backwards into the street landing on his back. Chas would have landed on Corrigan if Corrigan hadn’t dodged speedily to the other side of the street. As it was, he just barely escaped from being flung backwards himself by the residual flow of energy from the attack. And there was no mistaking where it had originated from.

Clarissa stood stunned for a moment, not quite sure what had happened. Several seconds ticked by in her mind before she collected her senses well enough to force her from the comatose stupor. She had escaped, digging deep into the dark well of her subconscious and finding the tools needed to confront the creature who now lay dazed on the street several feet away.

He recovered quickly, shaking his head as if clearing away the thoughts inside. Then his angry eyes focused once more on her, on his feet in seconds. He came charging at her like a great bull, his head down in aggression. If she had been smart she would have shifted the atmosphere and taken herself out of there. But the simplest answers didn’t always come to mind in the thick of battle.

Just as she was bracing herself for his attack, she felt another pair of equally strong hands on her person, pulling her up and against its form. It held her cool body against its much warmer one, taking her high above the ground, her legs dangling in the air. She was left suspended in the arms of another creature and she knew that it was not friendly.

“Chas,” boomed the voice close to her head, nearly deafening her for a moment. “This is no time to be playing with the others. She’s just a girl.”

Chas stopped short of his target, enraged that his brother had interfered. “She attacked me, you saw it.” His fists balled at his sides, he stalked forward. If Corrigan would only put her down, he’d have at her, take a piece of her precious soul for humiliating him.

“And she was listening in on us. She’s a spy for them, I know it.” Chas tried to make a grab at Clarissa but Corrigan swiftly side-stepped out of his reach, taking his ghost hostage with him. He refused to put her down, knowing what his brother would do.

“The ghost is not a spy for her people. She hasn’t even been dead long enough to know not to venture out after dark. She’s of no interest to us, brother.” Corrigan held the girl ghost in his arms, her body stiff as a post, her legs dangling high above the ground. He could tell she was new, fresh, her soul so bright and unblemished beneath her ghostly form that it made his insides twist up in painful knots. She made him want to hold her, keep her close and bath in the cool beauty of her spirit; lose himself in her goodness. He tightened his grip, not caring if he hurt her. She was a ghost, a spirit, and he hated her kind.

“Let me just take a bite out of her, Corr.” Chas stalked them again.

Corrigan backed away, moving out of reach of his brother as he came closer to them. “Go back to Helen, Chas.” He tried to reason with his brother, seeing the madness in his eyes and trying to think of a way to penetrate the man within. “You wouldn’t want to leave her all alone out there. If there are spies for the Eidolon, she shouldn’t be left by herself. Go,” he commanded, raising his voice. “We’ve already stirred up enough trouble as it is. If you attack one of their own, what do you think will happen? Who do you think they’ll punish? If not for yourself, then think of your mate. Go now and I’ll take care of this one.” Corrigan relayed a message to his sister that his brother needed her.

Clarissa could hear once again the soft feminine voice of the other. Now she knew it was another flesh-eater. In her thoughts about the flesh-eaters, she hadn’t imagined a female version of the creature, nor one with such a beautiful voice. That just didn’t coincide with the image she had painted of the evil creatures.

Clarissa watched as the face of the darkly handsome flesh-eater softened, a secret smile tugging at the perfect bow of his now closed mouth. With it closed she could almost believe he was human again; almost. Then the smile was gone and his mouth drew down in snarl, directed at her. “Thank my wife, ghost girl, because she just saved your soul.” He was off in the next instant, turning away swiftly and bounding down the street in a fast paced run. Clarissa couldn’t get over how quickly they moved on two feet. She would have thought they would need at least four to run that fast. Perhaps all flesh-eaters were like Olympic sprinters.

Clarissa was left alone with the brother of this creature, one she had yet to see. He kept her suspended in the air for several more seconds, the sound of his deep breathing close to her ear. It was warm along her cooler skin, the breath belying the cold death that was hidden in his form. He tightened his grip yet again against her, too tight that she almost felt like he was trying to absorb her body into his own. Then just as suddenly he dropped her back onto her feet.

Clarissa teetered on her feet as she found herself unceremoniously dropped back down to earth. The brother was certainly a rather impressively tall creature. It didn’t bode well for her to stick around and find out if he was as handsomely attractive as his brother. Clarissa had had enough interaction with the creatures to satisfy her curiosity for awhile. Finding her equilibrium, she moved to put distance between herself and the creature.

Corrigan become aware of the ghost woman distancing herself from him, but before she could get far, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around and holding her in place. Until now he hadn’t had the leisure to get a good look at her. She was of average height for a woman of this time period, but with a curving body instead of the angular ones he had seen so often of late. Her hair was a dark mahogany that in the light would show shades of gold and red. But it was her eyes that bespoke of the beauty of her inner self; in her eyes her soul was revealed. Hers were quite exquisite, the blue of her irises pale on the interior with a cobalt ring that gave her eyes an otherworldly charm to them. Her skin, like most of her kind, was cool and pale in the moonlight, a radiant glow running under the surface. It made her eyes and hair stand out in contrast to the silky glow of her ghostly form.

Clarissa found herself gazing up into the face of some fallen deity. His skin was slightly tanned, a golden glow that radiated over his skin like heated magick. A dark lock of his raven colored hair fell over his forehead to caress his skin and give him a rakish look. The flesh-eaters form was perfectly formed like his brothers, a body of a beast and not a simply man. The sculpted mouth and jaw held no show of warmth and in his iridescent blue eyes she saw nothing but empty death. If the eyes were the windows into the soul, his revealed nothing.

“Let go of me,” Clarissa commanded of him. “I’ve had my fill of being manhandled, thank you. Now let go.” Her voice held the note of authority and showed nothing of fear.

“You would be well advised not to find yourself outside alone at night again,” Corrigan answered, still keeping a firm hold on her arm. “Leave now before I change my mind and decide to take a bite out of your soul as my brother had wanted to do.” He released her arm, giving her a slight shove, pushing her away from him.

“He’s not your real brother is he?” Clarissa asked. “You two look nothing alike.” She should leave, he had given her the opening she needed and she could simply shift the atmosphere and be in the security of her own home in seconds.

Clarissa knew that that security would only be an illusion; the citizens of this city were never fully safe from these others. And if she fled now, after having waited so long to confront them, it would show deep cowardliness on her part. But she knew the dangers in trying to converse with these beasts. It was like being in the wilds of Africa trying to infiltrate and study a pride of lions; at any moment he could change his mind and charge for her. She took another step back, but then held herself still, needing resolution to the questions that had burned in her brain since coming to this old city.

Corrigan was slightly taken back when he realized she wasn’t leaving. Instead of disappearing as he assumed she would when he let go of her, in a strange turnabout she remained standing a few feet away and dared to speak to him in a calm and reasoning voice.

“He is my brother and it is no concern of yours in any case,” he responded tersely.

“I see,” she said. Clarissa tilted her head slightly to the left, studying him. “Is it the nature of the flesh-eater to be hostile or is just in your nature? I thought Richard was the only man who could be so dreadfully anti-social and petulant.”

This little slip of a ghost had the audacity to critic his character and those of his family. Didn’t she know that he could take the very last breath of life out of her, consume her soul in an instant and then there would be nothing left of her? She was either more than slightly demented, Corrigan thought, or she lacked any self-preservation. He should just get it over with and end her existence, save her people the trouble of doing it themselves. If she was foolish enough to break the rules of her people then she didn’t deserve to exist in this world.

Corrigan strode forward, his mouth slightly parted. Her soul was running like a liquid current under her form, bright and enticing him. She didn’t back up again as he drew closer to her. He didn’t expect that. She should have at least had the decency to look frightened.

“Don’t come any closer,” she commanded him, using a voice he had yet to hear from her. It was a voice of compulsion, one that he had not heard in over a hundred years. And as he knew it would, it stopped him dead in his tracks. He growled deeply in his throat like the caged animal he knew she was turning him into. “I have just a few questions to ask of you, if you don’t mind.”

Clarissa was more than surprised to see he had listened to her. But somehow, she couldn’t guess why, it looked like he hadn’t wanted to. It was like she had forced him to stop his advances, overriding his own wants like a command of compulsion. It didn’t make sense. He looked like he wanted to rip her head off, yet he remained immobile.

“Stop growling,” she commanded again. He was silenced immediately. His eyes flamed to life, the iridescent coloring glowing like a blue flame in the face of a beautifully enraged angel. For a moment, it was a heady euphoric feeling of power that flowed over Clarissa’s form, but she suppressed it quickly. Even if he was an animal, there was something inside her that made her reluctant to want to control him. She knew she should. He was a beast, a monster, and she hated his kind.

“What questions would that be?” he bit out. “If I may be permitted to speak, mistress, I would not want to offend you.” His sarcasm dripped like icy shards of glass from his tightlipped mouth.

Mistress, Clarissa thought. What did he mean by that? He was a flesh-eater and as far as any of them knew had no one to control his behavior. It seemed he believed that she was such a person to control him and he obviously wasn’t pleased about that; not that she could blame him. But only a death bokor could control the dead. Clarissa wasn’t a bokor, was she?

“Mistress,” Clarissa heard his deep voice calling her. She had been lost in her own thoughts for several seconds and at first hadn’t heard him. “There are only a few hours of darkness left. Ask your questions so that I may return to the island.”

Clarissa nodded her head in agreement, clearing her mind so she could focus. Clearing her throat, she continued to observe him. So he must obey her commands, she thought. If she was indeed a death bokor, which she was still finding hard to believe, then he could not hurt her. She was his mistress, he said, like a servant to his master; she had authority over his actions.

But she wondered if she had complete control over him. Could he lie to her? Clarissa might control his body, but was there a part of him that could not be touched, a part of his being that was entirely his own?

No person should be at the complete mercy of another.

Clarissa had to remind herself that he was not a person, he was a flesh-eater and he had killed the friends and loved ones of her communities’ associates. An attack on the S.S. was like an attack on the Eidolon people.

“What do you mean by calling me mistress?”

Corrigan frowned in agitation. He didn’t think he could have hated this young woman more than he already did, but he could. Before she had only been a foolish ghost caught in the dark, unprotected. Now, he had the misfortune of finding out that she had been a bokor in life and had not released her hold on her powers even after her death.

“You are a bokor, mistress.” Corrigan said solemnly, though he wanted to ring her neck from her shoulders. She shouldn’t have been able to control him, not even as a ghost. But he knew that not only was she a bokor, she was a death bokor, a more deadly order that had the ability to control and exterminate the underworld creatures of this world.

“There is no sense in that kind of formality. I don’t want to be your mistress anyway. I just want to know why you and your family have broken the treaty.”

“You’re misinformed, mistress. No one has broken the contract with the Eidolon.”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows at him. “Can you lie to me, if you wanted to? And stop calling me mistress. You make me feel like some kind of slave owner.”

She was and he was the slave. Corrigan folded his own arms over his massive chest, looking down at her. “Yes, I can lie unless you specifically told me not to, then no. But in this case I am not lying. My family and I have never broken any rules your people have set out, not that they have the power to stop us if we wanted to change that.”

“Except me,” Clarissa pointed out.

That fire was back in his eyes. “Yes, except you…” he paused before continuing. The degradation had been branded into his psyche for so long, he didn’t know he was reverting back to what he had been; until her. But he wasn’t that man anymore and she wasn’t his mistress. “Except you – whatever your name is – you can control us. A fact of which, you are already aware of by now.”

“Clarissa,” Clarissa said. “My name is Clarissa Schofield. And I take it you have a full name as well. What is it?” She wondered if by having a name to go with the figure, it would make him seem more human. He looked so human it was difficult to remind herself of the soulless beast that lived inside of him.

Corrigan didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t compelled him into a response, simply asked the question like a normal human being. But Clarissa was anything but a normal human. “Corrigan LeMoyne,” he said, hiding his accent from her. Only when he communicated as he did with his family did anyone hear the true sound of his voice.

Clarissa had heard his voice before when he had been conversing with his family. It was different than the one he used out loud and with her. That one was harsher, less human than his inner dialogue. Corrigan was an Irish name, and his inner accent had a beautiful lilt to it. But he chose to speak with an American accent. She told herself she didn’t want him to speak to her in that deep brogue voice of his, but even telling herself that, she knew it wasn’t true.

“I’m a death bokor, then.” He nodded in assent.

“Someone has broken the rules here.” If he was to be believed, then neither he nor his family had broken contract, but she didn’t quite believe him. “Several members of the Spectral Services, the friends and associates of the Eidolon community have been murdered. Are you aware of that?”

He shook his head in the affirmative. Clarissa continued. “Their attacks are similar to those made by the flesh-eaters, like you and your family. As far as you are aware, are you and your family the only ones of your kind in the area?”

“Yes,” he said his voice angry and hostile.

Clarissa gave him a peeved stare. “Then, doesn’t it seem logical that it was either you or one of your family members who attacked our people?”

“If they were out when they should not have been, then it’s their own damn fault for dying. It has been this way for many years and your people have to follow to the treaty as well, though it seems most don’t.” He eyed her with a vicious stare. “If a few of your associates get caught because of their own foolishness, it’s not our fault.”

“So you admit to breaking the treaty and attacking our associates then.” Clarissa made a step forward, closing in on him. Leah had told her that no S.S. would be caught out in the night by one of these beasts. Someone was lying here. She voiced her thoughts aloud. “None of the people killed by these attacks would have been caught outside during your roaming time. That means you or your family members have been crossing lines and venturing into our homes and businesses for your kills.”

He growled at her in that animalistic tone. “The last place I would want to be is in your spooks hang outs and neither I nor my family would target anyone inside their homes. We abide by the rules, no questions asked. So either you’ve been given a false story on these deaths or someone else has it in for your community. I for one don’t give a damn either way.”

Clarissa looked up at him trying to see through the barrier into the man underneath, but she couldn’t. He was unbreakable; nothing could cut through that hard exterior. Perhaps there was nothing inside that form except emptiness. Then again, something about him didn’t add up. For a man who seemed to hate her so much, he had saved her from certain extinction. His brother would have devoured her without pause, but he had stopped him, his own brother.

“I don’t believe you’re as callous as you would like me to believe. You might growl and bark like an animal, but you aren’t a beast.” Clarissa found it strange that she was voicing these thoughts, but even as she said them she knew it was true. Yes, the beast did take hold of him, but not completely. Somewhere, in some small corner of his being was his humanity.

“You know nothing about me and for all you know I could have killed your little servants while they were sleeping in their beds. I am a monster, a flesh-eater, death and murder are all I know and you would be wise not to push me. You might be a death bokor, but you’re untrained. Even you can be taken down at some point.”

Clarissa took another step forward in a stand of defiance against his words. “Again,” she said with a note of humor in her voice, “I don’t believe you. If that were true, you would have given me over to your brother instead of protecting me from him. That doesn’t sound like a monster.”

He stepped forward as well, the flame of madness in his iridescent blue eyes. “I should have let him tear your soul to shreds when I had the chance. You’re like a damn thorn in my side and I know if I try to pull you out, I’ll just bleed out and expire. But then at least I’d be rid of you. A permanent death would be better than dealing with you for the rest of this existence and I have a sick feeling you aren’t going to give me a moment of peace.”

“That is likely very true,” she answered him, grinning now. He was all bluster and bark and she realized that even though she was a bokor, he could harm her if he wanted to. She sobered a little. He was still a flesh-eater, she reminded herself. And even if he had saved her from his brother’s attack, he and his kind was still responsible for committing untold numbers of deaths in the last century. “I will bring absolution to the deaths of these poor souls. And when I find out who is responsible I will make sure they pay with their own lives.”

Her meaning was clear to Corrigan. Clarissa would stop at nothing to nail his family as the culprits of these murders. And quite frankly he couldn’t deny the possibility that he or one of his brothers or sisters had accidentally targeted an S.S. follower. But it wouldn’t be their fault if they had. They knew the rules. You wouldn’t condemn a crocodile for behaving in what was in its world, natural. His kind had not asked to be the creatures they were, but neither could they rebuff the fact that in order for them to live someone had to die.

“And you think to place the blame on us.”

“Who else could it be?” He didn’t comment.

They stood in the streets for several more seconds, assessing the other. There was obvious mistrust between them. It hung heavy in the atmosphere around their forms; a thick blanket of unease. But, hidden in the subtext of their stares was something more. Something neither of them had yet to grasp.

“You’re rather attractive for a man-eater,” she said with contempt. When his eyes flashed as they did when he was angry or irritated, the only two emotions she had seen thus far, there was something completely beguiling about them. His brother was just as attractive physically as he was, but in Corrigan, there was something more. And if she didn’t steal herself against him, she could very likely fall into the trap of those brilliant blue eyes.

“You’re not so bad yourself, for a controlling little phantom,” Corrigan retorted with an equal measure of contempt back at her. The truth was, she was more than not so bad and maybe he was losing his mind because he never thought about anyone, ghost or otherwise, the way he was thinking about her. He hated her. She was a bokor, his worst nightmare as well as a ghost. He couldn’t really decide which part of her he hated more right now.

But the world was indeed a strange place, filled with unexplainable anomalies. Because when he wasn’t thinking off sucking the soul out of her, he was wondering if her lips would be as cool and soft as the rest of her skin. And damn him for even having thoughts about what she looked like under her ghostly attire. If he touched her would she respond accordingly? She wasn’t flesh and blood, but then neither was she without substance. It was madness.

Clarissa looked off into the horizon. Already she could see the subtle changes in the morning sky. It would be dawn in a few hours, and he and his kind would be back on their side of the city line. Turning back to the figure in front of her, she raked her gaze once more over his person. “You should go now before the light comes.”

He too raked her with a heated glare. “Stay away from my family.” Those were his last words. But before he left he did something that shocked not only Clarissa, but Corrigan himself. He had every intention of getting as far away from the little phantom baggage as possible, when the madness struck him like lightening.

Corrigan took hold of her cool form before she had a chance to shift atmosphere, pulling her closer when he should have shoved her away from him. The spontaneity on his part left her without the motivation to fight him off. Later, he would wonder if she would have fought either way. Clarissa seemed to flow toward him, like she had been expecting it, but he knew she couldn’t have.

Taking this moment for what it was, madness, Corrigan found out exactly what Clarissa’s lips felt like under his own. Holding her in place with one strong grip on her arm and his other hand taking hold of her face, he took from her, not her soul but something equally as tantalizing.

Clarissa’s eyes slipped closed of their own free will as insanity took hold of her and she found out exactly what it was like to feel his lips against her own. His lips were warm, not cold like hers; the blood and flesh of his kills heating his system. And she could almost believe that her own lips began to match his in temperature as they took what she seemed to be freely offering; a kiss that held a stamp of possession. But Clarissa was not of a mind to let him have all the control. With caution and self-preservation thrown aside, Clarissa extracted her arm from his grasp taking his Adonis face into her cool hands and taking what she would of him.

Corrigan almost roared like the beast he knew he was when Clarissa took hold of his face and began taking control of the kiss. It was like kissing a lightning bolt, her passions an arch of electricity flowing from her into him, setting his hair on end and igniting a storm of cosmic awareness, all of which was centered in the nucleus of their combined forms. For several minutes soul and flesh touched, becoming one in a bright flash of living unity that he wanted to exist in for the rest of eternity.

She’s a bokor.

The voice of self-preservation invaded the beauty of the moment, but he couldn’t ignore it. This woman stood to mean ruin for himself and his family and no matter how much he might want her, Corrigan had to remember that she was the enemy. Drawing away from a moment that was sure to haunt him for the rest of his existence, he managed to extract himself from her clutches. It was almost too much to watch the strange change of coloring in her soul as the heat of his body had warmed hers, the combination of both revealing a look of heated ardor to her cheeks and lips.

Clarissa was slow to come down from that place where some people said time stood still. She wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it certainly had felt like time did not exist when Corrigan’s lips had taken her own. If such a phenomenon happened with a kiss, she could only divine what other talents he possessed.

Opening her eyes which felt heavy with satisfaction, Clarissa expected to see Corrigan standing in front of her, angry perhaps, his usual temperament. When her eyes finally focused back to the reality of the moment though, she found herself once again alone in the dark street. Coldness crept back inside of her, and she reminded herself, once again, that he was the enemy. Clarissa steeled against the sudden feeling of rejection. She brushed herself off, pushing the kiss from her mind, suppressing secrets deep inside her person where even she could believe they did not exist and turning swiftly away, she walked home.

Clarissa was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the phantom like figure watching her from the shadows. He smiled a demonic grin of satisfaction at what he had just witnessed. There was nothing like the blurring of enemy lines to break down forces on both sides. And from what he could gather from the ardent embrace of these two foes, the little battles between the two kinds would quickly flare up into the Great War he had been aiming for. And when everyone was pointing accusing fingers at the other, he would finally take control of the city. He laughed to himself, unable to suppress the glee at finally finding the two unsuspecting patsies that would finally sever the frayed alliance between the Eidolon and the flesh-eaters. He hoped they both got what they deserved in the end.

Chapter 11-

The days passed by quickly for Clarissa. She had much to concern her with, not only with the preparations for her new home, which the community was even now in the process of acquiring for her. She had also been asked through Henry direct from the Eidolon councilmen to join the select group of individuals who resided under The Four as administrative assistants. Henry was among these few spirits who had the power to overrule The Four on occasion; though no one had ever done so thus far.

Clarissa was excited to have her own home, a place that she could call exclusively hers. Of course she had enjoyed her stay with Madeline Connors. Maddy was a woman few people could find a reason to dislike. Her lively spirit was contagious to anyone who came near her, and Clarissa enjoyed spending evenings with her and Eleanor. And Maddy had never asked her to share another cup of tea in front of Eleanor; the woman’s discretion was a blessing.

Madeline’s grandson, Jackson, stayed the rest of the weekend at the house. The young man, like his grandmother was attuned to the paranormal currents and could see and converse with Clarissa and the others. Growing up with his grandmother for an influence, the idea of sharing a house with a ghost just didn’t faze him like it would his friends.

During the day Jackson was out, hanging out with friends in the area including Leah Moon. Leah had invited Clarissa to join them that Sunday evening before Jackson had to go home out to a movie. Clarissa had eagerly accepted the invitation, not inquiring what movie they had chosen to go see.

An advantage of being invisible to most humans was that Clarissa didn’t have to pay for her ticket to see the show. Though she thought she would slip the money in to the theatre somehow, feeling that it was still wrong to watch the movie without paying for it.

Leah had ordered the movie tickets ahead of time and as she was passing out the tickets to Jackson and two of his friends, Clarissa casually slipped some money into the ticket both. The friends, a girl and boy about the same age as Jackson, couldn’t see Clarissa, but they knew she was there. Being friends with people like Leah and Jackson, you had to get over the unusual acquaintances they kept, that for them were almost normal. Leah handed Clarissa her ticket as she followed behind Jackson and the two other livings. Clarissa looked down at her ticket, reading the title of the movie.

“Deadland: Flesh of the Fallen,” Clarissa read the title aloud, not quite sure what the turmoil of emotions she was feeling inside meant. They were watching a horror movie, usually a good choice as far as genres went, but this particular one had a plot line that struck a certain dissonant chord within Clarissa. Though she had never seen the trailer for this movie, it didn’t take a genius to realize that the movie would feature certain un-dead characters that would be, if Hollywood stayed true to its monster traditions, nothing like the creatures she had encountered the other evening.

Clarissa sat between Jackson and Leah, the two young livings sitting farther down on Jackson’s right. As they were watching the before movie trailers, Clarissa absentmindedly reached for Leah’s soda cup. It was a habit of the livings to consume food and drink while watching a movie and Clarissa was no different in mind-set. It was only when she caught Leah looking at her with a strange peculiar expression that she realized what she was doing.

She quickly put the drink down into the arm-cup compartment, facing forward as Leah and Jackson exchanged a knowing look. It hadn’t been Clarissa’s intention to reveal her strange ability to connect with the tangible objects of this world on a level beyond the normal spirit. She couldn’t take it back now. Thankfully the lights dimmed and Jackson and Leah were forced to keep their questions to themselves until after the movie.

Clarissa told herself that it was just a movie, that the characters and themes of the story were fictitious and quite frankly only Hollywood could dream up some the most ludicrous concepts of the paranormal world. It was sensationalism, nothing more. She sat back, preparing herself to be as unmoved by the movie as possible.

The zombie character on the screen was consuming another helpless human, its mouth full of blood and gore. In truth, everything about the creature was in complete contrast to the true form of the flesh-eaters. Except for the fact that the creatures were eating the flesh and blood of the poor helpless human victims, there was nothing else that would make Clarissa believe that the character on the screen was the real deal. Even the eyes weren’t right.

The memories of looking into the eyes of a handsome flesh-eater had a strange effect on Clarissa, a ripple of tangible awareness that crept over her skin and made her insides flutter. Those blue iridescent eyes had held her in enthrallment and they had been alive with fire not dead and glassy like the creature on the screen in front of her. Then there was the unexpected and quite unorthodox kiss they had exchanged under the cover of nights blanket. It had been exceptional, exquisite and wrong on so many levels.

Clarissa pulled herself out of her mind and focused once again on the movie. More death and gore plastered the wide screen in the theatre. The screaming and wailing of the vulnerable livings followed by the sickening crunch of their bones as they snapped, followed by sucking sounds. Unfortunately, Clarissa was unmoved by what she was seeing on the screen, her mind retreating back into the past, to the moment when her world had changed yet again.

Clarissa was finding it difficult to separate what she had come to know and hate about the flesh-eater with what she had learned on encountering the flesh and blood creatures in person. Corrigan LeMoyne had been for one perfect moment the completion of body to her soul. Everything before and after that kiss distanced itself, as if separated by a great divide. So this was what people meant by an epoch. There was before that soul shattering kiss and then there was after. And it had indeed almost shattered her very soul. It was when he had drawn away from her, taking that glimmer of perfect completeness with him.

Clarissa branded herself a romantic fool for even contemplating secret thoughts about a man who could very well be responsible for the deaths of the S.S. members. And even if he wasn’t, he was still a flesh-eater. Corrigan killed to survive, so many victims that it almost made her sick to think about those faceless people who had had life snuffed out. Death and murder was every aspect of his character and she should hate him above all things evil in this world. Too bad evil could kiss like an angel.

What he and his family were permitted to do in this city was murder and the blood of their victims was on all of their hands. The Eidolon community had been at a disadvantage in the past, striking a deal with the devils in the hope of sparing at least some innocent lives. That wasn’t good enough anymore. And now there was a new player in this battle, Clarissa Schofield, death bokor.

With a sigh of bitter resolve, she knew what she had to do. Forcing herself once again out of her minds wanderings, she focused her complete attention back on the movie. Clarissa would think no more about Corrigan or his exceptional kissing techniques. In the end she hoped he got what he deserved.

***∞***

“Spill, Clarissa. I can’t wait any longer.” Leah Moon was sprawled on Clarissa’s bed as Clarissa folded her spectral clothes and placed them neatly into her bureau draws. Though the articles of clothing were spectrally made, they were not without substance. Just like the livings tangible items, hers existed because they were composed with the natural elements of the universe; the magick of it being unexplained science.

Clarissa closed the drawer, turning around to face her living guest. Jackson had left after the movie along with his friends. He had to be home because he had school in the morning, so he and his bike took off for home shortly before the sun sank away into night. Leah, who was quickly becoming a good friend, had stayed behind to visit with Clarissa. But more importantly, she had stayed to wheedle information out of her ghost friend.

Clarissa thought to feign confusion, but decided against it. She had yet to tell anyone of her experience the other evening, afraid that if she told Eleanor she would be angry and have Henry or Richard tag her. Clarissa didn’t want to be escorted everywhere she went. If any of the Eidolon knew she had interacted so intimately with one of the others they might grow suspicious. And right now she wanted – needed to keep the fact that she was bokor from them until she could figure out how she was going to deal with this startling revelation.

“What exactly do you want me to tell you?” Clarissa hedged. The incident in the movie theatre had peeked Leah’s curiosity, but as far as she knew, Leah couldn’t put being a bokor to the ability to interact more personably with the living world.

Leah rolled over onto her stomach, looking up at Clarissa as she spoke. “Tell me what you are, Clarissa.” Before Clarissa could answer she continued. “And don’t give me the runaround. You’re not just a ghost are you? There is something more about you that isn’t like the others. I want to know what that is.”

Clarissa sighed, walking across her bedroom to sit on the edge of her plush queen sized bed. Leah turned to take her hand which was clutched tightly in a fist on the comforter. It was strange to be touched by the living, but Leah’s touch was somehow different than when she had touched Corrigan, though his skin seemed to be the same as any other living flesh.

Leah pushed comforting thoughts into Clarissa. She was one of the few livings who could touch the souls. Even among the S.S. members, she was one of few who could interact on a personable level with the Eidolon.

“I’m a bokor,” Clarissa whispered, as if saying the words too loud might awaken things best left alone in the world. “I’m a death bokor, which means even though I have passed the living world, I have retained these talents. I can interact with the living world as well as the dead and I have the means to control them both.”

Leah took the disclosure of Clarissa’s forgotten identity in good stride. She didn’t react except for a raise of her delicate black eye brows as she quietly studied Clarissa, all the while still keeping hold of her hand. After several moments of silence Clarissa couldn’t bare it.

“Go ahead, Leah. I’m waiting for you to ask me.” Clarissa waited expectantly for the young living woman to question how Clarissa had come to know this about herself. She wondered if even then Leah would make much of a reaction over the news.

“Alright, I’ll ask. As you can guess I’m dying to ask.” Leah made a frown at her poor choice of words. “I’m sorry. That was a really bad word to use there. I know better.” Clarissa shrugged, un-offended. “How did you find out you were a bokor in life and are now apparently a bokor in death? You told me before that you knew nothing of the death bokor or even the flesh-eaters. How could you have suddenly come to the conclusion that you are one of these legendary beings?”

“Because I had the fortune or misfortune, however you’d like to see it, to use my talents on someone the other night and he confirmed that I was one.”

If she had never encountered Corrigan or his family, Clarissa wondered if she would have ever learned her true identity as a bokor. Would she have remained in the dark forever? Even now, knowing what she was didn’t bring back the memories she’d hoped would be revealed. As if finding out she was a death bokor would somehow reveal who she had been in life. It had not. Clarissa was no closer to knowing Clarissa Schofield, living person, than she was to grasping the full spectrum of her deathly talents.

“He,” Leah said meaningfully. “And who would this ‘he’ person be? How is it that he knew what you were when none of us could tell?”

Leah sat up on the bed, tucking her legs under her skirt. It billowed around her like a black sea, rippling with her movements. Clarissa came to sit fully on the bed, folding her longer legs under her body. The two women sat facing each other. Clarissa would tell Leah everything and hope that her new living friend could keep her secrets.

“He knew what I was because he is a flesh-eater.”

Clarissa allowed Leah a few moments to digest this before she continued. “After the town meeting I decided to venture out on my own to see these creatures, face to face, for myself. It was the only way I could think, at the time, to understand them. Everyone seems so afraid of them that there are little documented recordings. In order to take a monster down, you have to know everything about it, its strengths and its weaknesses.”

“You were out all alone during their roaming hours. Are you crazy, Clarissa? He could have killed you – I mean really killed you, as in no more Clarissa; forever.”

“I know,” Clarissa interrupted. “I know what they are capable of, the destruction they can reap on us. But, Leah, I had to know.” Clarissa looked to her open window, the slight breeze outside unsettling the sheer curtains to dance to the silent song of night. “It was more than just curiosity at that point. I felt like I was being led by some unseen force that wanted me to see them, to know them. And he was…” Her words stopped suddenly, forced back down into her soul.

“What was he like?” Leah asked after several seconds ticked by, breaking the dead air between them. “Are they as fearsome as in the movies? You know you’re one of the few people who have actually met a flesh-eater and been able to retell the adventure. Only the council members can boast to that and they keep their distance just the same.

Clarissa turned away from looking out the window. “I didn’t actually think I would be successful on my first attempt. And it was only by accident that they found me. They speak to each other on this stream of psychic energy that seems to flow naturally between each of them. I’m not sure how they achieve this connection, but from what I could overhear they use it to communicate when they’re on the hunt or to warn each other of danger. It was when one of them sensed my presence listening in that they came after me.”

“Oh my God,” Leah exclaimed, her hands coming to her mouth. “One of them attacked you?”

“Yes, and before I could even think to react the one male had me. He grabbed me and of course threatened me. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t afraid; I was. Then it just came to me. I don’t know how or why, but suddenly I knew that I could hurt him. The next thing I know, he lets go and goes flying off his feet away from me.”

Clarissa looked down at her arm, rubbing the ghostly casing of her form. It radiated with untold potential.

“But I didn’t know then that it was because I was bokor, that I could do that. Some of the council members can hurt people with the expulsions of absorbed energy. At the time I just assumed that I was like them.”

Isabella Canova was the first one that came to Clarissa’s mind. For a person who looked so young and innocent, she was strong in spirit. Thinking back to when she had touched Clarissa’s form, the slight sting, it had only been a tenth of the potential she could unleash upon her enemies. Clarissa didn’t want to be one of them.

“Then what happened?” Leah encouraged. “Why didn’t you leave, shift the atmosphere like the others?”

Clarissa shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me to do that.”

“You think too much like a human.” Leah flipped her long black mane over her shoulder.

“I am a human,” Clarissa remarked irritably. “Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I’m not human anymore.”

“I just meant, you think like a living human. Sorry, go on. I want to hear the rest.”

Clarissa continued with her encounter with the flesh-eaters. Repeating part of the conversation she had had with Corrigan. It didn’t bear mentioning that she had kissed this man – monster in a moment of weakness. She blamed it on a twisted, morbid curiosity to see if his lips would taste like death. They had not. It was to the flesh-eaters advantage that they looked so life-like. However, inside they were dead and empty. But even that didn’t quite ring true to Clarissa’s one encounter with the creatures. As an animated corpse, they shouldn’t have that spark of humanity that Clarissa had seen in Corrigan’s eyes. Yes, his eyes revealed an empty void, but was it a lack of soul or a lack of something else?

“He’s lying to you.” Leah grabbed one of the bed pillows behind her, holding it tightly in her arms, tucking it under her chin. “Grayson would never disobey an order from the community. He couldn’t have been out in the city during their feeding hours. He knows better.”

She rubbed her face against the cool satin covering on the pillow. “They found him in the street, down by the river docks. I didn’t find out until the day of the meeting. It had happened the night before.” Leah closed her eyes, hiding her face in the pillow for a moment. “Grayson was the last person I would think of as a target by the others.”

Leah made a strange sound, partially muffled by the pillow. It was part sob and part laugh. It was a reaction from the images she was flipping through in her mind; some of them happy ones of her best friend, others of his mutilated corpse lying prone on the cement wall by the river. Leah hadn’t actually seen his body, but she had a very graphic imagination, easily painting the morbid demise of a man in his prime.

“Grandma said that he was dressed like he had been in his bed; no shoes. It looked like he’d been dragged down the street, leaving a trail of blood from his house to where they found him.” Leah looked up from the pillow, her eyes showing glassy with unshed tears. “It was like they wanted to get caught, like they were making a statement against us. What do they want? Isn’t it enough that we allow them to remain here, killing people, why isn’t that good enough for them?”

Clarissa shook her head, having no reassuring answer to reply with. There was something off about the entire situation. The deaths had been brutal, but it had only been the S.S. member’s deaths that had been given the extra slash of cruelty by leaving their bodies out in the open where they could be easily discovered. No other bodies had been left out like that. It did seem like the flesh-eaters were making a statement, by killing the servants of the Eidolon, they were striking close to the heart of the community. Almost as if they knew and wanted retaliation from them.

“No, he can’t lie to me. I can command him to tell the truth.” Clarissa remembered seeing the fire in Corrigan’s eyes when she had used that strange almost unholy voice to control his behavior. There was something within the depths of his iridescent eyes that said he had been compelled by a bokor before. Who? She didn’t know, but then Clarissa hadn’t known a lot of things before meeting him. Such as how extremely handsome and enthralling a monster could be.

“Well now that they know we have a death bokor on our side they’ll be more aggressive than ever to get rid of us. We should tell someone. Once the flesh-eaters tell their own that you’re here, it won’t be long before they will want to take you down as well.”

“No, not yet,” Clarissa said, urging Leah to keep her seat on the bed. She was on edge now, a sudden panic coming over her. “I want you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone what I am. Can you do that, Leah? Please, I just need some time to figure this out, before everyone makes a big to do over it.”

“You’re asking me to keep this to myself, like a secret?” Leah looked doubtfully at Clarissa who remained almost motionless on the bed. Sometimes Clarissa seemed like any living person, even in death. Then other times, like now, there was a look about her body that made her seem more supernatural than even the supernatural things in this old city.

“Yes,” Clarissa said, trying her voice on Leah. “You should go home now. It’s getting late.” She rose from the bed, intending to escort Leah to the door. It was still early enough that the young woman wouldn’t need to be escorted to her home.

“What are you going to do, Clarissa? I know you’re up to something.” Leah came off the bed as well, coming to stand close to her. Looking up at the taller woman, she angled her head to the right, her eyes probing the ghost woman. “Your face betrays you. You obviously haven’t perfected the poker face. I can see your brain firing off at all speeds.”

Clarissa grinned. “I don’t actually have a brain, Leah. So that’s impossible.” She had the semblance of a brain, as she was a doppelganger of her former living self, her human brain was superimposed into this other deathly form. It was the luck of the drawl that her ghostly brain functioned as well as the livings. Many were not as lucky, wandering aimlessly, usually categorized as a residual haunting. They performed habitual tasks that had left an imprint during the specters life; thus they existed in a mindless rut.

Leah looked unimpressed with Clarissa’s evasive tactic. “Seriously, tell me. I’m not leaving this house until you do.” She had that serious expression, one that the living used when they wanted to show authority and control. Lately the living in the old city had very little control over their world.

Clarissa had revealed much of herself to Leah. There was no sense in keeping the rest from her. The young woman had lost a best friend, a man who had much to live for. She of all people would understand why Clarissa had to do this – needed to do this.

Forcing down the doubts that plagued her, squelching the thought that she might be wrong about them, she told Leah in a voice of little inflection what she was going to do this night. “I’m doing what I was bred to do. It’s why I knew I belonged here, why the city brought me to all of you. Everyone has a purpose in life and I have one even in death.”

Clarissa stepped around Leah, going to the open window. She looked out from her second story window into the darkness. In a few hours they would be out there, scouring the city for the next kill. Tonight, unlike all the other nights they were allowed to feast on the living, there was a new force to combat with. It was time for all of this to end.

“I’m going to hunt the flesh-eaters tonight,” she whispered out into the night. “Tonight a flesh-eater will breathe his last breath.”

Clarissa heard Leah as she stood behind her. “Then I’m coming too. You can use me as bate.”

Chapter 12-

Across the Bridge of Lions on Anastasia Island, past the Alligator Farm and the supposed haunted lighthouse, far away from other domestic housing and surrounded by the natural beauty of wooded lands was the LeMoyne complex. Protected by high walls and a rough terrain, the land bordering the complex dissuaded even the most curious from exploring. Not that it would be in their best interest to do so anyway.

Moss and other foliage covered the high coquina walls making the exterior seem almost invisible, blending in seamlessly with the natural world. If one didn’t know the place was there it would be easy enough to simply drive past the narrow strip of dirt road leading up to it. Not even a street sign marked it and most locals ignored what they couldn’t understand. So the LeMoyne’s were left in peace. However, unlike the drab exterior, inside was a different matter as the unkempt exterior walls and lands hid the manicured perfection within.

The main house lay dead center on a property that covered a ten acre span, the rest of the surrounding land was protected under the wildlife conservations of Florida. No one was allowed to build near the LeMoynes and no one save God himself could force them to leave. Built also from coquina rock, harvested on the island, the two story house sat as a silent observer to the rest of the property.

Ambrose LeMoyne, a man who like his name was the product of the two half’s of his parentage; half Scots and half French. His fair perfect skin and red hair he inherited from his Norman father and his temperament and ingenuity from his Celtic mother. It was from his surname, given to each of the brothers and sisters, that they were united, if not in blood than in faith.

Ambrose had come to this country, traveling far from home, and settling along the St. Johns River when the French began exploring the new world. The French Huguenots made settlement in the wild and scary tropics of St. Augustine, but were quickly and expertly pushed out by the invading Spanish settlers. In a skirmish that devastated the French community, Ambrose barely escaped death, as he and his community were pushed farther inland. In a sick twist of fate, it was not from the hands of an enemy in battle that Ambrose felt the sting of death, but from someone close to his heart.

The LeMoyne family sat about the large Elmwood table, imported from England over two hundred years ago. It and all the furniture in the house had previously resided in Ambrose’s colonial residence in New England. He was the last of the flesh-eaters left from a time in St. Augustine history when their kind had all but been exterminated. The now ruling Eidolon council had yet to have been born or had been tiny babes in their nursery cribs when the flesh-eaters of the area had been put down by the death bokors of the time.

As was customary on a Sunday evening, the family would sit about the large oval dining table for a meal; a meal that did not consist of human flesh and blood. For a few hours every week, the motley looking group would behave like any other human family with a homemade meal and conversation.

Corrigan stared listlessly into a reflection of himself made on the thickly varnished table top, the light overhead casting shadows under his eyes. Rarely did he ever catch a glimpse of himself in a reflecting surface. He didn’t even own a mirror nor would he allow one to be put into his converted room in the above attic. There was no room in Corrigan’s life for vanity and on the few occasions he had the misfortune to see his outer self, it made him realize what a twisted world he lived in.

He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, with an attractive and appealing countenance. If he tried hard enough he could even be likeable to some. But the entirely superficial façade couldn’t hide completely the emptiness inside. Looking into his eyes, his entire soul or lack of one was laid to bear for the world to see. What was a man without a soul, but an empty shell?

God must truly hate me, Corrigan thought. The powers of the universe had a way of challenging the creatures of this world. In his case, the great powers saw fit to give him the face and body of a gorgeous man, but they forgot to put anything else inside it. Inside was cold death, a vast void of utter meaninglessness and there was nothing on this earth to penetrate the icy blackness of his sluggishly beating heart.

That wasn’t quite true. There had been something – someone – a woman who for all her annoying attributes was a brightly pure light, so much so that for a brief moment in this existence he had felt alive on the inside, complete. For that one moment of complete unity, Corrigan had known what it was like to once again possess a soul, hers. He wasn’t sure if she had been aware at the time that she had shared her soul with him. It was brave and selfless. If he wanted to he could have taken her, taken her soul, leaving her with nothing.

She is your worst enemy.

The woman.

The ghost.

The death bokor.

Clarissa was all those things and more. She was a mystery he dare not figure out. For someone of her lethal potential she had very little self awareness, not even knowing she was bokor until he had unintentionally told her. And she didn’t seem to get that he was a flesh-eater, capable of extreme violence and destruction. No. She had stood boldly, not fleeing as he had expected and confronted him. Granted she was at a slight advance as a bokor, but not so much that she couldn’t be taken down. She was a foolish girl, playing detective work for her people. If he were smart, he’d forget about her. Whatever was targeting the Eidolon would eventually get to her too. She’d be out of his hair and his mind soon enough.

And she had been in his mind. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was haunting him on purpose. Ghosts were infuriating like that. They thought they were entitled to the world and had a serious inferiority complex because of the lack of flesh and the fact that most of the living refused to see them. Like whining children, after awhile you just started blocking them out or you would go insane. Maybe that was it. Corrigan was going insane.

That was the only explanation for why he suddenly had become infatuated by a sallow faced ghost who thought she could rule herself over him. She couldn’t. He would go back to his grave before he allowed someone else have that sort of power over him again.

Then why did he fantasize about that pale skin, the blue eyes of a divine being, and lips that had blushed and warmed along with her cheeks, making her entire form sparkle and shine like the sun, causing his own skin to burn and blister at being near her. It was madness to want to stand so close to her light, to want to reach out and connect to the soul creature that could bring him down. Corrigan didn’t realize he had masochistic tendencies. That was the only passable response he could come up with. It looked like he was as much a fool as she was. They both deserved whatever they got from this.

“What do you think of my lasagna, Corrigan?”

Corrigan barely registered the quietly asked question from his second oldest sister, Maude. Unlike her prudish and homely sounding name, she was a classically beautiful woman in her late twenties with long auburn locks that she usually kept in a perfect French braid; but when the few times she left it free, it cascaded down her svelte back like a living waterfall. Ambrose was a lucky man to have found such a wife in Maude. It was she and his other sisters who kept this mismatched group a family.

Looking up he found his sister watching him from the other end of the table where she sat silently next to her husband. It took him a moment to realize she was waiting for a response from him. “It’s good. The best you’ve ever made.”

Maude made a face, looking down at his full plate of vegetarian lasagna then back up at her brother. Corrigan held his fork in his left hand. It had yet to touch either his plate or the food on it. While the rest of her family devoured one of her favored Sunday specialties, her youngest brother stared off into space.

Maude loved to cook. Growing up in a time when women were valued as wives and mothers, she stood out as a woman who wanted more for herself. She didn’t want a husband because she needed to be supported, she wanted love and companionship. At one time she had thought to own her own restaurant or culinary school, but such a thing was impossible as the food industry was still predominately a man’s domain. Her own kitchen had to suffice and now such an idea was impossible. The safety of her family came before her own desires.

“How do you know that if you have yet to try it?” she asked pointedly.

The family ate vegetarian style for these Sunday meals. When you’ve grown accustomed to eating your meat raw, any dish involving cooked meats makes you sick. Meat had to be eaten fresh or it quickly became contaminated by bacteria and other organic life forms. And even with the progress of refrigeration the nutritional benefits from the meat greatly decreased within the first few hours after the kill. It was not so much the physical flesh and blood of the living that they siphoned off the kill, but from the energy and life force that mingled with the body of the living. After a body died, this metaphysical substance began breaking down and returning to its natural source. As a strict family rule, the soul was left to go where it must. To take a soul was worse than taking a life. That was an act of a true monster.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” His second oldest brother, Xavier, asked irritably with a slight Spanish accent. He had cultivated it over the years to only be noticeable when he allowed it. The shortest of his brothers, he was also the most vocal and the first one to start a fight. In Xavier’s world, if he didn’t try to punch you in the face or argue endlessly with you, then he didn’t love you. It was a weird kind of love, but then they were a dysfunctional family to begin with so Xavier fit in well.

“Do not swear at the dinner table,” Margaret Ann scolded her husband. She, like her older sisters was equally stunning in appearance. A fact of which made them even deadlier to the living. However, she was not vain in any respect. She had lived in a commune out west during the height of free-spiritual awareness and the drugs that had also been freely passed around. A beautiful blonde hippy, she still kept the hair and ideals, but lost the drugs. Margaret Ann’s life was a complete contradiction to the strict Roman Catholic upbringing of her husband. But even in oddities there were surprising similarities.

Xavier turned his head to roll his eyes so she couldn’t see. For someone who had no problem rolling around in the mud naked she found any kind of cursing intolerable. Margaret Ann was quirky like that and he loved her all the more for it.

“I saw that,” she said, catching him in the act of rolling his eyes. “But yes,” turning her attention to her brother, “What is the matter? Maude went to a lot of trouble to make this dinner and it used to be your favorite. Is there perhaps something bothering you that you would like to share with us?” she ventured, plastering a sympathetic smile over her still youthful looking mouth. She was the youngest of the sisters, but the oldest in life living years.

Eight sets of eyes turned to stare intently at Corrigan, each of them sporting expressions ranging from concern to suspicion. Corrigan had the uneasy sensation of feeling like he was being viewed under a high powered magnetic microscope by his family. As if even then could they penetrate his layers of obscurity; he would reveal nothing of himself to them.

“Nothing,” Corrigan responded tersely. He stared back at them, refusing to look away. Sometimes he felt guilty by choosing to separate himself from them, always keeping them at arm’s length. But when things got tough they had each other to lean on. The sisters, despite the generation gaps between most of them, always bonded together like any true sisters. Like women of any time, they shopped, they ate together and they gossiped; the usual every woman kind of stuff. The brothers had banded together long before the women were even born to this world, finding each other across this vast country. Corrigan had been the last to join this rag tag family and even though he was about fifty years older than his oldest sister, they all, the women included, treated him like a baby brother. It was irritating, but incredibly sweet. However, he would never out right admit to ever thinking that.

The LeMoyne family turned to each other then, searching between them to figure out the reason for Corrigan’s morose mood. In general he wasn’t extremely social with his family, but even still, he never turned down a Maude cuisine creation; complimenting her on her culinary talents regularly. A compliment from Corrigan was like a compliment from the divine beings above; rare and thrilling.

Then several eyes found their way to Chas who had returned to eating with a fork piled high with food just inches from his open mouth. Noticing that he was now under the scrutiny of his family, Chas hesitated, his fork hovering in the air. The silence at the dining table was only penetrated by the soft music from the stereo system hidden discretely within an armoire cabinet.

The family always looked to Chas for answers about Corrigan. He was closest to him, as close to Corrigan as anyone could get. And Chas was the one Corrigan took with him into the city. He had been accustomed to being alone so long that even that had taken a bit of coursing on Chas’s side. In the end, though, they had become a team. Yet much to everyone’s disappointment their youngest brother remained alone. Chas wondered if he preferred it that way. It seemed a lonely existence, one he was glad he didn’t have to experience any more.

Chas looked to his wife, Helen, sitting next to him. She like the others was watching him, waiting. Without thought he shoved the fork in his mouth, hoping to buy himself some time. He had no idea what bug was up Corrigan’s butt tonight. For all he could guess it might be indigestion. He always warned his brother to stretch out before each meal. But did he ever listen? No. The man deserved a belly ache.

“What are you looking at me for?” Chas’s focus turned to his brother down at the far end of the table. Corrigan had returned to staring off into space, wearing that empty vacant expression that he had worn when he first came to stay with the LeMoyne’s. Now it was back and he had a slight suspicion what or who had brought that look to his brother’s eyes. It couldn’t have been coincidental. Ever since the ghost encounter the other night, his brother had turned inside himself, reverting back to the empty creature he had once been. If she had done something to hurt his brother, Chas wouldn’t think twice about exterminating her in cold retaliation.

“We’re looking at you because we want to know what’s wrong with Corrigan.” Deborah answered for the rest of the family. At twenty-five, she had been the crème de la crème of the New York society. Her tall statuesque figure had made quite a cut at the parties and social gatherings of her day. She was the oldest of her sisters, but looked closer to Helen’s age than Margaret Ann’s; Maude falling between the two.

Trueman, Deborah’s mate and husband took her hand, trying to silence her. She and the other sisters had a tendency to baby their youngest brother. He understood what it took for Corrigan to remain with the family and not disappear back into the world he existed in for so long. A world the brothers could only speculate at, as Corrigan would reveal nothing of his past.

She eyed him curiously. He was one of the quieter brothers, a true diplomat. He wasn’t as hotheaded as the other men in the family. Almost as tall as Corrigan, with sandy blonde hair, he was more interested in his books and research than in sports and recreation like the other men. Deborah would catch her husband most days in their library at home, flanked by stacks of books and discarded scraps of paper. Where ever he went he seemed to leave a trail of things behind him: pens and notebooks, jars of odd things. It was a full time job to keep their house from looking like a mad scientist laboratory.

The family sat in uncomfortable silence for several more minutes before Ambrose took up the turn to speak. Sitting at the head of the table, farthest and at the opposite end from where Corrigan sat, he was more than a simple figure head for the family. He was the reason they had moved back to St. Augustine. And it was by his rules that they all abided.

“We are your family. There are no secrets you need keep from us.” Ambrose spoke with a hint of his cultivated French accent; one that would and had made young girls hearts swoon in his day. In his mid-twenties, he was a dashing looking man whose face appeared more boyish than his brothers. But in spite of his pretty boy looks, he was not a man without substance. Ambrose could hold his own against any of the brothers, physically or mentally.

“Then I guess it wouldn’t come as a surprise to any here to know that you invited Cyrus Cercopoly to your office the other week. Or that he stayed there for over an hour.” Corrigan stared down his oldest brother at the other end of the table. He hadn’t meant to speak. In fact he had every intention of sitting at the table, brooding in his own head until he could excuse himself and return to his room in the attic. But he was in a strange mood – her fault entirely – and the words just slipped out unheeded.

Forks could be heard as they clanked down onto the Elmwood table, some striking china like a shriek of surprise. That was answer enough to Corrigan. It had only been luck that Corrigan knew of this secret meeting between his elder brother and the Eidolon councilman. Living in the main house, unlike his other brothers and sisters, had put him in a position close to their oldest brother and leader. And because of his extreme anti-social behavior his family left him alone, sometimes even forgetting he was there at times.

Corrigan had felt the flow of natural energy change in the house just before the ghost man had arrived. Corrigan had been in the hall on the second floor, where at the far end his brother’s office was located. The man popped himself into the house outside the office door. He hadn’t even turned around to notice or acknowledge Corrigan’s presence. He simply knocked on the office door and was quickly admitted inside from a voice within, Ambrose’s.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Corrigan had no reason to be suspicious of his brother. As the spokesperson for the family, Ambrose had to have contact with the ruling diplomats from the other side. But there was something about the meeting between these two that had not seemed completely kosher. For Cyrus to know where Ambrose’s office was located and be able to pop in so easily, it could only mean he had been to their house before.

There wasn’t a logical explanation to why Corrigan mistrusted the Eidolon diplomats; it was just a gut instinct. He had only met them once before several years ago at a private meeting on their side of the city. And from that meeting alone Corrigan had found reason to hate the ghosts. Now, based on his brothers and sisters reaction to the news, he knew that no one was to have ever learned about Ambrose and Cyrus’ meeting of the minds.

“That’s what I thought,” Corrigan said with a sneer. “Looks like I’m not the only with secrets to hide.”

“What is he talking about, Ambrose?” Maude questioned her husband. She reached out to take his hand where it rested in a tight fist on the lacquered table top. “I don’t remember you telling me one of the council members had come to our home. I thought you asked them to keep our business dealings with the others away from the island. How did he get in my house without my knowing about it?”

Corrigan threw his napkin down on the table. “You didn’t know because your husband didn’t want you to know, ever. Cyrus couldn’t have come into our house unless he was invited. And from what I could see, he knew his way around the house like he’s been here many times before.” Corrigan’s contempt of his brother was etched into every syllable of his words.

Ambrose shook off his wife’s hand. Leaning forward in his chair, he studied his youngest brother. Under normal circumstances Corrigan would never have questioned his authority over the family. He accepted Ambrose’s rules of conduct in the city better than any of his other siblings or his wife. But now he felt that his baby brother was turning against him. Corrigan may not always be an open book with his family, but he never shut himself completely off from them.

“Yes,” Ambrose began, “I did not think it necessary to explain to the rest of you that the lead councilman had been here in our home. It was for their safety as well as our own. The ghosts are cleverer than you realize and I know the temperaments of my own family.” He looked to Xavier who shrugged his shoulders innocently. “If he had pushed your buttons one too many times and you attacked him, he would find no recourse but to end our treaty then and there. Perhaps that was what he wanted all along, an excuse to push us out again.”

Ambrose turned then to his wife, his features softening as he gazed upon his other half, his reason for living at all. “I would not give them an excuse to paint us any blacker than they already have.”

“I resent that statement,” Chas remarked, interrupting Ambrose. “Explain to me why metaphorically black is bad and white is good. Those pasty faced people across the bridge are about as corrupt as they come.” Chas waved his fork in the air as he spoke.

“Put down your fork, sweetheart, before you stab somebody in the eye with it.” Helen took her husband’s arm, pulling it back down to the table.

“I know exactly whose eyes I’d like to stab out of their sockets.” He turned to look down at his youngest brother. “That little ghost girl from the other night. If anyone deserves to have her eyes removed permanently, it’s her. She had that look in her eyes, something not right, when she attacked me.” Trueman laughed at hearing his brother attached by a girl. Chas glared at him as Trueman tried to cover the laugh with a not so subtle cough and the unbelievable excuse that a piece of his lasagna had gone down the wrong way. Chas continued.

“I swear it was like looking into the eyes of death. She was like some super ghoul, not that I couldn’t have taken her if I wanted to, but I know the rules.” That wasn’t quite true, but Corrigan didn’t contradict him. If Ambrose knew that Chas had been close to exterminating the ghost, he wouldn’t be allowed out in the city for quite some time. As it was, Ambrose was keeping them all on a short leash because of the murders.

Ambrose looked between Chas and Corrigan. “What is this about? You two interacted with a phantasm from the mainland? I specifically told you both to leave the dead people alone.” He found himself enraged that his brothers would put themselves into such danger. A ghost girl could go to her people with all sorts of embellished stories and that would surely end this alliance. Ambrose was tired of moving around. This city had been his home first and no one was going to find reason to kick him out of it again.

“What happened?” Ambrose asked quietly, his anger simmering under the surface.

Chas took the initiative to answer for both himself and Corrigan. Helen interrupted a few times to include her own part in the story. Though there was part of the story omitted or abridged; Corrigan’s personal encounter with Clarissa. Once Corrigan had left Clarissa behind, he had found his brother and sister by the great lion statues on the bridge. He didn’t tell them much, only that Clarissa was a foolish ghost who believed that he and his family were responsible for the murders of their living employees. Both of them had reacted as he had, denying any involvement and dismissing the whole thing.

“What are we going to do?” Margaret Ann spoke up. “If they think we are responsible for these deaths, then we can’t stay here. Before long they’ll find a way to get rid of us permanently.”

“I’d like to see those bastards try to kick us out.” Xavier pulled out his short sword he always kept strapped to his side. Standing up quickly from his chair, he swung his sword in an arch across the table. Chas swore as he backed up out of range of the steel weapon.

“Put that damn thing away you crazy conquistador.” Chas barked as Xavier made another pass across the table, taking the lives of several candle sticks from the centerpiece in the process.

Xavier muttered something about Chas in Spanish before he re-sheathed his sword and resumed his seat at the table.

Maude tapped the table lightly with her finger tips getting everyone’s attention with the subtle gesture. “This is our one night to have a normal family gathering. Let’s not spoil it by talking about the others. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Please,” she pleaded, looking to each of them. “Just for now, pretend that they don’t exist. Now eat the lasagna before it gets cold.”

With only a few short grumbles they all resumed eating, except Corrigan. He couldn’t simply dismiss all this. The others did exist and all too soon they would find a reason to condemn them for some trumped up crime. Margaret Ann’s fears were grounded and true, before long they would have a means to exterminate them. Like the others of their kind before them, they would be taken down permanently. He had to stop that somehow, but the only way to do that would be to rid them of the soul who could destroy them all, Clarissa.

“I’m going out.” Corrigan stood up from his place at the far end of the table. Ambrose stood as well, a questioning look over his young face. Corrigan looked more like Ambrose’s older brother even though Corrigan was several hundred years younger than him. Xavier and Trueman were a few years older than Corrigan, but even still there was something about Corrigan that made him appear much older than them all; not in his face or body, but in his eyes. It was a sadness that only decades of harsh living could bring upon a person.

“Where are you going?” Ambrose asked, a frown pulling his mouth down.

Corrigan stepped away from the table, turning away from them all. “Out,” he responded. With that said, he was gone. His family was left sitting in the family dining room, confusion and worry on their faces. Corrigan would never have behaved like he had tonight. Something was truly troubling him, but none of them could guess what.

Maude looked down to the full plate of food that had yet to be touched. She shook her head as she turned to see her husband also looking at Corrigan’s untouched plate of food. She took his hand again. This time he squeezed it tight, not letting go. Maude felt his concern for their youngest brother. But he was a grown man and whatever Corrigan needed to resolve with his past or his present, he had to do it on his own. All they could do was wait and be ready for him when he was finally ready to open up to them.

The LeMoynes sat at the dining room table in silence with only the soft music from the stereo speakers intruding. No one felt like having light conversation anymore. And despite Maude’s request that they forget about the others on the mainland, none of them could. The others were always a constant reminder of what they were not and no matter how normal they tried to make themselves, they all knew that their lifestyle was not seen as natural by the others. The LeMoynes were freaks of nature; abnormal creatures who many believed shouldn’t exist in this world. It didn’t matter that they had loved ones, a home to call their own, or even a profitable business selling commercial real-estate. It all boiled down to what they chose to eat; as if that was all they were.

Chapter 13-

“What do you want me to do, Clarissa?” Leah walked beside Clarissa as they made their way down the quiet streets of St. Augustine.

They had waited until Madeline had gone to sleep before venturing out into the night. Maddy had been given the thinly veiled lie that Leah had gone home hours before. And neither woman could be sure that the intuitive older lady bought any of their lie. Either way, she went to her bedroom on the second floor across from Clarissa’s room and several minutes later Clarissa could hear her sleeping soundly in her bed.

What they were doing was dangerous. Not only was Clarissa putting her soul in jeopardy, she was also putting another living life in parole. Leah was a delicious morsel for one of their kind. But Leah would not be denied her chance to retaliate against the things that took her friends life.

“You don’t need to do anything.” Clarissa was on edge. It was much more difficult to have Leah with her. If she was going to do this tonight then she really didn’t need to have Leah’s safety keeping her mind from the task ahead. Leah was not only bait for the flesh-eaters, she was a liability. If anything happened to her living friend, Clarissa wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive herself. Even if it was Leah’s choice to come out with her tonight, ultimately it was Clarissa’s responsibility as a death bokor to keep her from harm.

“Can we stop and rest for a bit?” Leah was a living, and had the misfortune of tiring out easily. Unlike Clarissa, who could remain moving for hours without tiring or needing to sit and rest, her body wasn’t as resilient to the forces of nature.

“Sure,” Clarissa conceded. She had noticed that Leah had yawned several times in the past hour. Realizing it was many hours past midnight, a time when most of the living were in their beds dreaming. They had been wandering the streets of downtown St. Augustine almost half the night. Leah had to open the bookstore in the morning and she was going to be exhausted as it was. Clarissa knew she needed to get her friend home before she passed out.

Instead they found their way to one of the old cemeteries across from the visitor’s information center. There were no ghosts milling about inside, as most ghosts found cemeteries unflattering reminders of their own deaths. Not to mention, what was there to do in a cemetery? Many of the living believed that they could visit the sites where their loved ones lay resting, thinking that in some way they could speak to the person. They couldn’t. What remained behind was not a person, but an illusion. It couldn’t answer you back. All that was human and good went to places beyond, back to the cosmos and the world above.

Leah sat on a steel bench, resting her head on the back of it as she curled herself into a tight ball. She was tiny enough she could manage it. “They’re not coming are they?” she asked sleepily, covering her mouth as she yawned yet again. “Or else we missed them.”

“I don’t know,” Clarissa answered honestly. She plopped down on the cement sidewalk, her legs and feet bent over the curb of the street. From here she could see the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum, not that anyone was inside, ghost or otherwise. “I should have been able to sense them, unless they’re being more cautious because they know I can listen in on them.”

“Somehow I thought this would be more exciting,” Leah grumbled as she closed her eyes. “Maybe they don’t go out on Sundays because it’s a holy day.”

“I highly doubt that flesh-eaters have anything to do with the church. Their sins can’t be blessed away so easy.”

Leah sighed. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.” She turned her body into the metal bench, turning herself away from Clarissa. “Wake me if anything interesting happens.” Not that she believed anything other than the occasional residual haunting would walk the streets at night. And everyone left them alone.

Clarissa sat quietly on the curb. She had brought a back-pack from the house; an old one that Jackson had left behind some months back. In it she stored a few items she thought might come in handy.

In a room down the hall from her bedroom, Clarissa had found a case of old tools and ancient artifacts. Lying on a bed of soft black velvet, there had been a small dagger with a silver handle adorned with raised vine details, the end carved into a skull. Something unseen compelled Clarissa to take it along. Finding a silk scarf from a drawer in the room, she wrapped up the weapon, stuffing it into the bottom of the back-pack.

Setting the bag on the curb next to her, Clarissa unzipped it and reached inside. She pulled out a thin plastic object about the breadth of a large book. A gift from Henry, he had explained that it was a device for reading and storing multiple books and magazines. Clarissa had remembered hearing about the machine. She thanked Henry profusely for the expensive gift, but he reassured her that the purchase wouldn’t put a dent in his savings.

Clarissa turned the device on as she plugged in the tiny accessory reading light. Going through her most recent book purchases, she found her place in a book where she had earlier left off.

It did seem that Leah was correct. Either they had missed them, which was unlikely or they had chosen not to come across the bridge tonight. In a few hours their hunt for the flesh-eaters would be over. Once the sun began to rise in the sky the creatures would be forced back onto the island until the curtain of darkness fell once again onto the old city.

Clarissa concentrated on reading as she heard Leah’s soft breathing in the background. She didn’t seem to have any trouble falling asleep on a park bench in front of a cemetery. But then Leah was quite immune to the strangeness of the paranormal; hanging out with dead people and all that. She turned her head to look back at the living woman to confirm that she was indeed under the spell of Morpheus. Her dreams were like little visual vignettes that Clarissa could watch for hours, but she chose not to out of respect for Leah’s privacy.

Facing forward once again, Clarissa blew a long stream of cool air from her mouth. The night was not overly muggy, but still the air in Florida was always saturated even during the fall. Clarissa’s cool breath caused the particles of water in the air to drop in temperature, turning it into a flow of fog that twirled and danced in front of her. She moved her hands, directing the fog to swirl around her like a blanket then out and away from her. She watched as it floated down the street toward the bridge.

She wondered what Corrigan was doing right now. In the quiet streets of St. Augustine, Clarissa let her mind wander far away from her as she reached out across the river. If Corrigan was there on Anastasia Island, could she find him in his mind? Would he let her touch that part of him he kept hidden even from himself?

Clarissa knew she was a fool, but in her daydreams she could push aside that rational part of herself and just let her fantasies take root. As fantasies went, hers defied all logic and sense. In them she wanted Corrigan LeMoyne to accept her as she was and when he looked her in the eyes she only wanted to see heat and love, not cold bitterness and contempt.

You don’t even know him.

That rational voice inside was always a downer to her fantasies. But it was true. She barely knew him and what she did know about him where all the things she hated about his kind; vicious animals. The rest he kept locked away inside his heart; if he even had a heart worth beating.

It was all that kisses fault. If only he had kept his hands and lips to himself she could have gone on to continue hating him. But now, it was all she could do to keep her resolve that he and his kind needed to be exterminated. She had to think of the safety of the livings in her city, her people and the S.S. who served them. He was the other and their kind should be hated.

It was really hard to hate the very being that felt like the other half of you. Clarissa blew another cool breath into the night air. With it she whispered a single word.

Corrigan.

***∞***

Corrigan had walked the beach many times over the years. It was here on this very beach where his puny little wooden boat had made landfall after weeks on the Atlantic Ocean. He had spent most of his life on the high seas. As a sailor he had traveled to exotic places of lore; found himself in the dark mysterious worlds where the natives would sooner slice your head off than welcome you onto their land. And it was in the wild islands of the Caribbean were Corrigan had lost his soul; where they had made him a monster.

He had been out here for hours, pacing up and down the sandy shores until his feet and back ached and he was forced to sit down, his breath coming out in great huffs. Not because he was short of breathe, but because he was losing control.

Then he laid himself down on the beach, flat on his back in the cool white sand, the water’s edge lapping only a few inches away from his bare feet. As he lay there in the stillness, he imagined what it would be like to have Clarissa lying next to him to enjoy the view. Would she like the beach as much as he did? Would she play in the surf like an alluring sea nymph? With her dark air and pale skin, she had the look of a beguiling angel; a benevolent creature who reminded him of the beast he was.

In his fantasies, she didn’t look at him with mistrust or suspicion. She looked at him as if he were only a man, not a monster, a man like he had once been; complete. It had been decades since he had ever dreamed of being the normal human man he had been in life. But even in his fantasies he never dreamed of finding his other half. Such dreams were beyond even Corrigan’s own imaginings. And as the fates twisted aged hands would dictate, his other half looked to be the very death of him. If Clarissa had her way, it would be she who would lay the final blow, ending his miserable existence.

Corrigan held a fist full of cold sand, letting it spill through the cracks between his fingers. Clarissa was like the sand, cool and bright under the moon filled sky. And she wasn’t something a creature like he could hold on to. And if he let her she would bury him, and not just up to his neck.

He cursed himself as a masochistic fool for ever thinking about a woman who wanted to see him permanently dead. But even as he told himself this, he knew that she was more than a deadly adversary. Clarissa was a woman of strong convictions and loyalty; he could see that after only one encounter with her. But even still, he knew next to nothing about her. She was as elusive as the flowing sand between his fingers.

He stared up at the full moon in the sky, its quiet radiance a nightlight to a sleeping world. In all his life or animated death he never wanted more than at this moment to share the night with someone. Someone who would chase away the demons and ghouls of his past, and for a moment in this existence make him feel whole and alive. More than anything he wanted Clarissa to be that someone.

A cloud slipped past the moon, drawing darkness on the earth below; darkness like death. And as Corrigan closed his eyes he painted the face of a woman with long flowing hair and eyes like the changing sea. If he could, she would be his muse and he would paint her into his world because only in his art would he ever have the privilege of seeing her standing next to him and not at his back ready to strike.

He breathed out her name like a prayer to the heavens above, though none of the divine would ever hear the prayers of the damned and soulless. For how could someone as flawed as he was be given peace in this world? Not bloody likely. He had more chances of being struck by a burst of lightning and then as he lay in shock in the street, be swiftly run over by a car driven by a crazed Hollywood celebrity. That sounded more plausible than a fanciful dream of finding peace or anything remotely like happiness.

Corrigan found himself once again on the peak of the bridge overlooking the old city below. His family didn’t roam the city on Sundays. A day of rest, a time when many of the living set aside the toil of their lives to remember their faith; whatever that might be. In truth it didn’t really matter what day they choose as long as the intentions were the same. Corrigan had a difficult time understanding the faith system of the livings. But for them, perhaps there was still hope.

The night breeze blew across the bridge bringing with it a smell he was all too familiar with. It was the smell of life ebbing away, sucked up by the lure of death. It was like smelling a food that’s scent was imbedded into ones memories, the scent of it bringing forward the time when it first crossed the senses. This smell brought forward the ever present memory of Corrigan’s first kill. Everyone remembers their first. For him, it both disgusted and excited him, to smell the sweet fragrance of living essence. It was priceless.

I want it.

***∞***

A scream rent the quiet night air, slicing through the atmosphere and disturbing the solitude of a sleeping world. At once Clarissa became aware of it. Rising quickly to her feet she turned to find Leah awake and staring at her, the look of living fear on her face. The living had much to fear in this world.

“Did you hear that?” Clarissa asked Leah, though she needn’t have bothered. Of course she had heard that blood curdling scream. Even in a deep dreamless sleep such a sound could pierce through the subconscious, setting off the alarm bells.

“Yes,” Leah nodded, turning to stare down the street toward the bridge. “It came from that way. I’m sure of it.” Leah was quickly on her feet, not to run but to go after that horrible sound.

Clarissa picked up her back-pack, hefting it over her shoulder. In the next instant she was off, Leah a few steps behind her. Clarissa was moving so quickly, her mind focused on getting to that sound, that she wasn’t aware that her feet barely touched the ground as she moved. Her only objective was to confront the creature that was stalking that living person and take it down.

***∞***

Corrigan bent over the frightened woman, her neck a blood stained mess of torn flesh. Her eyes held that vacant stare of coming death, when the world became small and tight. It was taking her farther down that cold tunnel with each drop of free flowing blood, the life essence of the living escaping with it.

He touched his hands to her throat as more of it bubbled and dripped with her last breaths. It would be so easy to let it have her and to take what he could from her last threads of life. But this was not his kill, nor would he have ever targeted an innocent woman. But staring into the face of a banquet it was difficult to remain in control.

Corrigan could stray outside the lines just this once and be unaffected. He had no soul to seek penance for. So what did it matter if he simply finished her off.

Corrigan sensed her presence moments before he was flung back, finding himself airborne for several seconds before landing into the side of a cement piling. He had a thick skull, but even still the force of the blow shook every brain cell in his head as it made contact with the piling.

Clarissa had seen only a dark shadow over the figure of a woman. But in an instant she recognized the beautiful demon hovering over the living woman. Corrigan. In an instant she reacted to the scene, expelling a force that knocked him away from the woman, landing him several feet and into a rather large cement piling near the bridge.

Rushing to the side of the still woman, she gazed down into a most horrific scene. Her throat was battered and as she breathed more of her life’s essence slipped out with the blood. It saturated the ground around her turning the sun bleached asphalt street black.

“What should I do?” Leah exclaimed, coming to kneel beside the woman. As Leah looked down into the ashen face of the dying woman, she at once recognized her. It was Candice Snow, an S.S. member and sister to Mary-Ann Gills who had been attached and killed merely a week ago. Candice was sure to follow her beloved sister’s fate if something wasn’t done soon to save her.

“Clarissa,” Leah said her friends name as she watched her hover intently over the living woman. After a few agonizing long seconds she answered.

Clarissa had almost completely forgotten about Leah. She recognized Ms. Snow from the town meeting when she and another S.S. member, Michael Burn, had sat quietly grieving in front of her. It had stayed with her these last few days helping to keep her resolve to destroy the monsters that had hurt these innocent people, burning hot and bright inside her. Clarissa was willing to do practically anything to keep this woman from joining her sister in the here-after. Anything.

“Put your fingers to her neck and try to hold the loose flesh closed. The best thing we can do right now is keep what little blood she has left inside her body.” She looked into the face of her living friend, finding the young woman relatively calm in the face of such horror.

Clarissa watched as Leah tentatively touched the open wounds on Candice’s torn throat. If her fingers trembled a little and her face lost some of her life giving blood it wasn’t enough to make her draw away. She kept a gentle but firm hold over the wound. It wasn’t enough to save this poor woman, perhaps only giving them a few seconds. But in life, every second counted.

“Ms. Snow,” Clarissa called in a low hypnotic voice. “Can you hear me?”

Candice didn’t respond as was expected of someone whose very life was slipping away far too quickly. Clarissa tried again. “I’m Clarissa Schofield. We met at the town meeting. Do you remember me? Leah, lean forward so she can see your face.” Leah did as she was instructed.

“Ms. Snow,” Leah forced a smile on her face, but in her eyes there was evidence of tears. “It’s me, Leah. You’re going to be okay. We’re here now and Clarissa and I are going to make sure no one else hurts you. You need to stay with us for a little while longer. Can you hear me?”

There was no response from the deathly pale woman. Her eyes remained fixed on a point that none of them could see. In her eyes Clarissa could see the shadow of death. Clarissa couldn’t recall actually seeing him, even during her own brush with him. Death never revealed much of himself to the world. He preferred to give only a glimpse of his true self. It was speculated by many that he was beautiful and fair to look upon, but only those who had felt his cold kiss could tell you that.

A shadow fell upon the women in the street, but it wasn’t the result of clouds roving over the moon. It was the shadow of an inflictor of death, deaths servant. Clarissa looked up into the face of a creature that was as deadly as he was beautiful. The paranormal world was an upside down version of the normal world Clarissa had thought she lived in. Where beauty hid evil and those that appeared young were ancient while those who looked older were freshly new. It was bizarre and it was strange. Then again, what was normal except someone’s warped ideal standard that no one could live up to?

“You should call an ambulance before she bleeds out.” He stood almost motionless over the women. It wasn’t in his nature to care about the living. What had they ever done for him but turn him into an animal? However, in this moment, he found himself sympathetic to this one woman.

No. It wasn’t her at all. It was the woman who was staring up at him with malicious hatred in her beautiful blue eyes. Clarissa. It was because of her that he had stopped himself from taking what should have been his, by right.

He could feel the sticky blood on his fingers and it took ever measure of his self control not to bring them to his mouth for a taste of it. It was like getting barbeque sauce on your fingers and hands; you were compelled to lick it off.

“How dare you attack an innocent woman?” Clarissa raged as she stood up from her crouched position in the street. “You don’t deserve to exist in this world.”

Those words stung deeper than he would have expected, but they were true. He didn’t deserve to exist in her world. He was a monster with a ravenous appetite for living flesh and that was all he’d ever be to her. But he refused to allow her to condemn him for a crime he did not commit.

“I did not attack this woman. I don’t target the innocent,” he explained all the while closely watching her reaction. Clarissa’s expression said she wasn’t buying it.

“If you didn’t do this than who did?” Leah asked. Holding one blood soaked hand to Candice’s throat she dug into her pocket for her cell phone with the other. Bringing it to her ear she began talking in animated Korean to what had to be her grandmother. In the next instant she was off the phone.

“The paramedics should be here in about two minutes.” Looking up at the creature before her, she was at once filled with a plethora of emotions, not least of which absolute awe. Her first encounter with the legendary flesh-eater, he was the complete opposite of everything she had ever expected or heard about them. If she didn’t know better she might have believed he was as alive as she, until she looked into those iridescent blue eyes and saw the emptiness of death; a shadow that told the truth of his species.

Corrigan remained immobile as Clarissa came to stand in front of him. Her rage was evident in her eyes. “Someone attacked her and you’re the only person found on the scene. The evidence of it all is on your fingers.” Clarissa glanced down to see him fist his hands, droplets of Candice’s sweat blood dripping through the cracks.

“I didn’t do this and you know it.” His face solemn, he stared down at the breathing specter of his dreams. Something flashed in her eyes as she matched his stare before quickly turning away.

You should leave before they get here.” Clarissa turned to look at Leah as she continued to hold the last of Candice’s life inside her body. Already she could hear the ambulance siren and just behind it she could feel the panic of the humans in a car. Leah’s grandmother, Mi Sun and her mother, Hana, along with other S.S. members she couldn’t remember the names of. Not too far behind that were the Eidolon, just emerging from their homes. In another few seconds they would have all their company.

Corrigan remained standing fixed in the street, seemingly uncaring of the fact that at any moment he would be caught. If the police didn’t put him in jail, surely the S. S. or the Eidolon would find a means to detain him. For some strange reason, she couldn’t understand yet, Clarissa wasn’t ready to turn him over to them.

Though she knew he was a monster, there was something she had seen in his eyes that told her he was telling her the truth. Even odder, there had been a moment there where she had felt the reality of him. Where she had felt through the ugly emptiness and there underneath it all a bright circle of beauty and tenderness; something he was unlikely to reveal or even admit to.

“Leave,” she commanded him, invoking her voice on him. For some reason it wasn’t working because he remained standing, unmoving, staring down at her from his impressive height, refusing the chance to escape.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Clarissa cried. Seeing the flashing red lights and knowing that the decision would be out of their hands at any moment.

Leah looked between the two of them, then over her shoulder as she too saw the Calvary coming. “Get him out of here, Clarissa. They’re not going to care whether he’s innocent or not. If they see him here, they’re going to assume the worst.”

“You are such an idiot,” Clarissa groused at Corrigan before she grabbed his warm arm, holding on to him tightly.

She wasn’t sure if this was going to work, but there was no time to question the theory of it. With a silent pray she made up her mind about something and in the next instant they were gone.

The ambulance stopped short of the scene, paramedics leaping into action as a car pulled up behind it. The occupants of the car stood silently by as they watched one of their own being placed on a gurney.

Mi Sun closed her eyes for a second then quickly opened them to stare out far across the bridge to the other side. From this distance she couldn’t possibly see the two figures on the opposite end of the bridge. But she knew they were there all the same. The old woman frowned before whispering something to her daughter. Hana frowned as well, looking off into the distance.

A shadowy figure of a man stood in the dimness of the night, unnoticed by the medical staff and the living humans. If not for that upstart of a ghost, his plans would have worked out perfectly. Corrigan should have been caught in the act and taken to task over this most grave error of judgment, another dead S.S. member. It should have started the ball rolling, bringing around a most climatic and enjoyable moment where the final threads of forced amicability between the Eidolon and the flesh-eaters would be severed and the war would begin. But that hadn’t happened.

Oh well, he thought. There was always another he had his sights set on. And in the mean time, he’d make it a prime mission to see that the burgeoning romance of these two sickeningly sweet creatures was exposed to the world.

Chapter 14-

“Did you just do what I think you just did?” Corrigan questioned as he as looked out over the bridge from the opposite end of where he had, just seconds ago, been standing. In one heart-stopping instant he had shifted through the atmosphere as if his body no longer existed, then reappeared in a new location.

“Yes, and it worked,” she answered proudly. Clarissa couldn’t help but reveal a smile of triumph at her talents. It should have been impossible to move a corporal body through the atmosphere, yet she had. It was both a little scary and amazingly empowering to know she could do such a thing.

Corrigan looked down to see her hand still clutching his lower arm. She obviously was oblivious to her mistake or distracted by her newly learned ability, either way he didn’t mind in the least. He also didn’t mind seeing her smile so proudly at her accomplishment which was indeed a great one. As far as he knew, no other of her kind could do such a thing. She was truly a unique woman.

Unfortunately, for him, she did finally realize her hand was still on him. With a sudden jolt she removed it, stepping a few paces back and away from him. That action did a strange and unpleasant thing to his stomach, somewhere along the lines of nausea or the sensation of a heavy boulder falling through his intestines.

Clarissa felt the heat of his arm penetrate her soul. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was, but by then it had been too late. Clutching her fist tightly to her side, she held the warmth of him against her skin until as the seconds slipped away from her it disappeared leaving her cold once again. Strangely, a slight sting of pain pierced the area where her heart used to be as if it were telling her something she should have known all along but refused.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?” Clarissa started in on him again. It was easier to be mad than to examine her own thoughts and feelings at the moment. “I told you to make a run for it, but no, you had to stand there like a giant lump.”

Corrigan eyed her curiously. Her colors changed as she went through a succession of emotions all the while yelling and calling him names. He stood there quietly, taking it. If she had been anyone else he might have retaliated and his retaliations were deadly. Instead he watched the beautiful show of her soul.

After several minutes Clarissa caught the odd look in his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that you completely daft man. I should have let them have you when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

Clarissa took a step back, a frown on her face. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

A deep sadness crossed his eyes before it was gone. It was only by chance that Clarissa managed a glimpse of it. But she was all too aware of it and in a deep secret part of her soul it reflected her own.

“You should go back to your side now.” Corrigan stepped away, intent on finding his way back to the LeMoyne complex. Pulling out a paint stained rag from his pocket he wiped his hands of the woman’s blood, stuffing it back in his pocket. Turning to walk away, he suddenly felt a cool hand on his arm. He would know that touch anywhere. It was imprinted on his memory for all time.

“You didn’t attack that woman, did you?”

“No.”

But she had seen him over the woman’s body, his hands at her throat. If he had wanted to he could have taken her. Even if she wasn’t his kill, he could have ended her life and taken what he wanted from her. He hadn’t though and she had a slight inkling that it had been extremely difficult for him to restrain that desire for flesh and blood. Candice had been laid out before him like a feast and he had pushed his plate away and denied himself the luxury of an easy kill.

I don’t target the innocent.

Clarissa hadn’t wanted to believe him at the time. It was so much easier to blame him. He and his family were after all the only monsters in the area, and if not him – then who? It was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

“Then your family isn’t responsible for these deaths against us, are they?” There was still some doubt there, but every time she thought about it, something didn’t seem to add up to that conclusion. The murders were done up too precisely and with obvious intention at being discovered. If she didn’t know better, Clarissa might think it all a set up or someone trying to throw gasoline on an already smoldering fire between her people and the flesh-eaters.

“I already told you that my family is not responsible for the murders of your human servants.”

“Why didn’t my command work this time? I asked you to leave, but you refused. I thought as a bokor, you had to carry out my orders.”

Corrigan took the cool and delicate hand that was still resting on his arm, holding it firmly within his own hand. “I did not listen because even though you used your voice, it wasn’t what you really wanted, so it didn’t work.”

“It wasn’t what I wanted? What are talking about? Are you saying that I wanted you to get caught?”

He shook his head in the negative. “No, you just didn’t want me to leave. That’s all I know.” Corrigan held her cool hand tightly, touching her soul and wanting the privilege of holding it close to him. “I just don’t know why you wanted me to stay.”

Clarissa refused to look at their intertwined hands. It would be too much and at this moment she needed to be in complete control. But as she felt the warmth of him penetrate her cool spirit and that place within her body were the beat of her heart had been cut short she felt a moment of completion. It was a place in time where she wanted to bask in forever.

“Does your family know where you are now?” she asked the question instead of answering him. “Won’t they worry? I’m sure they’re already aware of what happened. Don’t you all communicate through thoughts?”

“Won’t your people wonder where you have gone?”

Clarissa made a snort of disgust. She wasn’t a child to be looked after. Yet everyone seemed to be overly concerned about her whereabouts all the time. Telling someone with her capabilities to be careful was without a doubt offensive to her pride.

“I can take care of myself,” she said irritably.

“So can I", he said pointedly. "What choices I make are mine alone. My family doesn’t need to control my every movement.” A tiny smirk edged its way onto his lips. “And yes we can communicate through our thought patterns as you are obviously more than aware of this capability.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know,” he assured her. “Chas, however, wasn’t particularly enthused by your skills. He suffered a great blow to his pride when you knocked him on his ass the other night. You’ll be pleased to know my brothers are teasing him to no end on that one.”

“Well, he deserved it. Tell your brother it isn’t nice to growl at people.”

Corrigan failed at hiding the smile that was threatening to reveal itself. She was a complete contradiction to how he had always perceived the Eidolon people. In his brief encounters with her kind, they always seemed to hold themselves above him, like his lack of a soul made him less than human in their eyes. But they hadn’t been the only ones who looked at him like that. Except for Clarissa, she spoke to him now as if she had completely forgotten that at any moment he could end her existence. Then again, she could easily end his.

“I’ll remember to tell him that.”

The wind blew across the bridge again, this time bringing with it the smell of the ocean. Clarissa turned toward it, taking in a deep breath of the salty fresh air. She had a peculiar fondness for the ocean sea. The vast stretch of it always made her feel calm when things in her life seemed to have her spinning endlessly without anything to ground her. The seeming eternity of the ocean put her insignificant world into manageable perspective. Again, Clarissa had no inkling why she liked the ocean. There was no specific memory of it to make her know this with such certainty, it just was.

“Have you ever been to the ocean at night?” She heard Corrigan ask the question with only a brief hesitation in his voice.

Clarissa shook her head. “We’re not allowed to cross the bridge after dark.” Anastasia Island was their property, quite legally too. She had only recently found out from Eleanor that the flesh-eaters had their hands in commercial real-estate.

“Would you like to go there, now?” Corrigan asked the question. For a moment he actually held his breath as he waited for an answer. The rational section of his mind told him to put her from him, keep her firmly in the light of enemy. The nonsensical part of him wanted to keep her forever in the night, close to him.

“Yes,” she answered him after several heart-stopping seconds.

It was a serial moment for Clarissa, walking along the beach at night with a flesh-eater. Corrigan seemed at little hesitant as well of her company. She was fast coming to realize that he didn’t socialize well with others. Not that she could blame him. Most people weren’t friendly with creatures that they feared. And who wouldn’t find Corrigan and his family a little scary?

“Do you come here a lot?” Clarissa asked, breaking their reserved silence.

“What?” he asked. Looking down at her, he had only just remembered she was walking next to him. He felt too comfortable in her presence. “I wasn’t paying attention. What did you ask me?”

“Just like a man, tuning me out.” She glided along the sandy beach, bare foot. It wasn’t that she could get sand in her shoes it was just the social custom to go without shoes when walking along the beach. “I asked if you came to the beach a lot, do you?”

“Yes.” Corrigan looked out into the waves as they crashed against the shore, spraying them at times with their force. Walking close to the edge where the water met the cool sand he remembered how he always thought the sea reminded him of himself, how it existed alone. People would cross its path but ultimately in the end they would all seek the safety of land.

“Explain,” she commanded, but not in her bokor voice.

Corrigan looked away from his kindred spirit in the sea to another spirit, a spirit who was fast becoming kindred to a part of him he believed long since dead. Though he didn’t know why yet, a part of his psyche already knew that Clarissa was no longer an enemy. She had thought to save him when she could have easily turned him over to her people. For whatever reason or twist of the hands of fate, she had come to this ancient city, it was quite evident that her presence alone was heralding in a new era in his existence. Would he survive it? He wasn’t sure of that yet.

“Explain what, exactly?” Why was she so curious to know him when others had simply written him off? Clarissa should be home with her own kind; not out in the night with a creature such as him. But she looked up at him, an inquisitive curve to her enticing little mouth, her eyes honest and lacking fear. It was then he realized he wanted to tell her everything.

“Tell me everything, Corrigan.” Clarissa spoke his name, an ethereal light coming into her eyes as she said it.

Corrigan walked beside her, keeping his distance, but remaining close all the same. He watched her intently as she seemed to hover above the ground. Clarissa didn’t seem quite real and yet she was more than tangible to him. Her hand accidentally brushed against his hand as her arm made a swing backwards.

He captured her smaller hand within his warmer one. They were like fire and ice. His species was warm blooded, their metabolism on overhaul from a constant ingestion of hot flesh and blood. Her body, which though it wasn’t flesh and blood it was tangible and real, yet cool.

Clarissa let him take her hand. If she had wanted to she could have easily pulled away. She didn’t want to. Wrapping her fingers more securely within his much warmer paw, she let these sweet secret moments take her away.

“I was a sailor in life and there was no place I felt more at home than on the high seas.” Corrigan spoke a past he rarely ever dwelled on and never explained to another soul, living or otherwise. “Back in those days, they glamorized the sea life so much so that I couldn’t help but want to be on board the next ship heading west. There wasn’t much else for me to do. I knew I couldn’t go to university and I damn well wasn’t going to die on some factory line. So I joined the English Navy like all the other boys my age and planned to live the rest of my days at sea.”

“I thought I would die at sea, pushed overboard to sink into the dark depths where I would be welcomed home. It didn’t work out that way. Instead I died on a beach on some small Caribbean island I can’t remember, and not gallantly I might add. Then someone had the nerve to bring me back. So here I stand an aberration to humanity.”

Clarissa interrupted him. “How many years ago was this?” He couldn’t possibly be much older than her, but death was ever deceiving in these matters.

“More years than I care to remember,” he grumbled.

“You’re one of the ancients than too.” Her prediction was correct, he was likely much older than many of the Eidolon, excluding the council members. It might explain why he had a tendency to be grouchy and moody.

“I’m not that old. I’m actually the youngest brother in the family.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to make himself feel younger. Corrigan knew he was old, as least when compared to someone as young as Clarissa.

“If you hadn’t died all those years ago and you were walking around today, would you be over a hundred years old?”

Clarissa could see him mulling over the question. In truth it didn’t matter how many more years he existed on this earth than her. Age was just a number to calculate the passage of time, it didn’t make a person. Granted though, if he looked as ancient as he seemed to be, she wasn’t sure she could so easily stick with the theory. However, in his deathly animated state, he retained the pleasures of youth. But it was superficial and only skin deep.

“If I said yes, what would you say?”

“I’d say you look good for your age, grandpa, and be done with it.”
Corrigan frowned, not in the least pleased by her answer. “Wait a few decades, little girl, and then you won’t be so blasé about age. I’ve seen the ads your people put out in their circulation papers promoting creams and ointments for aged ghosts to help keep their radiant glows. That stuff doesn’t really work, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a joke about your age. Really, it doesn’t matter.” She pulled on the sleeve of her blouse. “At least you’re not some amorphous pile of non-corporal jelly made into something that resembles human.”

Corrigan squeezed her cool flesh – or what was flesh on her – realizing for the first time that her existence was no easier than his. “No,” he answered, his voice drawling deep. “I’m an empty shell where a human soul used to live but doesn’t anymore. Your body may lack flesh and blood, but that is all I am – a body – there’s nothing good or redeeming inside me.” Maybe there never was, he thought.

“I don’t believe that, not for a moment,” she contradicted. He wasn’t an empty shell, she had seen inside him, if for just a moment, and the truth was that there was more to Corrigan LeMoyne than flesh and blood. Somewhere in that bleak interior was a light; a heart in the spiritual as well the physical.

He didn’t respond, letting the silence settle back between them like a wall. Clarissa wanted to argue the point further, but she felt he wasn’t quite ready to bear his heart to her. She couldn’t blame him. He would be ready soon enough.

“I should take you home,” she said instead. Clarissa had been the one to move them from the bridge to the shores of the beach in a matter of seconds. She could easily do the same, traveling from the beach to the LeMoyne complex. Plus she rather enjoyed using her talents and watching the astonished expression on Corrigan’s face every time they manifested themselves into a new location.

“Where do you live?” Clarissa asked as she found her slip-on shoes which were lined up next to his much larger sneakers. She watched him as he sat down in the sand to put them on.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea if you followed me to the complex. You should probably head on back across the bridge. It’ll be daylight soon.” Already he could see the streaks in the sky, feel the light as it tried to penetrate through the darkness of nights blanket. In another hour or so it would be dawn, a time when his species rested and hers took control of the city.

“You don’t trust me to be around your family.” Clarissa knew the truth when he continued tying his laces and refused to answer her.

“You’re afraid I might hurt them. I wouldn’t, I hope you know that. I realize now that perhaps I was hasty to assume the worst from you.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Or you’re ashamed you might actually want to be friends with a ghost.”

Finishing the last lace, Corrigan stood up, towering over her. Clarissa wasn’t overly tall for a human woman, but what she lacked in height she made up for in courage.

“No, that’s not why I don’t want you to come home with me.”

“Then why, do you think I’m some sort of spy for the Eidolon? I’m not,” she assured him. “Most of the council members don’t like me very much, nor do they trust me in the slightest. For what reason, I haven’t figured that out yet. But I plan to soon enough.”

“I can’t blame them,” Corrigan remarked, rubbing the back of his head where it had made a solid contact with that cement piling. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find a crack in his skull. “You’re rather scary when you get agitated. But again, that is not the reason.”

Clarissa folded her arms expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself. He knew she would continue to berate him with her trumped up theories until he finally gave in and told her the truth. She was entirely too stubborn for her own good; or his for that matter.

“I can guarantee that you won’t be well received by my family. We haven’t had the best experiences with your kind in the past. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt by simply being what you are.”

A frown marred her pale glowing face, pulling at that enticing mouth again. “And what am I Corrigan? When you look at me what do you see?”

Corrigan reached out with his left hand, finding her cool colorless cheek. At his touch he could see the color change, becoming pink and almost fleshy in a very human way.

She watched his movements hesitantly as he drew a line along her high cheek bone to the corner of her mouth leaving that trail of color in his wake. And somewhere deep inside himself he felt a stirring, his heart which beat so infrequently began to make a steady pulse. And then he felt it, the light that always seemed to elude his body, flickered on and off as it grew. It was her inside him, he knew it. Only Clarissa could stand to see the ugliness inside him and wish to remain.

Clarissa was the light, the soul inside him that made him whole. She was the only person in his entire existence who had ever willingly given him a piece of their self. He couldn’t do anything but give something of himself in return.

Bending forward so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, he told her what he saw when he looked at her.

“You are a woman whose soul shines brighter than the sun and with far more promise for the creatures of this earth. There isn’t anything about you that is ugly or amorphous and you’re far from unappealing. I’m not ashamed to know you. You’re far more likely to be shamed at knowing a creature like me. You might have been my families enemy, but you’re not mine; not anymore.”

Clarissa touched the warm hand that still hovered over her skin, pulling it away. “You’re very sweet when you put your mind to it.”

“I’m not trying to be sweet, I’m being honest, Clarissa.” He brought his hand back to move a piece of her dark hair which had fallen over her forehead. It still amazed him that despite her nature, she felt so real to the touch. He let his finger once again brush against the cold flesh of her forehead. And once again it glowed beneath his touch.

Clarissa took his hand away from her face, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’m dead,” she said in a flat voice.

Corrigan looked down at her, those iridescent blue eyes revealing that spark of light he kept hidden inside. Without the slightest inflection in his voice he spoke, “So am I.”

Chapter 15-

“This has got to be the stupidest idea ever created,” Corrigan complained as he and Clarissa stood just outside the LeMoyne complex. She had moved them from the beach to the high coquina walls that surrounded his home. By simply placing a geographical image of it in his mind she had been able to decipher the complex’s location precisely.

“Normally I think I would agree,” Clarissa commented as she looked around at the dense forest that obscured the complex from curious eyes. “But for some reason I’m feeling a bit reckless. Besides, no ghost around can gloat that they’ve been inside the belly of the beast and survived. This is like going into the wilds of Africa and studying the natives. It’s a once in a lifetime experience.”

Corrigan rubbed aggressively at his forehead. He wasn’t sure which one of them was crazier, he for letting her convince him to show her his home, or her, for even wanting to see inside the ‘belly of the beast’ as she so quaintly euphemized the lairs of the flesh-eaters. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sneak her inside the walls. The minute they passed through the gates, his family would know.

“You are reckless, there’s no denying that.” Corrigan pushed in a sequence of numbers on a digital pad set inside the stone wall hidden by a leafy branch. In a matter of seconds the steel gates opened to reveal the interior of the complex.

He turned to Clarissa, assessing her as a psychiatrist might assess a person with suicidal tendencies. She certainly must be if she believed that his family wouldn’t react to her presence in their home as a threat. He was preparing himself for a most difficult confrontation.

“You’re sure about this. I wouldn’t blame you if you went home right now. In fact I think that would be preferable.”

“Get over yourself, Corrigan,” she said, taking a first step inside the gates, “I’d like to ask your family what they think about the attacks on the livings in the city. Perhaps one of them might have an idea who is responsible.”

“I highly doubt any of them do,” he argued as he walked in beside her into the complex. Gravel trails led through the open plan design, leading to the different houses or to the many gardens throughout. “We only travel across the bride at night and then stay on the mainland a few hours before returning home. My family and I have only one mission when we cross the bridge and that is not to socialize with every supernatural creature we pass.”

“Maybe you don’t know the members of your family as well as you think. They might not share everything with you, just as I’m sure you don’t share yourself too freely with them.”

Corrigan didn’t have a response for that. Ambrose had kept the secret of his meeting with the Eidolon councilmember to himself. What other secrets did his brothers and sisters keep from him? And then a terrible thought came to him. Could one of his brothers or sisters be responsible for the deaths of these livings? He hadn’t wanted to believe them capable; they knew the price such a kill would cost them all. But when the beast inside them ruled, common sense was pushed aside for the thrill of the kill.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clarissa touched the back of his hand. “I don’t think your family is responsible. It seems too easy to blame them and I think that’s what makes me suspicious. There is something more to these kills than just taking a life. The way they were displayed, left out to be found, it was a blatant sign that someone wants to stir up trouble.”

“But you don’t know who. It could just as easily be a member of my family and the rest of us aren’t aware of it.”

A figure stepped out from behind a large oak tree. It was evident by the expression on his darkly handsome face that he wasn’t pleased to find either of them walking the grounds. Chas had the notable distinction of being both taller and physically stronger than Clarissa, but she knew that despite that advantage, she was the stronger of the two. She wasn’t afraid of him, or his family.

Ambrose is waiting inside the main house for you,” Chas spoke, turning to give Clarissa a chilling stare before continuing, “both of you.”

Chas didn’t care for this ghost girl one bit and her interference in his brother’s life, or theirs for that matter, was dangerous for all. Corrigan was more than a fool to bring her inside their home. Much to his disappointment he could already see something irrevocable was playing its way into all their lives. The way his brother took a step to stand defensively between himself and the ghost solidified in Chas’s mind the truth that Corrigan was quickly falling for the wrong kind of woman.

“She’s not here to make a scene. Clarissa just wants…” His words were quickly cut off by his brother’s harsh words.

“Clarissa,” he spoke her name with such rancor, “So now it has a name. She doesn’t belong on our property and you’re the biggest idiot dead or alive to bring her here. What the hell were you thinking?”

Then an evil light came into his sparkling green eyes. “Oh, I know. You’ve started to have some sick fascination with dead chicks, necrophilia tendencies and you want to know what’s going on underneath that skirt. Most likely she’s as cold in bed as any other corpse in the grave.”

It was too much. Corrigan understood his brother’s anger against the ghost population at large. They’d been snide bastards to them all, but that didn’t give Chas the right to insult Clarissa who hadn’t been a member of her community long enough to be aligned with the two-faced creatures. She was innocent of their crimes against his kind and he wouldn’t allow, even his brother and closest friend, to make crude remarks about her.

Chas continued to taunt them. “Maybe she doesn’t even have the necessary parts. Likely she’s like some androgynous doll under her clothes; too prudish to even have the basic equipment.”

In one unbelievable move Chas found himself flat on his back in the soft grass, his brother’s angry face looming just inches above his. The beast inside Corrigan opened his mouth revealing teeth that could splinter bone and tear flesh in a matter of seconds. Fingers pressed strongly down onto Chas’s windpipe as his brother growled like a feral animal.

Corrigan rarely got angry and he had never attacked any of them, not even Xavier who on more than one occasion deserved to have a sound beating from someone. The puny conquistador had more than once nearly severed his head with one of his antique swords. The man still believed he was a soldier in the eighteenth century and he took any opportunity to test out his skills on anyone he thought deserved to be challenged. But Corrigan always readily accepted his brother’s challenges of skill and never complained when Xavier blatantly cheated.

Chas grabbed for his throat, pulling at his brothers hands which were clenched tightly around it. Their eyes met in challenge. Chas knew Corrigan would never kill him, but this was Corrigan’s way of showing whose side he now preferred. It wasn’t his.

“Get the hell off me, Cor,” Chas barked, still trying to release Corrigan’s fingers from around his neck. Placing a little more pressure on his esophagus Corrigan let go.

Chas reacted instantly, pushing at his brother’s chest and rolling out from under him. Quickly finding his feet again, he glared down at Corrigan as he remained sitting in the grass looking down at the ground.

Wiping the grass from his backside, he glared evilly at Clarissa before turning his attention to his best friend and closest brother.

“Shit,” he expelled. “You’ve really gone over the edge haven’t you? You weigh more than a fucking elephant by the way. Lay off eating the chunky ones for awhile, it goes straight to your ass.”

Chas rubbed his neck where Corrigan’s fingers had bit into his flesh. He could still feel the heat from his near strangulation. “Man, I hope you know what you’re doing with her.” He refused to say Clarissa’s name. Giving her a name gave her respect, and she didn’t deserve his yet.

Chas walked away from them, mumbling under his breath as he walked the distance to the main house. Already his brothers and sisters were waiting inside to meet one of their most hated enemies. Clarissa wasn’t just a whiny good-for-nothing ghost girl, she was a death bokor. It had taken Chas awhile to realize that, but when he did he knew that his family’s very existence was at stake. And Corrigan was fraternizing with the enemy.

Corrigan watched his brother stalk off as he sat in the grass. He had attacked his brother and all because Chas had insulted the woman he cared for. And it was the truth. He was finding himself quickly falling for the enemy. She may not know it yet or share his feelings, but he had been around this world long enough to know that Clarissa was a rare jewel among deceiving rocks.

Clarissa knelt down in the soft grass beside Corrigan. She touched his shoulder gently. He had stood up to Chas’s crude words and for her he had attacked his brother and friend. She could easily see the turmoil inside him. He was torn between his family’s bitterness toward her kind and his own feelings for her. Clarissa was surprised to learn that there were such tender feelings for her; she certainly was growing fond of him. At every turn he seemed to contradict her hastily got presumptions about his kind, as he was likely finding the same in her.

“I didn’t mean to cause ill will between you and your family, Corrigan.” She rubbed a spot along his shoulder blades. “You were right it was stupid and selfish of me to force your family to meet me. I don’t blame your brother for hating me. I’ve thought worst things about him.”

Clarissa pressed her face against his shoulder, glorying in feeling his warmth against her cool flesh. He had a distinct, unique smell about him, like of earth and sunshine and the tropical breeze all rolled into one beautiful scent. “I’ll go home now and you can tell your family that you’ve regained your senses and kicked me rightly out on my ass.”

“No,” Corrigan uttered the single word quietly, bringing his hand to hold her face close to him. She shared herself so easily with him. Every time she touched him, he felt that glow deep inside grow, spreading light and happiness and goodness throughout his body. It was too rare a thing to let slip away so easily.

He stood up suddenly causing Clarissa to look up at him with a confused frown on her unearthly face. Corrigan bent down and pulled her up to stand in front in of him. Placing his hands on each of her shoulders he leaned forward to have better access to her face. Brushing his warm palm along her cold cheek he looked into the eyes of a forgotten angel.

“They’ll just have to get used to you being here, so they might as well start now.” Corrigan then brushed his lips against her forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He pulled back then. Taking her hand he led her down the path to the main house where he could already hear the agitation and curiosity coming in waves from their collective thoughts.

***∞***

Clarissa had to admit she felt more than uneasy about meeting the creatures she had claimed in the past as monsters. Now after meeting and getting to know one of them, it was becoming more and more complicated to see them in the same light of evil. If it wasn’t for their unnatural want of living flesh and blood they would be considered a normal enough looking family; albeit the fact that none of them were related in the traditional sense. But even that could be overlooked. One small deviation in character and they were monsters to the world.

The family, as Clarissa refereed to them in her head, sat along a plump old fashioned sofa, sat quietly on antique upholstered chairs or lined themselves up against the large cement and granite fireplace. One of them was reading intently in a corner window seat and another was sitting in a wing-backed chair polishing his sword like he was preparing to use it against some as yet unnamed enemy. The family; like a scene in a Mafia movie, they all had a distinct air about them that said quite clearly that no one messed with one of their own and got away with it.

All were dressed as if they had just returned from the opera house or a five-star restaurant. The kind where the menu was entirely in French and the waiter refused to interpret any of the items on it so you’re forced to pray that you don’t order something icky or pronounce a word the wrong way, which will invariably incite the waiter who has since forgotten that he is only a waiter and not the Sultan of a small but extremely rich Middle Eastern nation. Corrigan had explained on the beach that Sundays were a day to remember their human pasts and to act accordingly. They didn’t cross the bridge and instead they ate a quiet meal at home; vegetarian style of course.

Xavier looked up from where he was polishing his sword to see his younger brother sweep a young woman into the room. At once he was on his feet, his sword ready at hand.

“Put the weapon away,” spoke a calm and lilting voice from one of the figures by the fireplace. Ambrose set his drink upon the mantle next to him as he turned to see his baby brother stand in the entrance to the pallor room holding the hand of a ghost woman.

Xavier settled his sword to his side once again. Though his hand seemed to be poised readily should his brother change his mind and allow him to extract the ghosts head from her shoulders. It would be a most entertaining sight to watch her flounder around the room trying to retrieve it.

“Come in, both of you.” Ambrose gestured to Corrigan and Clarissa. “Ladies,” he looked to the two women on the sofa, the other two sat near him in the upholstered chairs near the fire. “If you’ll allow this young woman to sit with you, Corrigan can take Xavier’s seat.”

Corrigan brought Clarissa over to where Margaret Ann and Debora were reclining on the old fashioned sofa. Xavier’s seat was just across from them and his brother eyed him curiously as he moved aside and allowed him to have his chair. Xavier took up post by the pallor door in an old rocking chair. He sat rocking softly as he continued to watch Corrigan’s back.

Clarissa sat between the two female flesh-eaters. She wasn’t sure if she should introduce herself or remain silent. Already she could see her presence alone incited most of the men and made the women nervous. She didn’t blame any of them. She was the odd one among them.

“I’d ask what the hell you think you’re doing,” Ambrose continued once everyone had found their seats or places to stand. He looked over to Chas who leaned against the mantle next to him. “But it looks like someone already played that card to you. If for no other reason than just to amuse me, how do you plan to explain a relationship with this woman to the Eidolon council members? I can already assure you that none of them will think it a harmless liaison between two grown individuals.”

Corrigan sat in his chair across from Clarissa who looked most uncomfortable situated between his two sisters, their faces held similar expressions. He looked to his brother and answered.

“I’d say they can stuff it up their non-corporal asses.” Corrigan looked about the room, resting for a moment on each of their faces until he reached Chas’s grim expression. “Who I choose to associate with is none of their concern. I don’t dictate to anyone else, they shouldn’t feel inclined to make demands on me.” He watched as Chas looked away, glancing down at his wife, Helen, before focusing his attention on a particularly hot burning log in the fireplace.

“That’s all well and good, Corrigan,” spoke up the man reclining on the window seat. Trueman placed the book he was reading down on his lap. His sandy blonde hair was slightly out of part and he was wearing his reading glasses. He didn’t need them anymore, but old habits die hard, or not at all. In his case, the use of plain glass set inside his old frames made Trueman feel more normal, if such a thing were possible for their kind. Trueman continued. He was by far the more understanding of all the brothers.

“But you forget that you’re not a normal man and this woman, despite her most unique nature, is still one of them. They won’t allow this relationship to last. We are unnatural in their eyes and they wouldn’t want one of us to contaminate their perfect society.”

“That’s not true,” Clarissa interjected. “Not if I tell them the truth. Corrigan isn’t the monster they think he is.”

“And why would the Eidolon council believe you?” Chas asked with one hand fisted around the mantle, the other resting on the back of his wife’s chair. “What makes you think that any of them will believe that we aren’t soulless beasts? Even if you tell them differently, they already have it out for us. Your kind has always hated ours and they’d find any excuse to force us out of their city.”

“He’s right,” Debora agreed. With her hands folded in her lap, she turned to look at the ghost woman next to her.

It was still a little strange to find herself so close to one of her kind. Clarissa seemed so real sitting next to her and when Debora caught her making hesitant glances to her younger brother, she could see the colorless texture of her skin change, becoming more substantial as living flesh as if Corrigan’s very presence brought her out of her transparent and limited world. But she knew that others wouldn’t see this union as a blessing but rather a cruel blurring of the lines that had remained firmly intact up until now.

“As much as we’d like to see you and our baby brother together, it isn’t possible. It would put our family at risk.” Debora glanced down at Clarissa’s hands which were also folded in her lap.

“May I touch your skin?” Debora met Clarissa’s startled eyes which looked to Corrigan then back to her.

“Debora,” Corrigan said warningly. Debora shushed him away with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t be so overprotective, Corrigan. This young lady could easily knock me on my behind. I’m well aware that she can stand up to any foul beast that comes along.” A sly smile came into her eyes as she glanced over at Chas who was glaring at Ambrose who stood watching the scene play out between Debora and Clarissa. Ambrose made it a point to ignore his temperamental brother.

“Isn’t that correct, Chas?” Debora teased her brother. He didn’t comment, but instead glared even harder at his brother, Ambrose, who still continued to ignore him and his volatile thoughts.

“I don’t mind, Debora.” Clarissa lifted her hand so Corrigan’s sister could inspect her structure properly. Trueman might have been the scholar in his living days, but Debora had always had an inquisitive mind. She was more than a pretty doll on the arm of a man, she had a mind of her own that wanted to learn and absorb as much of the world as possible.

Debora touched the back of Clarissa’s hand, feeling for the first time the texture of a ghost. It was a very unique sensation to touch a creature that despite the otherworldly coating of flesh, felt just as tangible as any other human. Clarissa’s skin was cold to the touch. Her own flesh ran warm and moved with the strength of her victims which made an interesting contrast to the silent exterior of Clarissa’s body.

She made a prodding gesture to see if her finger would slip through the electrical layer of Clarissa’s skin. Corrigan made an agitated cough to get her attention. Deborah looked up to see her brother frowning most angrily at her.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t poke at her like she’s some kind of science experiment.”

“Sorry,” Deborah murmured, pulling back.

“Your hand won’t go through,” Clarissa explained. “Not unless I want it to. It’s how I can manipulate the physical world. But if I don’t concentrate or I’m being careless then tangible objects can pass through my system.”

It was then that Trueman decided to join his wife in scientific investigation of the other kind.

“Does your body absorb energy from the materials you interact with? Can you incorporate their energies into your own system or due to the nature of your anatomy does your body reject the corporal world?” Trueman came away from the window to stand behind the sofa.

Clarissa thought he had a very kind face with long sandy eyelashes that were even more pronounced by the glasses. Though she could see they were merely glass and not true lenses inside the frames. Clarissa could also see that he was the scholarly one in the family. His wife, Deborah, however wasn’t too far behind him in inquisitive nature.

“May I also see your hand, my dear?” Trueman inspected the delicate hand that was offered to him. He brought it close to his face to more closely study the chemical composition of her outer layering. He had always found ghosts to be a unique species in this world and he could clearly see that Clarissa was unique even within her own genus.

“As long as you don’t bite, I don’t mind,” Clarissa said to Trueman, intending only to tease him as she watched as he brought her hand ever closer to his mouth. He even sniffed her hand, his eyebrows drawing down in a look of puzzlement.

Corrigan was having about enough of his collective family member’s interpretation of Clarissa. Half of them wanted to slice her body up into little pieces and the other half would be more than happy to study those slivered bits of her to see how they worked. Clarissa was being more than amicable to people she had once deemed monsters and who took this moment to show how dysfunctional they could be in front of strangers.

As if sensing his brother’s agitation, Ambrose moved away from his spot by the fireplace. “I think that will do for our first family get together, don’t you think?” He came to stand just in front of the sofa.

Ambrose inclined his head in a manner long forgotten in this world. He placed a pleasant smile on his face for Clarissa. However, she could sense that he was feeling anything but pleasant thoughts inside. “I won’t ask to smell your hand,” he eyed Trueman darkly, who with a chuckle returned Clarissa’s hand back into her possession, “But I will ask, though, that you wait outside for a few minutes so that I might speak to my brother. I promise to return him to you.”

Clarissa gazed upon the person that all these people looked to for answers. In the short time she had been among them all she had the opportunity to see inside each of them. She had made it a point not to intrude too deeply, only learning the basic aspects of them. Ambrose was a man, despite his youthful and boyish face, who was not someone easily overcome. He couldn’t have remained in this world as long as he had without the kind of intelligence and inner strength that he possessed in abundance. If she could win him over, she might just have a chance at the rest of them.

“In one piece,” she said. Clarissa stood up from the sofa, finding her hand swiftly taken up by Ambrose’s heated hand. He bent down to place a kiss just above her knuckles before he pulled back, straightening. With a gentle pat to the back of her hand, he released it back to her.

“In one piece,” he quoted back to her.

Corrigan escorted her into the hallway where he took her down a ways until they reached an alcove in the wall. He sat her down on one of the wooden benches that lined the intricately decorated hallway. He gave her a waning smile as he left her to return to the pallor room.

As soon as she heard the door click Clarissa reached around to remove her back-pack. Inside a side zipper was a small compact cell phone that Maddy had given her the other day should she need to contact her or in case of some emergency. She wasn’t going to call Maddy though, she was calling Leah.

The outcome had looked grim with Candice loosing so much blood. If she had survived the night, it would be a miracle.

Clarissa held the cell phone to her ear as she listened to some punk rock song that she couldn’t distinguish before Leah finally picked up on her end. Before Leah could even answer with a customary ‘hello’, Clarissa was already asking how Candice was doing.

“She’s fine,” Leah said with a yawn. “As fine as anyone can be with a slashed throat. We’ve been staying close to her at the hospital to keep her with us.” Clarissa already knew that she meant her mother and grandmother. They were witches and with their own unique set of magick could likely be the difference between life and death for Candice Snow.

“Where are you, Clarissa?” Leah asked, suspicion coating her voice. “I know you’re not at home, I already called Mrs. Connors house. I think she knows what we were doing. She had this note in her voice that made me think she could read my mind. I didn’t tell them you were with me tonight, but they’re looking for you.”

There were several seconds of silence on both ends.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. You can’t have him,” Clarissa could hear Leah walking outside the hospital, could hear cars engines as they passed. “You may think you can make something out of this, but it won’t work. You’re not his kind Clarissa, you’re a bokor. It’s your job to destroy him, not love him.”

Leah was being too astute right now for her own good, or for Clarissa’s peace of mind. The truth of her words resonated throughout her system, but she pushed at it forcing it back into silence.

Clarissa could hear what she could only call controlled chaos coming from the pallor room. Through the heavy wooden door she heard Corrigan’s voice raging over the others then Chas’s and then finally the sound of something fragile breaking.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay Leah? Take care of Candice for us. I know you can do it.” Clarissa hung up the phone just as Leah started to say something else. She hadn’t given Leah much of a chance but she couldn’t tell her she’d crossed enemy lines, not yet at least. Not until she figured a few things out. But Leah already knew more than she should.

Inside the pallor room a tiny war raged.

“You jerk!” Margaret Ann bellowed at Chas who stood over the glass shards of what remained of one of her treasured antique mind expanding paraphernalia, a rare find all the way from India. She didn’t use it anymore and instead had set it up on the parlor mantle as an interesting decoration.

It was a real conversation piece.

She bent down to scoop up what was left. It was unsalvageable. “You’re going to pay for that,” she yelled as she launched herself at her brother.

Luckily for Chas, Xavier intervened as he grasped his wife about the waist and hulled her and her vicious teeth away from his brother. Holding her to him, he whispered soothing words into her ear. Her chest rose and feel with her deep breathes, but she allowed Xavier to hold her and calm her down.

“This is insane,” Chas shouted. “See what that bitch ghost is making us do? She’s turning us against one another. She’s trying to set us up, I know it.”

Corrigan went after his brother, ready to punch his lights out. If he said one more thing about Clarissa he was almost sure he would kill his brother. Ambrose stepped in to block him from his target.

“Everyone needs to calm down,” Maude commanded the room. Following her husband’s lead she stepped in front of Corrigan, blocking him from attacking Chas. She knew why Chas was behaving so appallingly toward Corrigan. Of all the brothers, he was closest to Corrigan and Chas felt that if Corrigan chose this woman it would mean an end to their bond.

“Corrigan,” she began once the room was quiet again. “You have to understand that this isn’t easy for us. Of all the women in the world, you had to choose her. You do make life difficult for yourself, don’t you?”

“I didn’t plan this,” Corrigan said through tight lips. What had he expected from all of them, warm welcomes, congratulations that he had finally found a reason to exist anymore? No, they had behaved like raging animals with gnashing teeth and claws.

“Then give us time to adjust and don’t expect more from us than we can give right now.”

Helen touched her husband’s shoulder, giving him a stern frown for his childish behavior. Just because he was hurt and upset didn’t give him the right to break Margaret Ann’s hookah pipe. She rather liked the thing. It was indeed a rather interesting conversation piece.

She moved away from him to stand next to Corrigan, placing a hand on his left bicep. “If she is what you want, then I’m happy for you Cor. No one deserves to share their existence with someone more than you.” Helen stepped back to stand next to her husband, giving his hand a swat when he tried to touch her. He was in for it later when they got home.

Corrigan was torn between hurting his family more and going after what he had secretly wanted all his life. He met his eldest brother’s sympathetic look. Even if Ambrose stepped in and made them decide, he knew it wouldn’t change his mind; or his heart.

“Go,” Ambrose said. He inclined his head to the closed door. “She’s waiting just outside the door. Your young woman already thought us monsters, now she has proof.” He turned his attention to each of his brothers and sisters. “If we can’t be civil amongst ourselves, what hope is there for anyone else to believe we’re not animals in disguise?”

Corrigan found Clarissa standing just outside the door, her face reading sad as she looked up at him. With one last look at his family, he followed her out into the hallway, closing the door securely behind him.

“They don’t like me, do they?”

He cupped her pale cheek before responding. “Give them time. They’ll come around to the idea.”

Clarissa gave him a tentative smile, but inside she had her doubts. The surer she was becoming of her own feelings for Corrigan, the surer she was that nothing could come of them.

Chapter 16-

“Is there a reason you chose an attic for a bedroom?” Clarissa remarked as she wandered around the surprisingly spacious above stairs attic in the main house.

They had gone to his room but not before they had the privilege to watch from the security of the far end of the long hallway as his family exited the parlor room, heading to their own homes and rooms. None looked to where Corrigan and Clarissa stood quietly watching, nor did any of them speak as they left the main house. Ambrose and Maude had chosen to remain inside the parlor. The door closed and locked in the wake of everyone’s departure.

Corrigan sat down heavily on his wrought iron bed in the corner. He watched warily as Clarissa took her time walking about his room, picking up objects as she passed them. He then noticed her back-pack which he’d seen she had tossed onto a wicker chair by his wooden chest near the end of the bed.

He reached for it just as Clarissa picked up a horse hair paint brush among many he kept in an old empty paint can. She studied it curiously as well as the stacked canvases he had leaning against the attic windows and along the floor. While she was distracted nosing about his room he thought to see what she would carry about in an old ratty looking back-pack.

“I don’t need a lot of space and I’ve never been one to get too attached to owning things,” he said, answering her question. His family had posed a similar question when he’d asked to have the attic instead of his own home on the complex. He’d declined the offer without really giving them a reason why.

Clarissa had packed some strange objects inside her back-pack including a box of matches and a set of colored candles. There were also some books on mythological creatures and what looked to him like a box of rocks. Then at the very bottom, wrapped in a bit of fabric was an object that stoked his curiosity.

Corrigan pulled back the fabric from the small swathed object revealing a tiny dagger with a blade several inches shorter in length than his hand. It didn’t look very menacing, nor could he imagine it causing much damage to an enemy. Pulling more of the fabric away he revealed the rest of it. He could see the detailed design on the handle had a macabre style, a tiny silver skull at the butt of the handle. An expletive forced its way out of his mouth.

He quickly dropped the tiny dagger wanting to get as far away from it as possible. It had been many, many years since he’d seen such a deadly dagger and it was all he could do not to throw the cursed thing into the ocean.

Clarissa heard the curse and turned in time to see Corrigan drop something onto the floor next to his bed. She saw the back-pack unzipped on the bed next to him and knew at once what he’d found inside it.

“What did you do?” she asked as she came to kneel on the floor reaching for the dagger that lay half way under the bed. Before she could grab it, though, he grasped her about the shoulders bringing her onto the bed next to him.

“What the hell are you doing with that thing?” he barked into her astonished face.

Clarissa looked up at him wide-eyed, surprised by his sudden anger. “I found it in Mrs. Connor’s house. She had it lying on a bit of velvet inside a case. Did it hurt you? You shouldn’t go through other people’s things without asking.”

He shook her, for a moment not caring if he hurt her. “Who is this Mrs. Connors and what is she? Does she have others like it?”

“Corrigan,” she said, trying not to get angry by his harsh treatment of her. “Stop squeezing my arms.” She was pleased when he loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Mrs. Connors is the woman I’m staying with until the community finishes my house. She’s one of the S.S. and I don’t know if there are other ones like it. It’s the only one I found in the case.”

“Do you know what it is?” he questioned, watching her closely to see if she was lying.

Clarissa shook her head.

He grumbled several more unflattering words while he bent down and retrieved the dagger from the floor. Holding it carefully by the handle, using the bit of fabric to keep from touching it with his skin, he showed it to her.

“This little dagger is about the only thing in this world that can put me back in my grave,” he said calmly, though she could see by the set of his mouth and the bitter edge to his eyes that he wasn’t feeling very calm at the moment. “This is an instrument of death, not just to me, but to every paranormal infestation on this planet. That includes you as well.”

Clarissa touched the silver handle where the deathly grinning skull looked up at her. The moment she touched its handle it began to warm beneath her fingers, causing Corrigan to drop it again, fisting his hands as if he’d hurt himself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand to see if the dagger had done any damage to his skin. Holding his palm out to inspect the skin, she noticed a dark blistering over his inner wrist. She knew the dagger hadn’t touched him there, but all the same she could see the outline of a skull on the tanned skin.

Clarissa rubbed her thumb over the spot, hoping to soothe the burn with her cooler skin. Looking up she caught his intense stare.

“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” he said gravely.

She shook her head, bringing his wrist to her mouth where she placed a gently kiss over his wrist. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Corrigan. I think I’m beginning to understand you now and I couldn’t possibly let you back into the grave until I fully figure you out.”

She made a mischievous smile before she playfully bit his wrist. A laugh was forced out of him despite his resolve to remain angry. Clarissa was glad to see he wasn’t always so moody and that if given the right push could step out from under that cloak of despair that he always wore.

He brushed his thumb over her smiling bottom lip and she couldn’t help but open her mouth and bit him again. Corrigan didn’t seem to mind and instead of pulling back at the bite he held his thumb still as if enjoyed her teeth on his skin.

Clarissa licked away the teeth marks she had placed on his thumb before pulling back. She had never before had the urge to bite someone. She wasn’t the one who was known for biting people, he was. However, for some reason she had the purely sinful idea of taking little bites of his delicious warm flesh all over him.

Corrigan’s iridescent blue eyes held a spark of something that she couldn’t quite put a name to. It was a look of passion and of longing for something he wasn’t quite sure should be his. It poured into eyes, windows into the soul of a man who rarely glimpsed the light of happiness.

Clarissa felt a strong pull inside her chest where her heart had once beat. With him near it almost felt like it did. She knew it was his heart that beat so strongly, could hear it as it made its rhythmic cadence. It beat for him and it beat for her; it beat for them.

He took her hand, placing it just over his chest where the pounding of his heart seemed to actually beat instead of lull inside his chest cavity. For her it would beat; forever if need be. Her fingers touched the warm skin where his shirt was left unbuttoned and at her touch he felt that light inside grow ever more.

She gazed at her fingers as they made contact with what she now knew was the missing piece of herself. It was a startling revelation, but with it brought a breath of terror to steal up her spine warning her that all this could easily be taken away.

Unable to stop himself, Corrigan leaned down and placed a hesitant kiss on her slightly parted lips. Unlike the harsh and punishing kiss he’d given her before, this one was meant to soothe her as well as himself. She was a danger to him as much as he was to her, but when his lips were on hers and the light of her immortal soul swept through him all that was forgotten; for a time.

Several minutes later a scratch was heard coming from the far wall and was followed by the appearance of a large black head. It poked its way through the hinged door in the wall, its red penetrating eyes staring at the couple on the bed.

Corrigan pulled back at the sound, turning to watch his dog, Archú, as he padded over on his large black paws to sit on his hind legs at their feet. The dog tilted its head, an intelligent gleam in its red eyes as it studied Clarissa.

Clarissa and the black dog watched each other as if sizing one another up. She had never seen such an animal and knew that it wasn’t any ordinary black dog. No dog had eyes like this one and its massive paws were likely as big around as her face.

Corrigan said something to the dog in a language she didn’t understand. At once the dog plopped down on its black stomach, its head resting on its enormous paws that had razor sharp claws that could easily slice through bone. It made a deep whining sound in its throat, but remained on the floor.

“What kind of dog is that?” It continued to watch her closely as if trying to figure her out. It opened its mouth to yawn and she got a good look at its deadly set of vicious looking teeth.

“He’s a black dog,” Corrigan answered as he reached for a tin of dog biscuits he kept in an old night stand by the bed. One of the legs was broken and a stack of books kept it level on the floor.

Throwing a treat to the dog for his good behavior in front of a stranger, Clarissa watched as the dog leapt to his feet, catching the biscuit in his mouth. He then trotted off to a pile of horse blankets in the corner where he flopped down and went to sleep.

Putting the tin back in the drawer he caught Clarissa watching the dog as it slept in the corner. He had to keep the biscuits hidden or Archú would eat the entire container making him sick.

“They originated in Northern England,” he said, knowing she was curious to know more about his pet. “People thought that if you made contact with one of them you would be struck dumb and die. He’s pretty friendly though as long as you feed him regularly. He comes to mooch off me from time to time. There’re few left of them in the world and I only know of two wandering around the State of Florida.”

“Really, who owns the other one?” Except for those glowing red eyes and the fact that he was by far the largest breed of dog she had ever seen, he was very well behaved, maybe even cute.

Clarissa had seen on the blood red collar around his furry neck, the name Corrigan had given him engraved on a plate in the shape of a tombstone. Archú, it was a name that translated as Hound of Slaughter. It was an appropriate name for a flesh-eater to give his dog and an accurate name for a black dog.

“Why the devil himself,” Corrigan answered with a devilish smile.

“You’re kidding, right?” Clarissa didn’t believe for a moment that Corrigan knew Lucifer or that the man owned the only other black dog in Florida. But then there was a look in his eyes that made her wonder if he was being entirely serious. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Corrigan yawned, his eyes becoming misty in his effort to remain awake. Unlike her species his body required that he sleep as much as twelve hours to keep in top shape. It was coming on dawn, the sky streaked with oranges and pinks. From the cracked and open attic window, they could hear the lull of the waves as they crashed against the nearby shore.

“You’re falling asleep on me,” she chided him as she caught him blinking rapidly.

He shook his head to clear the fog of Morpheus’s pull into the dream world. Yawning again, he brushed his hand against hers as she let it fall on the bed between them. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, stroking the back of her hand absently. “Let’s just say it has been a long night.”

“I won’t mind if you lay down for bit,” Clarissa encouraged him, pushing at his shoulders to get him to move. His bed was too small for his size and as he spread out onto the dark green comforter his feet and several inches of his legs stuck out the end.

He lay on his back, his eyes closed and his handsome face looking peaceful in its repose. With what little space wasn’t taken up by his body, Clarissa managed to find a spot next to him near his head. Taking his hand within hers, she touched the tender mark where the skin was raised in the shape of a gruesome skull. She’d make sure to put the deadly weapon somewhere safe and away from him.

His breathing slowed as his heart rate dropped even more. It was a beautiful moment watching Corrigan as he slept and he seemed easy enough with letting her be so close to him especially when he was most vulnerable. Her kind never slept, they could rest but it was not the same as true sleep. Clarissa would give anything to lie next to Corrigan and drift into the magical world of dreams.

“Will you dream of me when I’m gone, Corrigan?” She asked as she stroked his midnight colored hair off his forehead. She bent down and whispered in his ear. “Will you make me real in your dreams; make me flesh and blood like you?”

Corrigan frowned in his sleep, his closed eyes scrunching at the corners. “You’re more than real to me, Clarissa. You’re my very soul.” And with that he turned toward the wall and drifted further into an unconscious sleep.

Clarissa held her hand over her chest, savoring the effect he had on her as she gazed down at this most unusual man. A sad smile hovered over her mouth, a single tear slipping from her blue eyes. “And you are my eternal heart.”

She tenderly squeezed his bicep as she pulled away coming to stand at the side of his bed. “Sleep well, Corrigan.”

Finding a scrap of paper, she made a hasty and quite embarrassing note for Corrigan to find when he woke. She tucked it securely under a pretty vase, hoping he’d see it.

Clarissa walked to the attic window, the light already streaming through the glass, illuminating the sparsely decorated interior that was Corrigan’s room. The light hit her skin just so causing a prism effect creating the illusion of rainbows floating over her body.

Opening the window more, she turned to look one last time at the sleeping man on the bed in the corner. He would be out for hours and as his day was drawing to a close hers was just beginning.

She slipped out the window, finding her feet on the window sill before jumping down to the balcony below. Moving with a fluidity borne of her kind she stepped off the rail, landing softly on the ground. Securing her back-pack over her shoulder she looked up at the quiet house then at the other smaller homes around her. They were all likely in their beds fast asleep. If she listened hard enough she could hear the tell-tale signs of male snoring and someone swatting the culprit with a soft object, a pillow most likely.

With a soft sigh, she walked through the LeMoyne complex. In the light of day it was a most beautifully manicured property. Large blooming trees and perfumed plants were placed about the lawn in just the right amount and in the perfect location that made her think a professional had worked here. There were even several water features throughout the property, the gravel pathways that promoted strolling and daydreaming.

In the next instant she removed herself from the flesh-eaters property to the recently awakened streets of downtown St. Augustine. The stores had yet to open and only an occasional living or ghost passed by her.

“Where have you been?” a female voice barked harshly in Clarissa’s ear before she felt herself being pulled into a nearby shop.

Eleanor pulled Clarissa into one of the more touristy shops that sold the sorts of items that visitors to the Florida coast bought up instantly. A plethora of locally made nick-knacks that satisfied the heat-stroked, sun-burned Northerners while divesting them of their hard-earned money on what might later be considered useless tourist junk; then again maybe not.

“Have you lost your mind?” Eleanor continued to rant. “Where have been all night? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She made an agitated swat at her curly blonde locks, glaring angry at Clarissa. “I thought to stop by early this morning at the house, but you weren’t there. Apparently you’ve not been home all night. What in God’s name were you doing all night? Where could you have disappeared to so easily? I swear…”

“Stop,” Clarissa commanded, shaking Eleanor a little to get her to shut-up for a second. “Just stop,” she repeated, taking a step back and watching as Eleanor calmed herself down. Her mouth set in a firm line as she managed to expel the last of her pent up energy.

“I’m fine, Eleanor. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself. Why is everyone so damn concerned about where I go and what I do? It’s my afterlife and I can choose for myself how I want to live it.”

“There was another attack last night,” Eleanor said, running her hands along her cool arms. “It happened sometime in the early hours of the morning. Candice Snow, do you remember her? She was sitting just in front of us at the meeting on Friday.”

“I remember her, yes.” Clarissa didn’t add that she already knew about the attack, she’d seen the aftermath of it herself. “Is she alright?”

“It’s terrible,” Eleanor continued, her eyes staring out the storefront window. “Her sister was just killed not that long ago and here she is minding her own business, not hurting anyone and they come after her too. It’s horrific what those creatures are doing to our community.”

“But she is doing better now, right?” Clarissa hedged the question.

Eleanor nodded, her face still bleak “Leah Moon found her. I don’t know what that girl was thinking being out on the streets at night, but in this case I’m actually glad she wasn’t following the rules. The ambulance was brought in time, but that doesn’t mean she’s out the woods yet. Her throats been horribly mangled and they’re worried about infection. Leah and her mother and grandmother are staying with her at the hospital to keep her with us, but even with their combined efforts I don’t think it will be enough.”

“What has the council said about this?” Clarissa could see the worry in Eleanor. She very much liked the living woman and her death would be a tragic blow to her. “Do they have suspects in mind?”

Eleanor turned to give Clarissa a hard look. “Suspects,” she bit out harshly. “Of course they have suspects. Those animals across the bridge are the only ones capable of such an attack on us. You know that. The council has finally seen the light and they’ve found what we need to stop them, permanently.”

That bitter breath of fear stole its way up Clarissa’s spine, setting her senses on high alert. If Eleanor meant what she suspected she meant by that statement then she was sure the beautiful world she had created in her mind would collapse upon itself.

“What do you mean when you say permanently?” Clarissa asked the question, not letting Eleanor read more into it than as simple curiosity.

Eleanor’s very demeanor changed from just a moment ago, her eyes seemed to sparkle in hate, her anger overriding any compassion for the creatures that had harmed a close friend of hers. She had already made up her mind about them, as almost all of them had. Clarissa regretted her own false presumptions about the other kind. Even though the beast inside them rode hard on their senses, there was still a measure of humanity in them that let them find love and friendship. Clarissa was learning that there was more to the LeMoyne family than the savage predators that the world perceived them to be.

“The council members have found a death dealer, a bokor” Eleanor said those words like they’d found a great treasure in the ocean or a divine savior from above. Those words raced through Clarissa’s system like battery acid, leaving complete destruction in its wake.

It was ironic that the very thing she had been searching for the past few days was the last thing she wanted now. Then a thought occurred to her. Who had they found, surely it wasn’t her? No one knew, except Leah. Leah couldn’t have blabbed.

“Who,” Clarissa asked the nail-biting question. “Where did they find this person?”

“I don’t know what his name is or where they dredged him up from. Some swamp I would imagine. All that matters, though, is that we’ve got the tools to exterminate these creatures from our city. Isn’t that wonderful, Clarissa?”

No.

“Yes,” she lied. “That’s wonderful news.”

His name, she’d said, not her name. Then the council members didn’t know her secret. Then who could this male death bokor be? And why after all these years would the council members suddenly find him? Corrigan, his very existence was at stake.

She couldn’t allow him or his family to be punished for a crime she was almost certain they hadn’t committed. She’d been in their home, inside the belly of the beast, and seen inside the nature of these otherworldly creatures. No rules had been broken, at least not by them. But the council members wouldn’t see it that way.

“Clarissa, what’s the matter? Why do you have an odd look about you, your colors are changing so fast.” Eleanor made a motion to reach out and touch her, but Clarissa pulled back at the last second. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Her expression read deep suspicion.

Clarissa stole herself from answering; she couldn’t tell Eleanor the truth. Eleanor had already made up her mind against Corrigan and his family and if she told her that she’d found her other half in a monster, she’d think she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

“Nothing,” Clarissa said instead. “I’m going home now. I’ll see you later, okay?”

She was out the door before Eleanor could utter a reply. Clarissa knew Eleanor was only looking out for her. She’d been so worried when she couldn’t find her at Mrs. Connors house. And at any other time, she might have been glad that someone she’d only known for a short while could already care for her that much. She was fast thinking of Eleanor as a good friend, but it didn’t make her right about the others.

Clarissa had to find a way to stop the council members from putting their dog out on the hunt for the LeMoynes. Not until she found the truth to prove them innocent or guilty of the murder crimes against the S.S. and the Eidolon community at large. But would they give her the chance to plead their case?

The terrible lump in her stomach told her they wouldn’t care one whit what she had to think.

Chapter 17-

Clarissa walked in the front door of Mrs. Connors house expecting the house to be empty. It wasn’t though. Maddy, she heard by another phone call from Leah, was spending the morning at the hospital. Leah had once again told her how crazy she was for even contemplating shacking up with a flesh-eater then letting her know that Candice was doing better. She was scheduled for surgery the following morning to piece her throat back together.

The television was on in the family room. Going through the kitchen, Clarissa found Jackson lounging on the couch eating a bowl of cereal, a ripe banana sitting atop his shaggy blonde head. Watching the morning news from a small television set in the corner of the room, he looked like he was nesting, stretched out on the sofa, books and magazines and several bags of snacks on the coffee table beside him.

Jackson gestured a non-verbal hello with his over sized spoon, his mouth too full of snack cakes to actually speak.

“What are you doing here?” Clarissa questioned him, coming into the room. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

He shook his head, swallowing at the same time. “No,” he finally said. “Sick,” he uttered before shoveling in a spoonful of sugar coated cereal flakes.

Clarissa looked at him closely, a frown on her face. “You don’t look very sick to me. What is it that you have?”

Twisting the top off a half gallon of milk he downed half the contents in about a minute and a half. Making a satisfied swipe over his mouth he gave her a grin that more than likely made young naïve girls’ hearts flutter in their chests. “I got this fever,” he put a hand to his forehead, making a pitiful face, “And my chest feels congested. You know that commercial with the tiny green mucus people? Like that, they’re having a party in my chest.”

Clarissa wasn’t convinced. “So why are you really here?” she queried with a knowing sigh.

Jackson looked to the television, watching the news program and taking his time formulating a response. Clarissa took his silence as a clue. Finding a seat in the recliner next to the couch she waited patiently for him to come up with an answer, truth or otherwise.

“You know my grandmother is at the hospital. There was some kind of attack on an S.S. member; not sure who. But she went to visit.” He stuffed another snack cake in his mouth.

“I know.” She was amazed he stayed so fit with the junk she was watching him stuff inside his mouth. But she guessed he didn’t eat like this all the time. “Leah called me and told me your grandmother went over there early this morning. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. If you’re really sick, why aren’t you home?”

Jackson reached for the bag of chips on the floor, but Clarissa was quicker stealing them away in one swift movement. He frowned at her as she sat back and opened the bag. Taking one, she popped the salty treat into her mouth.

“Stop stuffing your face and tell me what’s going on.” Clarissa took another chip into her mouth. Jackson sure had good taste in junk food, these were delicious. She was tempted to eat the whole bag herself.

“It’s nothing I can’t deal with on my own,” he muttered. Reaching for another bag on the coffee table he pulled it open, digging in to grab a handful of cheesy goodness.

They sat there for several more minutes, eating junk food and watching the news. Clarissa didn’t know this young man very well. But he was Leah’s friend and if he was struggling inside. She wanted to help, be an impartial ear.

“You have a banana on your head,” she told him around a mouthful of chips.

Taking the banana from his head he threw it across the room where it made a soft crash into the television before falling on the hardwood floor in limp silence. “I hate them so much right now.” Jackson crushed the bag in his hands, crushing the delicate puffs into tiny crumbs. “They just don’t get that I’m not like them. That I don’t want to be anything like them.”

He kicked the coffee table, coming up off the couch to prowl about the family room. Jackson stalked back and forth across the floor in front of Clarissa, for a minute not remembering she was there.

“Who are you talking about, Jackson?” she asked quietly.

He kicked the coffee table again causing it to tilt precariously on two legs for a second before settling down on all feet. It wasn’t like him to get angry, but today felt like an exception to the rule. He deserved to be pissed at the people who were supposed to profess unconditional love for their only child. However, their love came with a complimentary book of bylaws and prerequisites; rules and requirements that Jackson couldn’t live up to anymore.

Yesterday had been fine. Today everything had gone to hell.

“Those stupid jack-asses that call themselves my parents,” he barked. Turning to look down at Clarissa in the recliner, he saw one of the few people who probably understood where he was coming from. She was different too. Leah had told him about her before they’d gone out to the movies the other night, saying that the Eidolon people were keeping a close eye on her. She couldn’t go anywhere without one of them tailing her. She was an oddity they couldn’t quite figure out and in his parent’s eyes so was he.

“You know what they said to me?” She gave him one of those sympathetic head shakes. “They said they were tired of all the paranormal nonsense I’ve been letting rot my mind. They told me I should get into my head that all this is make-believe bullshit and that I need to make some real decisions about my future.”

Clarissa could see the anguish in Jackson’s face. He wanted more than anything to be an S.S. member. More than that, he wanted his parents to understand that he was different from other kids his age; that he would never be normal. His gifts were strong, like his grandmother.

Maddy had made a comment to her before, saying that Jackson’s parents preferred their own fast-paced and interesting lives over paying attention to their growing son. They loved him; they just didn’t get his eccentricities.

“I’m sorry they feel that way, Jackson. But you have to see this from their perspective. Your parents don’t get our world. If they can’t see it or analyze it under their strict parameters they’ve set for the world then it can’t possibly be real.”

“That’s not it, Clarissa.” He raked his hands through his hair. “The problem with them is that they know it’s real, they just don’t want to believe it. They think that if they ignore it all then it can’t hurt them. And God forbid that I would want to follow my crack-pot grandmother into that crazy secret society of ghost freaks.”

Jackson went to sit on the couch, his head bent over between his knees. “I see you, Clarissa,” he whispered. “I see them all. I can’t change what I see or pretend they don’t exist. I can’t just move away from it. As if going to a new town would make the specters and other supernatural creatures go away. It won’t. You people are all over the place. I won’t change into what they want me to be and I refuse to ignore what is in my blood.”

“So they want you to go away to school, hoping your grandmother’s influence will wash away over time.” He nodded. “Believe it or not, Jackson, you’re parents do love you. And can you blame them from steering you away from a society whose members are being murdered right and left?” He shook his head, no. “But they’re not right about us or you. I wouldn’t mind if you joined with the S.S. I can already see you’ve acquired some of your grandmother’s talents.”

Jackson grinned down at the floor before reaching his right hand out toward the squashed banana on the floor. It brought itself to his hand like two magnets exerting a pull on each other. He offered her the banana.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You can’t suppress that kind of gift. It would be wrong.” Clarissa took the banana, it wasn’t too badly damaged. Peeling away the slightly blackened skin she took a bite of it.

Jackson looked up, catching her eating the banana. She’d been so comfortable eating real food in front of him. He’d been surprised at first. The other night when she’d taken a sip of Leah’s soda he’d thought he’d been seeing things. Ghosts couldn’t interact with objects from the living world like that. It wasn’t heard of.

“Then why do you suppress yours,” he questioned, seeing it caught her off guard. Pulling the banana away from her mouth, she shrugged her shoulders. “What? You don’t know or you’re not going to tell me.”

Clarissa glanced at the television set. It made her wonder about something. “Do you think last night’s attack will be covered on the news?”

“No,” he said, following her line of vision to the tiny television set. “The councilmember’s make it a point to keep stories about us and you out of the papers and television media coverage. They likely already paid out a hefty chunk to keep the murders under wrap. There’s nothing worse for business in this town than tourists fearing for their lives from supernatural creatures.”

“I guess you’re right. The media people would turn it into some huge story on increase crime in the area. Then no one would want to vacation here.”

“And back to that whole, ‘You can’t suppress your gifts’ statement,” Jackson interjected, cleverly bringing the conversation back on point.

“You’re not going to let me out of that one, are you?” He shook his head, leaning back on the couch to watch her closely. He was a very determined young man, she thought. Sometimes that was a good quality, sometimes it didn’t work out so well.

Jackson watched as Clarissa fidgeted with her sleeve. Seeing her for the first time, he’d thought nothing of her. She’d looked like any normal ghost, rather pale almost colorless skin. They had a slightly translucent quality to their skin but they were not without substance. You couldn’t see through them, but you knew they weren’t exactly of this world.

Clarissa could be considered unassuming. That was her disguise and that was what made her deadly. They wouldn’t see her coming, because most would have already written her off as a nice looking young woman. Jackson knew better, better than most. He didn’t know what she was in the ghost world, but whatever she was called it came with a hefty toll.

“Your gifts are good. I already see that in you,” she began. “You’d never hurt anybody or let someone else be hurt by your actions.”

“And you think your gifts aren’t good.” He came to the conclusion easily. Clarissa was afraid of her own gifts. Somewhere deep inside she believed that there was a measure of evil, darkness.”

She shook her head in agreement. “My gifts aren’t good, not for anybody. I can hurt people. And I don’t want to do that.”

Jackson thought for a minute, putting her deadly gifts in perspective. “What if you use your gifts against those that deserved to have their lives ended? Wouldn’t that be a good gift, saving innocent lives by getting rid of the bad apples?”

“It’s not that simple.”

Jackson made a groan at that statement, rolling his head back on the couch. “Why do people always use that as an excuse to get out of dealing with their problems?”

Clarissa frowned, turning away to look at the books along the shelf next to her.

His arms spread wide he assessed this troubled young woman. Using the gifts Clarissa believed were good and helpful to the world, he delved deep inside her inner soul looking for clues to make sense of her. What he found made a mockery of his earlier assumptions about her.

Clarissa felt that probing inside her, stronger than when Richard had tried to do the same. This time she was aware what was going on and thought to simply block him out. But a secret voice inside her told her she needed to teach him not to try this method of investigation again. With her face impassive and still staring at the bookshelf, she held their connection, a line of energy binding them together. With a swift tug on her end she wrenched at his soul bringing it dangerously close to the surface.

Jackson instantly felt the pull. That feeling as if his muscles had completely relaxed and he could barely feel his extremities, a light fog seemed to coat his entire senses until he thought that he was barely holding on to his body by a thread. It was a peaceful experience, one meant for daydreaming. And he knew, having this knowing feeling, in that moment that if he let the thread pull farther away he’d never want to return.

Clarissa let go, allowing Jackson’s soul to snap back into his body like a taut rubber band that’s been cruelly released. It reverberated throughout his system, raising his heart rate and causing his eyes to tear up at the corners. His soul was very flexible and not easily broken, but it still hurts a body when someone messes around with it.

“Shit,” Jackson expelled the crude word on a breathy whisper. “Remind me again not to do that.” He touched his sides, feeling them for injury. There weren’t any. As anyone who knows, the torturing of the soul leaves no visible markings. While the pain can become excruciating for the victim the physical results, if there are any, can be written off as any other illness or common diseases.

“I told you, my gifts aren’t good.” Clarissa replied after several seconds of watching Jackson catch his breath. She bit her bottom lip, staring down at her hands, hands of destruction. “My gifts are meant to destroy. It’s what I am.”

“I know. I felt it.” He brushed his hand over his forehead, wiping at the sheen of sweat that had formed over the smooth tanned skin. Bringing it away, he looked down to see that mixed in with the clear liquid were the swirls of his own blood.

“And he knows, doesn’t he?” Jackson made the statement all the while still looking at the evidence of her gifts on his fingers.

“What?” Clarissa couldn’t believe what she was hearing from him. She had thought she’d extracted him from her inner self before he could see too deeply or guess at what she had to hide.

“I saw him,” Jackson said. “I see him even now, now that I know what I’m looking at. I don’t know who he is, but I know he’s like you except reversed. He’s who you’re supposed to hate. This man, who has given his energy to make you whole and I see the evidence of his work reflected on your skin and in your soul. He knows what you are and he knows what that means.”

A flash of sympathy flashed across Jackson’s face as he tilted his head and saw her for what she was. “You care for him and you’re afraid that you’ll be forced to choose between keeping him and doing what’s in your blood to do.” A bitter tinged chuckle escaped his mouth.

“And I thought I had issues, but you my friend you win the eff’d up prize for today. Here,” he handed her a snack cake from an open box on the coffee table. “You need this more than I do.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the cream filled cake. Opening the transparent wrapping she popped the whole cake in her mouth. Talking around the food in her mouth she continued. “We’re a pretty melodramatic pair, aren’t we? Sorry about that thing I did, you got to be careful around me. I’m a little dangerous at times.”

“You’re telling me, you’re like a femme fatal or something,” he scoffed. “Let’s be clear about all this.” Jackson leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees. “What are you exactly and who is this guy you’re obviously heart-struck for and is apparently in the same precarious position with you? You know you haven’t even been in this city a week and already everyone knows who you are? And I think you and I both know your name isn’t brought up to compliment your stylish fashion choices. By the way, is that my old back-pack?”

Clarissa glanced down at the ratty old back-pack she’d put on the floor near the recliner. “Yeah, is it,” she answered. “You left it here and I thought I could borrow it. It’s really not so worn out. I just had to put a safety pin in one of the straps and I used a pair of tweezers to bend back the broken zipper teeth. And the worn frayed part on the front pocket could be covered with a decal sticker or a stitch on patch. Really there’s a lot you could do to spiff it up and make it almost new again.”

“Is that a thing you do all the time?” Jackson criticized with a half grin. “Steering people away from uncomfortable conversations all the while making people think you’re that nice simple human woman who’s always apologizing for things. I’m sorry that’s not going to work for me. Don’t forget I’ve already seen that dark spot inside you.”

“Then if you know, then you know why I make such a point not to show it.” She rubbed her hands on the soft fabric of her skirt. “I have to try extra hard to remember not to use my gifts. Most of it I don’t even understand, nor do I want to find out. Corrigan only see’s the good in me, he thinks he’s evil inside and that I’m nothing but pure goodness. But he’s wrong. Inside me is that dark spot that I fear will consume me if I let it. He may be a monster, but so am I.”

“Wait,” Jackson interrupted. “You said his name is Corrigan?” He was actually flabbergasted at hearing that name and the fact that it was linked to Clarissa.

“Yes,” she answered tentatively, trying to figure out where he was going with the question. The LeMoyne family was well known to those close to the Eidolon, but rarely did anyone know of their personal names. A name gave them a measure of humanity and most of the citizens, living or dead in the old city wouldn’t give the creatures from the island the dignity.

“Wow, the world is indeed turning itself over on its side.” Jackson shook his head, almost not believing that Corrigan LeMoyne had finally fallen over the edge. The poor guy, he truly knew how to pick them. You’d think he and Clarissa would be about as compatible as a snake and mongoose.

“How do you know Corrigan?” Jackson had a lot of friends in the area. Clarissa already knew that he was a likeable guy. But she still found it hard to think of Jackson and Corrigan ever crossing paths let alone getting to know each other’s names. Corrigan wasn’t the mostly friendly on first time meetings.

“Actually, he saved my life.” Jackson leaned back again against the couch as he thought back to that night. He’d been out with his friends, hanging out in the Orlando area trying to figure out what to do on a Saturday night with one car, too little money and too young to get into any of the clubs.

“Some guys and I were walking by some stores along the OBT late one night. This was about three years ago.” At Clarissa’s raised eyebrows he pointed out the fact that he’d been young and stupid. “We were bored and wanted to see what a real prostitute looked like. Trust me, they’re not so well preserved standing out in the Florida sun. Anyway, there were a couple of older guys tailing us and they probably thought we were an easy target, well dressed and too stupid to know better than to hang around drug dealers and prostitutes.”

Jackson scratched his forehead, a sardonic smile on his mouth. “I can’t believe I was that young and naïve. The biggest one got one of my friends; he was about a year younger than I. The first thing they wanted was his wallet. But they were as bored as we were and thought they might have a little fun with us before they let us go.”

“I didn’t see him at first. It kind of freaks me out how he moves like he’s not really there. One minute there’s just a shadow between the lights and the building and then there’s Corrigan. He didn’t know who I was, but I guess he figured we weren’t buddies with the two thugs. It wasn’t pretty and I bet their family thinks they got shot on some bum deal.”

“He didn’t speak to any of us, just hauled the guys off behind one of those huge tourist T-shirt shops. I guess he was saving them until he could get rid out the ‘scared shit-less’ kids. Then he came back and told us that he didn’t want to see our scrawny asses anywhere near this place again.”

“He was right to warn you away. You could have been really hurt.” Clarissa gave Jackson a peeved look. “I can only imagine that your parents or grandmother were blissfully unaware you were out by yourself, so far away from home.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But what really confused me was that I knew what he was. I’ve been told my whole life that his kind is evil and that I shouldn’t be caught near one of them. I couldn’t figure out how something that’s supposed to be a monster would care about a couple of kids getting attacked. He didn’t know us and yet he’d saved our lives.”

“That’s Corrigan,” Clarissa said with a knowing smile. “He’s a complete contradiction to the norm.”

“That’s why I had to know more about him. But it’s hard to track down one of them. They don’t exactly like living company. I got lucky, though, when I stumbled upon him walking the beach one night with this huge black dog. It was really bizarre. It had these red eyes that looked at me and I swear it could predict my own death.”

Clarissa nodded her head in understanding; the dog was a little off putting at first. Then again, Corrigan had that same quality about him as well. It took a second to get past the eyes then once you did you couldn’t help but find him adorable.

“Yes, that’s Corrigan’s favorite spot. It’s his thinking area.”

“He didn’t want to talk to me at first, told me several times to get my ass home. But I was persistent and he finally caved. He told me who he was and that he and his family lived on Anastasia Island, that they owned commercial real-estate and said that I had a real shot at sales. He thought I had the gift to make a saint yearn to fall into sin and a sinner pine for redemption, whatever that means.”

“Jackson,” Clarissa said his name, a questioning note in her voice. She leaned forward in the recliner, resting her elbows on her knees. “Would you think I’m insane if I told you I don’t think the LeMoyne’s are responsible for all the deaths in this city?”

Jackson scratched his forehead absently, thinking for a second. “No,” he finally answered. “But everyone else would. It’s like this. The wolves eat the sheep in the fields. If the shepherd finds his sheep slaughtered in the pen, he’s not going to scratch his head and wonder who’s responsible. It’s always going to be the wolf.”

“What if it’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing,” Clarissa suggested, using the variation on the well known fairytale. Everyone always expected the wolf to present themselves in the disguise of innocent sheep. But what if the fluffy white creature had decided it wanted to play the monster?

“That’s an interesting turn of thought, but there’s a problem with that theory.” Jackson reached for a small envelope on the table. It was half concealed under the box of snack cakes. He pulled it out, extending it across the table to Clarissa.

“In the end the wolves are still wolves, evil monsters to the end. And the shepherd will always protect his sheep no matter how stupid or devious the powder-puff creatures are. Someone left that for you early this morning.”

Clarissa took the envelope from Jackson, seeing the gold curving letters on the outside. At once she knew it was from them; the council members. Pulling back the adhesive tab on the back she pulled out the thick white card stock.

‘You’re cordially invited…’ it read in bold thick lettering on the white card stock. Two weeks from now Clarissa, along with other fortunate members of the advisory council would be sitting in the dining room of one Cyrus Cercopoly. The esteemed host and his compatriots would sit down to a fine meal prepared by a guest chef flown in from Dallas. Then all would adjourn to the stark and coldly designed salon where they would discuss ‘community affairs’.

Clarissa was suspicious of having been asked to join the advisory council after only spending a few days in the city. Those who were previously asked had resided in St. Augustine for decades, some of them longer than Clarissa had been alive. The council’s graciousness held her in suspicion of their secretive nature. The few encounters with The Four had led her to believe that each kept secrets from the community and from each other. In the world of politicians these ghosts were the norm.

Chapter 18-

“What are going to wear for the dinner?” Eleanor asked as they sat in her sitting area up in her rooms. Boxes were stacked all over the floor and even more were piled on her bed in the other room. Lizzy had sent them over along with a note saying that she would be happy to be her go to designer when she traveled with the Eidolon council.

Clarissa stood by the window, her shoulder resting against the glass. It was getting colder outside. An unexpected but most appreciative cold front had deemed to push on through the barrier and bring extreme cold weather to the Sun Shine State. It would be the first cold snap of the season. But it wouldn’t last long.

The sun was leaving the city again and the wash of night could already be seen in the evening sky. Clarissa watched as the colors changed, thinking.

It had been a week and half now since Candice Snow had been attacked on the streets of downtown St. Augustine. She was recovering well, unfortunately she remembered very little of that night.

And in that time much had changed. Jackson had been right. A wolf was and always would be a wolf no matter how adorable and sweet they were. And she was forced to keep her wolf a secret from the rest because of it. Only her two human friends knew the truth.

“Clarissa, are you in the same room with me?” Eleanor invaded her musings.

Turning around she brushed at her hair, giving her ghost friend an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

Eleanor held up the dress in her lap. “What do you think of this one?” She held up a rose colored cocktail dress that looked like something worn by ladies in the nineteen fifties. “Retro is so in right now. I think this color would look absolutely beautiful with your coloring.” Placing the dress on the arm of the couch beside her she reached across the table and picked up one of the smaller boxes. “There are shoes to match as well. What do you think?” She put the shoes over the dress trying to see the effect without actually having them on a human body.

Clarissa fingered the delicate satin, liking it very much. She wondered what Corrigan would think of her if he saw her in this number. He wasn’t very up on fashion. He’d probably think it was something from this time period. Eleanor would have a complete fit to know that he only owned two pairs of shoes. But then on second thought she knew that they’d never have the opportunity to meet.

“It’s lovely.” Clarissa picked up the shoes. They had charming little kitten heels instead of the obnoxious four or eight inch heels that many women were wearing these days. Putting a hand on the arm of the chair she braced herself as she replaced her own shoes with the matching satin dress shoes.

Stepping back from the couch, she made a dramatic twirl in front of Eleanor. “How do they look on me?”

Eleanor smiled down at the satin slip-ons then up at Clarissa’s smiling face. “They look absolutely perfect. You’ll outshine them all at the dinner this weekend.”

Clarissa’s smile faltered. “I wish you could come with me to the dinner.” Eleanor had never been asked to be on the committee. “The other women aren’t the friendliest ghosts. They all give me those chilled vacant stares when they see me or find some reason to wander off where I’m sure they whisper about me.”

Eleanor pulled Clarissa down on to the couch next to her. “Don’t concern yourself with those washed out old prune faces. The whole lot of them are sour grapes with an over abundance of self importance just because they’re on some committee.” She eyed Clarissa, hurriedly adding, “Not that it’s not a privilege to be asked; of course.”

“I still don’t know why they want me,” Clarissa added.

Eleanor always had a ready response for this question. “Because the council members see that you are gifted and they want you to use your talents to help the community.” Eleanor still didn’t fully know what those talents were, but she knew that there would come a time when she would be a valuable asset against their enemies.

“Maybe,” Clarissa remarked, noncommittally.

“I asked Lizzy to put something together for Jackson too.” Eleanor went over to a large box in the corner by the window. “I don’t trust men to pick out their own clothes. So I thought just to be safe and to make sure he complimented your dress, I would choose for him.”

She opened the box, pulling out a pair of slacks. “Lizzy can work with tangible cloth too. She doesn’t keep much in the store, but she has a woman who runs a web-site for her that lets her sell online. She had the woman send these over from Ft. Lauderdale where Lizzy keeps a warehouse. She staffs about thirty tailors and seamstresses to make the clothes.”

Eleanor opened another box to reveal a burgundy colored dress shirt. A jacket was in yet another box along with a patterned tie and gold stick-pin. “I hope he has black dress shoes because I didn’t think to order any.”

Clarissa nodded her head in approval as Eleanor held up the clothing ensemble. “I think Jackson at least has shoes that you’ll find acceptable.”

Putting everything neatly back in the boxes Eleanor added with dire insistency, “And please, Clarissa, make sure he’s wearing the right color socks. Black socks and nothing else. Don’t let him out of this house in colored socks or, God forbid, white socks.”

Clarissa took off the satin dress shoes, putting them back in a floral colored shoe box. She sat on the couch, her feet curled under her. “I’ll make sure he looks good enough to be on the cover of GQ. Is that satisfactory enough?”

Eleanor came back to the couch. “How is he doing, by the way? He’s been staying here a lot more than usual. He comes over to the house after school every day now and stays for dinner. About the only thing he doesn’t do here is sleep. Jackson seems to open up to you more, like you’re a friend rather than an employer of his grandmother.”

Clarissa knew what Eleanor meant. Jackson had opened up to her about his life. He'd opened up more so to her because he felt that they both had to deal with being different and the at times difficult expectations of others who thought they knew what was best for them. Maddy hadn’t questioned her grandson overly much about the fight with his parents. Figuring that when he graduated from high school he’d be in a better position to make the next tough decisions in his life without his parent’s at times overbearing influence, but then neither did she want to steer him into a particular direction, the S.S., if that wasn’t what he wanted.

“He’s better when he’s here with us. He and Leah have been going out a lot and I think it’s good that he has a friend who doesn’t see him as weird or unnatural because of his gifts.”

Eleanor made a curious expression. “What do you think of Jackson and Leah? They could make a very interesting couple, don’t you think? They have been hanging out a lot more than usual.”

Before Eleanor could continue down this path, Clarissa interrupted her. “Don’t even go there, Eleanor. They’re just good friends. I’ve seen them together and I can assure you there is nothing romantic going on between them. You always do that you know? You think everyone’s interested in someone just because they spend time together.”

Eleanor brushed away her long curly blonde hair off her shoulder. “I just think I’d be a good matchmaker, that’s all. I can see when people like each other and know the difference between friendship and infatuation. Except for you,” she turned her head to give Clarissa an intense stare, “You don’t seem to get too close to anyone. Isn’t there anyone you’ve sort of had eyes for?”

“No,” Clarissa lied through her teeth. “I haven’t been here long enough to figure that out yet.” Eleanor gave her another long look, before turning away. That look said she didn’t believe her friend one bit.

“So if Jackson is your escort to the dinner,” Eleanor began, a hesitant note in her voice. Jackson had only been allowed as Clarissa’s escort because of some convincing on Maddy’s part to the council members. “Who’s Henry taking?”

Clarissa had known for some time now how Eleanor truly felt about Henry. Though both of them hid it well, anyone with eyes to see the truth could see that those two had a terrible love for the other. But something was preventing each from pressing forward. Though Clarissa would like to help, she knew that it wasn’t her place to interfere in the ‘will they, won’t they’ conflict that Eleanor and Henry had put themselves in for decades. The drama of it all was outlasting the Ross and Rachael or Jim and Pam plot lines. It would have been cute if it wasn’t so sad at the same time.

She thought for a moment, trying to remember who Henry had asked to the dinner. It wasn’t a woman she was well acquainted with. “I think her name is Millicent Carp. Does that name sound familiar?”

“Millicent Carp,” Eleanor quoted back. “That fish-lipped old handbag, what is he thinking?” Actually Millicent, despite her unpleasant sounding name, was in fact a very attractive woman in her mid-thirties who had once been romantically linked to some of the hottest male actors of the nineteen thirties and forties. She had that pinup model elegance that was all the rage back then.

Eleanor hated Millicent Carp because she was tall and curvy with long wavy brunette hair instead of short and slender with cork screw curls that always required detangling in the mornings. Even in death Eleanor had to fight the nature of her hair. She rested on a satin pillow at night, but in spite of all her efforts in this humidity her hair sometimes had a seventies afro look about it.

“She seems to be a nice woman,” Clarissa defended Henry’s date. Out of all the committee members, Millicent was one of the few who did try to strike up a conversation with her.

“Don’t defend that woman to me, Clarissa. I’ve known her a lot longer than you have and she’s a snob. She’s always telling stories of when she used to go to all the Hollywood parties and how everyone adored her. What absolute nonsense.”

Clarissa couldn’t begrudge Eleanor for smearing the woman’s name. In the same position she’d probably feel the same way.

Someone knocked on the door to her suite. “Come in,” Clarissa called out. The door was opened revealing Richard standing in the hallway. Looking at him in his faded denim jeans and Black Sabbath t-shirt from their 1978 World Tour she thought that he was the one who needed to be fashionably re-vamped by Eleanor and her expertise. However, knowing Richard he’d storm off at the slightest suggestion or comment about his clothes.

“You almost finish in here. Josh and I are downstairs waiting.” He came into the sitting room, raising his dark eyebrows at all the boxes stacked about the room. Stepping around them he came to sit in the high backed chair next to the couch.

“So,” he said on a sigh. “You’re done with all this right? We want to head out before it gets too late. The first fifty customers get their drinks complementary if they bring in a real human bone.”

“What’s this?” Clarissa asked confused.

Eleanor made an exasperated sigh as she reached across the couch and smacked Richard on the arm. “You were supposed to call her yesterday and tell her we were going out.” Turning to Clarissa she explained. “There’s a new night club and restaurant opening, tonight’s the big event and we thought you’d like to go with us. Richard was the one who found out about it and he was supposed to call and ask if you wanted to go.”

“Why was I supposed to be event coordinator?” Richard argued. “Besides you two spend all the time together I figured you would have brought it up during all the girly talk. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Josh and I snuck into the Science Department at Flagler College and borrowed some bones from their collection.”

“I hope you plan on bringing them back,” Clarissa said, not sure why they needed them. “Why do you need bones to get into this club?”

“It’s a ghost club,” Richard informed her with a grin. “Only the dead and those in the S.S. are allowed in. The bones play to the theme for the night’s party, The Skull and Bones. Kind of an interesting choice since most of the guests won’t have any. The club’s name is Dark Spirits, kind of a weird name but who cares what they call it as long as we get free booze.”

“Sounds like an interesting place.” Clarissa didn’t know there were clubs in the area dedicated specifically to the dead clientele.

“So you’re going with us, right?” Eleanor asked with a bright smile. “Henry said he couldn’t come because the council was sending him off on some negotiation meeting. I’m not sure what it’s about; he was rather secretive when he told me.”

Clarissa couldn’t at first recall either what it was about. The council members, especially Isabella Canova, were always having Henry going off on secret missions for them. But then she suspected what it might be concerning. They’d found the bokor, they just needed someone to convince him to come into town and do his dirty work. Clarissa knew it was only a matter of time before the pot was sweetened enough to convince him to come to St. Augustine.

“No,” Clarissa answered her. “I already agreed to help Maddy arrange a scrap book for Jackson’s graduation in the spring. She wants to give it to him now partially full and then she wants him to fill in the rest before his school year ends.” At Eleanor’s disappointed look she added. “I promised her and I can go to the club another time. Is that okay?”

She looked between both of them. It was only a partial lie. She was helping Maddy this evening make up her scrap book. But that wouldn’t take too long. It was later that she had made plans to meet Corrigan on his side of the bridge. But she couldn’t tell them that.

Why? They’re your friends. She just couldn’t put them in that awkward position.

Clarissa’s days were almost a routine now. During the day she would spend time with Eleanor or Richard. They worked for the St. Augustine Eidolon post. Richard wrote articles and Eleanor took pictures, other days they worked part time at the tourist shops and tour guides. Clarissa went with them when she could, but most of the time she was asked to sit-in on council meetings or be there when political figures from other areas around the state came for a visit. So far only a councilman from down south had come to pay a call. He’d left quickly the next day when he heard of the problems they were having.

In the evenings she would have dinner with Maddy and Jackson; a real dinner with real living food. At first it had been awkward, but quickly enough they’d found their stride and for a few hours every night Clarissa wasn’t a dead woman. After dinner they’d watch television or play a board game. The games always ended up with Maddy owning all the property and Clarissa mortgaging all her homes. She knew right then that she didn’t have a head for business.

Then Clarissa would walk Jackson out to his bike on the street. They’d talk for a bit. Life with his parents hadn’t improved much and the best way for everyone to get along was to pretend that nothing was wrong. Hence, Jackson didn’t talk too much with his parents.

“You going for a visit?” he’d ask. He knew the answer, but asked all the same.

“Yes,” she answered. “You going to crash on Leah’s couch again?”

“Affirmative,” he answered back, “Until she gets tired of seeing my snoring ass on her couch every morning.” Jackson was secretly staying at Leah’s. Only the three of them knew; his grandmother would have a fit. “It’s a bitch to drive back every morning to school. But I’d rather drive from West Palm Beach and back again every day to get to school than stay with them,” ‘them’, obviously being his parents.

Jackson would drive over to Leah’s house on the south side of town and Clarissa would head back inside to help Maddy clean up. She and Maddy would talk for a few hours before Clarissa would make her usual departure up to her room. Once there she’d change into her ‘Corrigan seeing’ clothes, shorts and tennis shoes, a bathing suit if they decided to go swimming in the ocean. She brought extra clothes if she thought about changing later. Clarissa had tried to make her own clothes, but her stitching was off and the result looked more Holly Hobby than runway quality. Then she’d sneak out her window like an errant teenager.

“Yeah,” Eleanor agreed on a sigh. “You can come with us another time I guess.”

“Thanks for being so understanding,” Clarissa said, touching the back of Eleanor’s hand.

“Well,” Richard hedged. “If you two are done playing girl stuff can we get a move on. I got the bones downstairs. You want a shin bone or a rib, Eleanor?”

Eleanor touched her lip thinking hard about the question. “Rib, please.”

Clarissa walked them both downstairs where they met Josh. He was dressed in casual clothes and had lost the apron back at his place of work, the Happy Haunts. “Hey, Clarissa,” he called out when he saw them.

Josh had developed a tiny crush on Clarissa. He might have mentioned it to Richard when they hung out at the tavern after his shift. They were also both in a band together called the Deadbeats. They were still pretty green and hadn’t had many gigs to warm up on, but they were getting better. The council had hired them, at an almost outrageous low price to play at the Halloween party in a couple of days.

Tonight would have been like a double date only Richard and Eleanor weren’t exactly interested in each other. Really it was a maneuver to get Clarissa away from town and her busy schedule so he could get to know her better and perhaps see if she wanted to get to know him.

“Clarissa’s not coming,” Richard said to Josh as they came into the room. He discreetly patted his friend on the arm. He knew exactly what if felt like to be interested in someone who barely knew you existed. “Sorry,” he whispered his condolences.

They left shortly thereafter. Clarissa watched as a car pulled up to the front of the house driven by a female S.S. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but Clarissa couldn’t place her name; Audrey Something. She watched as they drove away, waving to them as they left.

A sudden sting hit Clarissa like a sledgehammer. It almost crippled her, causing her to bend forward at the waist and hold her stomach. It was like someone was trying to fry her soul like an egg.

“I’m watching you, little girl.” The soft angelic voice sounded harsh and cold around the edges. Without needing to see the body, she already knew who that voice belonged to. “A car will pick you up at 10:30 am, be ready for it.”

The connection was broken leaving Clarissa to gasp for air. She knew that Isabella was a dangerous young woman, too bad it was packaged inside the body of a naïve looking teenager. Yet there was very little naïveté when it came to this ghost council member.

A voice deep inside Clarissa whispered to her, calling out from that dark spot deep within, it told her that one of these days she’d get that stuck-up little bitch back. Clarissa pushed down the horrible thought, remembering that despite Isabella’s age as a ghost she still behaved as a prideful child. At death her human brain had not had the ability to grow as it should, leaving her with the experience of an adult, but the underdeveloped mind of an adolescent.

Clarissa went back inside. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but at least she had tonight with Corrigan to look forward to.

Chapter 19-

Across the bridge inside the LeMoyne complex there was a stirring of activity as the family woke from that day’s slumber. Across from the main house surrounded by a pretty little garden and wrought iron fence, Margaret Ann dug around in the dirt in her vegetable garden pulling weeds and checking the plants for infection.

Wearing a baggy pair of overalls and sporting a pair of neon pink gardening gloves she looked less like a monster and more like a woman enjoying herself in her garden. She swiped a piece of her blonde hair off her forehead, brushing it behind her ear. As she worked on her knees in the garden, she swayed to the music coming from a portable radio on the ground beside her.

The twilight sky enveloped the land around her casting shadows over the houses as it steadily consumed the light of another day. Every evening she came out to her garden to tend to it. Xavier preferred to sleep until full dark, but she liked basking in the soft light of the day’s final cadence before the night took over. It relaxed her and made her feel almost human.

Margaret Ann heard the heavy footfall a moment before she looked up to see her baby brother standing beside her wrought iron gate. The waning light played across his handsome face making his eyes sparkle. Lately those eyes had warmed, filling with a light that she hadn’t seen in them before. It pleased her beyond almost anything to see her brother happy. It was a good look on him.

“So what can I attribute the pleasure of your company this evening?” She smiled up at him as he walked into her garden. When he got close enough, she pulled him down into the dirt next to her. “Have you come to learn the art of farming?”

Margaret Ann patted his cheek affectionately with her neon pink gloves. “Somehow I have the feeling you’re not here to help weed my tomato plants.”

Corrigan wiped a smudge off his sister’s cheek. “No, I don’t have a green thumb like you.”

Margaret Ann gasped in mock outrage. “Are you suggesting my thumb has become septic?”

Playing along he reached for her gloved hand pulling it off to inspect her thumb to be sure. “It looks a little necrotic; maybe you should see a doctor. You can’t let these things get out of hand or you might wind up dead.” He tried to make it sound serious, but the smile gave it away.

She made a silly face at him, sticking her tongue out like she was dying of some horrible disease. “Since when have you become a comedian, my moody Irish brother?” She punched his arm with her perfectly undead looking hand. Margaret Ann’s skin was anything but necrotic and was deceiving to the unwary eye. No one alive could guess that she wasn’t the same.

Corrigan’s smile faltered. It was true. When had he become a man who made jokes or felt affection for his brothers and sisters? But that’s what he felt now. He had always cared for them, felt a great deal of warmth when he spent time with them. But now it felt more real. Before he’d been trapped behind a glass wall of his own making, where he was able to keep the world and all those in it at a distance; it had been easier that way. He’d existed for so long alone in the world it was out of habit that he thought little of human interaction. Now, though, the glass had shattered and he felt he was slowly letting them get closer.

He could only blame Clarissa for bringing him out from behind the glass barrier into the living world. She was quickly starting to mean more to him than any other object of value or frail happy memory of his life. Corrigan hadn’t voiced his heart to her yet, but already he knew that the bonds of love were quickly weaving their threads around his heart. He’d become a bleeding heart. Who would have thought?

It had been a little over a week since Clarissa had changed his perception of women and ghosts. He knew she went out of her way to make up for the miserable existence he’d lived through before he’d come to stay with the LeMoynes. She made him feel like he had value, that he deserved love.

She’d listened quietly as he told her the tragic story of his death. How his only brother had fallen in love with a selfish woman who he foolishly believed was his whole world. But the woman had eyes only for Corrigan. They’d made port in the tiny unnamed island several times before and each time his brother had fought to win this woman’s heart, to no avail.

Driven to desperation Aiden had gone to a vodou priestess to seek help. To his surprise she had been young and beautiful and not the old wizened creature he thought she’d be. When he explained to the woman how he loved a woman who refused him repeatedly despite all his wooing attempts, but instead seemed more than interested in his older brother, she told him of only one solution. Kill your brother.

But there had been an ulterior motive on her part. The priestess had seen the brothers in port before on a previous journey to the island. She’d spied Corrigan on the docks. One look into his ice blue eyes, seen the breeze finger his midnight hair, and she had wanted him. So she made an exchange, the love of the young woman for the life of the brother.

Aiden had drugged his brother’s ale while they’d spent an evening in one of the local taverns. After complaining of an unusual head pain, Corrigan had stumbled out onto the beach. The moon had been full, a blood moon; the only light to guide their way to the waiting surf.

As Corrigan stood still facing the rolling ocean, trying to get his bearing and not puke his guts out, an alarming feeling came over him. He never got sick on spirits of any kind. It was then that his brother’s hand had crept around his throat like the snake of Lucifer. The blade made short work of Corrigan’s throat, his life’s blood leaking and falling onto the soft sand turning it black as death in the moonlight.

Corrigan remembered nothing after that. When he awoke, he was chained inside an iron cage. That stinking iron box had been his entire world for the next fifty or so years. Elmira had both loved and hated him. He was her pet, her play thing. But she hated that even as she aged with each passing year, her beauty fading, he remained the same. He had done horrible things in her service, killed those that she was envious of and toward the end she barely remembered he was human. For a time he forgot as well.

During the entire retelling of his past, Clarissa had remained quiet as she hung on almost breathlessly to his every word. Tears had brimmed in her beautiful angel eyes when he described the pain of not hunting for days, the way the beast inside him roared in agony trying to claw its way to the surface and making him almost insane. The revulsion he felt at being someone’s personal sex toy as well as the instrument of death to his mistresses enemies.

Clarissa understood his need to consume the living and if there was a measure of unease in her eyes at the thought of his taking a human life, she hid it behind a sweet smile or a quick kiss that pushed everything away. Her lips could make the world disappear.

Clarissa made him feel as if he had a soul again, that he didn’t always have to be a monster, that sometimes he could just be a man. He wanted to do something special to show her how much his existence had changed simply because she hadn’t let him push her away. She’d stuck; a stubborn opinionated little baggage that’d penetrated his moody exterior and forced him to see his place in this world in a different light, one that was illuminated by the beauty of her immortal soul which she shared so readily.

“What’s on your mind, Corrigan?” Margaret Ann’s question brought Corrigan back from his thoughts. She had a smug expression on her face like she knew what he’d been thinking about.

“How do you tell someone how you feel about them without making it come off as overly rehearsed or sickeningly sappy?” He’d thought about this a great deal, wondering if it wasn’t just the words but the setting and the moment that made the whole symbolic moment of confession more poignant. Corrigan wasn’t sure if a physical object of his feelings would go over with someone who was less corporal than other women. However, she wasn’t as intangible as he had used to believe. In fact, sometimes, she almost looked as fleshy as he. “Do I buy her something, something shiny perhaps? So what do you like, as another female, what objects appeal to you?”

Margaret Ann had to laugh at Corrigan’s most sincere expression when he asked her advice on the subject of gift giving. He’d never thought about buying another person a gift nor had he ever accepted one in return. This was the first time she’d heard her brother ask for advice on anything, especially not in the etiquette of winning the affection of a woman.

It was still a challenge having her at the house every evening before they went out. The first time she’d shone up Margaret Ann had been in this exact spot in her garden. The ghost woman had walked up to her just as she had pulled a little caterpillar from one of the green leafy branches.

Clarissa had knelt down beside her, no fear at all at being so close to one of her kind. She’d smiled at Margaret Ann as she took the little creature from her, letting it crawl about on her hand.

“Are you responsible for designing all the gardens in the complex?” Clarissa put the caterpillar back on the earth. “I see you don’t use pesticides to keep away pests from your plants.”

Margaret Ann had remained silent, taken back by the boldness of this odd woman. If she was smart she would have steered clear of Margaret Ann. Just because she thought she was in love with her brother didn’t mean that they were friends or that she shouldn’t fear Margaret Ann.

“Yes,” she’d answered, turning away to focus back on her plants. If she ignored her, the ghost would go away. That’s what she’d been told. If you ignored the ghosts they would leave you alone.

“Is Corrigan here?” Clarissa asked after several seconds of silence. Margaret Ann assumed she wasn’t very bright to not get the subtle hint that she was ignoring her.

“I don’t know. I’m not here to keep track of him for you,” she answered tersely, thinking that her rudeness would send the ghost on its way faster. It didn’t.

“I brought something for you,” Margaret Ann looked up in time to see Clarissa digging through her old back-pack, reaching through to the bottom until she pulled something out wrapped in a piece of fabric.

At once Margaret Ann backed up in the dirt, afraid of what Clarissa was holding in her hand. Chas had told her the truth a few days ago, telling her that this ghost woman had once been a bokor in life. Her powers were still with her in her deathly animated state and she could be dangerous to them all.

Clarissa’s smile faltered a little. It was as if she could see that Margaret Ann didn’t trust her or maybe was a little afraid. But she pressed forward, moving the fabric aside to reveal a glass tubular object with a tightly weaved fabric cord attached.

“I sort of overheard the argument with your family and Corrigan told me about the piece your brother, Chas, accidently broke because he was angry at my being in your home. He didn’t mean it, I’m sure, but I was helping a friend of mine go through her attic and I found this.” She held out the glass object so Margaret Ann could have a better look. “Maddy said I could have it and I thought you would like it. It can’t replace the one that was broken, but I hope you’ll like this one all the same.”

Margaret Ann hesitantly took the offering from the ghost woman, her fingers accidently brushing against hers in the exchange. She almost dropped it, but Clarissa caught it up in time. Staring down at the ancient Chinese opium pipe that dated back to the early part of the nineteenth century, she felt a small part of her resolve to hate this woman crack. Later she’d wonder how anyone could find a reason to hate this woman.

“Thank you,” was all she could get out of her mouth. She’d never been nice to her. Every time they’d crossed paths in the main house she’d pretended to ignore her. Now she was giving her a gift because she felt bad that Chas had broken her hookah pipe.

“You’re welcome,” Clarissa had answered before getting up to walk to the main house. Before she could get too far, Margaret Ann stood up, her neon pink gloves on her slim hips.

“Wait,” she’d called out, seeing Clarissa turn back towards her. “Why?” she asked the simply question, but meaning so much more with its utterance than she at first was aware.

“Why?” Clarissa quoted back at her. She tilted her head then, a peculiar expression coming onto her pale face. “You’re not the horrible beast you think you are, Margaret Ann. You’re a human woman who loves her husband dearly and only wants to keep her baby brother safe from people who would hurt him. I don’t expect you to trust me yet and I don’t want the gift to make up your mind about me either. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Then she’d turned away, leaving Margaret Ann to wonder how incredibly frightening Clarissa was. Thinking back now, Margaret Ann couldn’t come up with a reason why Clarissa wouldn’t condemn them for the horrible creatures she knew they were. It seemed a total contradiction to how a normal bokor would react to one of their kind.

Now her brother was fully head over heels for this woman. She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for his plight at trying to find some way to make Clarissa recognize his affection for her. The fact that was he even trying should be all that was required of him, considering he didn’t know the first thing about dating; a ghost woman at that.

“You’re thinking too hard about it. It’s not about the perfect gift or perfect timing or location. If it’s based in sincere affection and love then those things are just the icing on the cake. What sorts of things have you thought about already?”

“Well,” Corrigan began. “I’ve already asked Debora and Helen. Debora said that she’d like anything except dish towels and plants. When I asked Helen she suggested I make a charitable donation in her name or buy a star and name it after her. Why buy a ball of gas that’s likely already burned out and doesn’t exist anymore and all you’re seeing is the last effects of it? I thought about buying her a new back-pack. Hers is old and falling apart.”

“A back-pack, huh?” she said, "It certainly is a practical gift." Margaret Ann grinned at seeing Corrigan’s sour expression at her comment.

“I don’t know,” he growled angrily, “I can’t exactly buy her a car she can’t drive or a ring or bracelet that’ll fall through her skin if she’s not careful. Why are you smiling about this? It isn’t funny.”

Margaret Ann sighed, suppressing her smile for a moment. “You men are all the same. You make it so difficult on yourselves. Just give her something that reflects your deepest feelings. I prefer gifts that are made by the giver rather than something purchased. Maybe you should think about that.”

Sudden inspiration hit Corrigan like a hammer to the nail. He knew exactly what he’d do for Clarissa to show her what she meant to him. It had been there all along. Every day she’d come over to the house, she’d always look to his canvases, making comments as she looked through them. As a preference he did landscapes. But now he wanted to do a portrait, his first in a long time.

“Thanks, Maggie,” he said, using a nickname he’d only heard his sisters use for her.

She kissed his cheek at the use of the endearment. “You’re most welcome, Cor,” she answered back, using Helen’s endearment for him.

“I’ll leave you to your gardening.” Corrigan stood then. Making his way back around to the main house he saw Xavier as he came out of his front door. Just as his brother reached for his sword Corrigan stopped him. “Not today, brother.”

Xavier made a pained expression. “You say that almost every day now,” he grumbled, his accent more pronounced than usual. “If you do not train you will become as soft as the fantasma.

¿Cómo puede mirar usted su ser flácido en el espejo, el hermano? Xavier quipped, coming outside to face his much taller brother. Which translated to ‘How can you stand to look at your flabby self in the mirror’?

Corrigan looked down at himself. In his opinion he didn’t look flabby at all. Actually he was quite the opposite of flabby. He looked up to find a sword poised at his throat.

“Usted ha llegado a ser lento en su vejez.” You have become slow in your old age.

Corrigan only smiled a Cheshire grin down at his second oldest brother. With a speed of a trained swordsman he extracted the weapon from his brother’s grasp, turning it against him in the next second.

Xavier looked up at him wide eyed. “Usted estafó.” You cheated.

“Xavier,” Margaret Ann called to her husband. “Do not be a poor loser.”

Corrigan stepped back, returning the sword to his brother, who took it back with an indignant snort at losing to a much less experienced adversary. “Usted me desafiará otra vez más tarde.” You will challenge me again later.

“Of course,” Corrigan remarked as he left them both. Xavier looked to his wife inquiringly, wondering what the two of them had to discuss. His wife shrugged her shoulders, refusing to give any hints away.

Xavier walked over to his wife, looking down at her kneeling in the soft earth of her garden. She made a fetching sight in her old coveralls and windblown hair. He’d never get over how completely different she was from his first wife. A woman who despite her beautiful figure and rich property had been lacking in genuine affections. She’d been a cold bitch in the end and now lay even colder in her grave.

But Margaret Ann was the love of his existence. He called her his hermosa flor amarill, his beautiful yellow wildflower. She was unpretentious and natural in her loveliness, a warm breath of summer breeze that had melted the hardened heart of a man who had known little of true loves embrace. Now that he knew, he’d do anything sure of murder to keep it.

“Did you notice the mark upon his wrist when he was here? He didn’t try to hide it from us.” Xavier pulled his wife up from the ground, brushing away a stubborn piece of her hair that forever wanted to stick in her face.

“I know, mi corazón.” I know, my heart. “I’ve seen that mark before on Ambrose. He had a nasty wound several years back and Maude asked me to take a look at it.” Margaret Ann had attended one year of medical school before her death. “He had the same mark upon his left shoulder blade. It is a kind of brand, but when I asked him what it was he said it was an old tattoo and refused to say more. It is a mark of death, I’m sure.”

Chapter 20-

Corrigan was in his attic room when he felt the change in energy that always heralded Clarissa’s presence near him. He was digging through a box of various paint tubes set on a table he’d found at a garage sale when he felt her cool arms wrap around his stomach.

She held herself against him like she was trying to absorb his flesh into her soul. At once he felt the light inside him grow. He was becoming dependent on that light and it left him feeling bereft and empty when she was gone from him. Like the moment when he had woken up to find Clarissa had gone home after he’d rudely fallen asleep on her. At first he thought she was still in the room somewhere, but after looking around and calling her name several times he realized that she had gone.

A black cloud had lain to roost over his head at that knowledge. Until he’d caught sight of a scrap of paper tucked under a glass vase he used to practice light and shading. Clarissa had used one of his calligraphy pens to jot down her parting words.

Dear Sweet Cor – (If Helen can call you Cor, so can I)

You looked tired so I decided to let you sleep. Please don’t think I’ve abandoned you. I programmed my cell phone number into your phone, by the way. I can see it’s an old model and it has a really bad battery life. You should think about getting a new one. But I guess with your family cell phones aren’t really necessary.

Don’t be too harsh on them. I can already see how much they love you and I hope now you can see that as well. Tell Helen she has the heart of a lion and that Trueman is a real genius. Also Debora is so clever and I can see she could put anyone to shame, maybe even her husband. Margaret Ann thinks she’s just a wild free spirit on the loose, but she has an amazing sense of honor and loyalty to the people she loves. Xavier may be stuck in his glory days as a soldier but it’s his ability to forgive his past mistakes that is so encouraging to me. Ambrose is almost scary in the way he governs over all of you. But I can see his heart is full of love when others in this world seem more consumed in hate. Maude is much the same, her diplomacy and very presence make people want to listen to what she has to say. And finally bad boy Chas who doesn’t like me much now, but who would be right there beside you walking over hot coals if you asked him to.

I’m rambling on - I know it. I couldn’t help but want to know a little bit about them (I didn’t invade too much, I hope) and I want to know more about you. I can’t tell you much about myself. I don’t remember. As you can already guess I’m new to this ghost thing. But one day I hope to remember my past, but more than that I’d like to see if I have a future. That sounds so cliché and downright cheesy. But it’s painfully true. Maybe you’d join me in it.

I’m running out of room on the page and your dog is starting to make odd snoring noises. I’ll leave this note as is, ramblings and all and say goodnight and happy risings. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

Love,

Clarissa

He’d truly fallen in love with her then. A woman who’d been shown the worst side of his family and still she had the ability to peel that one experience away and take a better look at who they were as humans. She was a miracle he didn’t deserve. Her bokor abilities had helped, but not once had she used them to defend herself or to make threats against them though most of them had been on the verge of being unpleasant, if not outright nasty to her.

“You always smell like the beach,” Clarissa murmured against the back of his shirt. She nuzzled his spine, her hands making tiny circles over his abdomen. It made his eyes lose focus for a few seconds at the sensation of her hands and body so close to his.

She came around him to see his hands grasped tightly around a tube of paint. The label read Blanc and almost all of the contents were all over his hand and on the table. The euphemism wasn’t lost on either of them.

Corrigan hastily reached for a roll of paper towels, in the process knocking over a bottle of linseed oil. He pulled it up in time to save about half of it. He’d have to go and buy more. Shopping was less of an adventure and more like a means of torture.

“I’m sorry,” she said, helping him mop up the mess on the table. “Did I surprise you?”

She knew darn well she hadn’t surprised him. He saw that little flicker of mischief in her blue eyes and knew she was playing him. Clarissa made a swipe over his hands with the paper towel, making delicate sweeps till she could get most of it off. Then the paper towel fell away and it was only her fingers playing over the warm flesh of his hand.

Clarissa smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes – his heart in her eyes. He bent down and captured her smiling lips. It was imperative, born of necessity and endless hours of her absence. Readily she welcomed him to her.

“No,” he said after several blissful uninterrupted minutes. “Let me go take this paint off before it sets.” As he walked away from her, he said over his shoulder, “I’ve got something for you, so don’t go anywhere.”

Walking back from the bathroom which was down the stairs and at the end of the hall, he came across his brother, Chas, as he was leaving Ambrose’s office. Ambrose he knew was off showing property to proprietors of a chain of furnishing companies who were looking to branch out into a new city. Ambrose had set the meeting on his side of the city and later they were to travel over to see the new store location. The corporate suits for the company were of course not of the typical human variety, but then few in this world really are.

There was no reason, however, for Chas to be in his office.

Chas gave Corrigan a nod of greeting, but refused to explain his presence in the main house or in Ambrose’s office. He brushed past him without making eye contact as if he were trying to keep something from Corrigan by avoiding looking at him. Even his thoughts were scrambled fragments so much so that Corrigan could only guess that Chas was agitated and upset about something, but he couldn’t pin-point the reasons behind those feelings.

“Chas,” Corrigan shouted after his brother as Chas was almost to the staircase. He refused to turn around. There was a moment of pause in his step before he continued down the stairs and was gone.

“Cor,” Clarissa was on the steps, coming down from the attic. “What was Chas doing in Ambrose’s office just now?” Chas still wouldn’t speak to her and Chas was Corrigan’s best friend. It hurt to know she was the obstacle that separated them. She truly knew how Yoko Ono felt right now.

Corrigan came up to meet her on the stairs. “I don’t know,” he answered with a tender smile as he lifted her up and over his shoulders as he carried her up the rest of the way back to the attic. “He hasn’t been very friendly with me the past few days. Maybe he was looking for my brother and thought he was in his office.”

He set her back down on the floor once they’d reached his attic room. Clarissa straightened her t-shirt which had risen up and twisted a bit from being hoisted over his shoulder. “Thanks for the caveman trick,” she quipped. “Do you do any other tricks?”

It was as she was fixing her shirt that he got a quick look at her stomach. “Wait,” he said, reaching out and forcing her shirt back up again to reveal the smooth skin of her stomach. “What is this?” He fingered the raised skin just over her belly button. It was the mark of a skull just like the one branded onto the inside of his wrist. “Who did this to you?” all seriousness returned.

“I’m not sure,” she answered, feeling butterflies beat their tiny wings against the inside of her stomach as Corrigan touched her body, sending chills through her entire system. “It only showed up a few days ago. It looks like yours, doesn’t it? Do you think when I touched the dagger it put its mark on me as well.”

“No,” he said. The mark couldn’t have been made by the touch of the dagger. If it had it would have burned horribly at that moment, just as it had burned him. “Touching the dagger only revealed what was already there to begin with. Someone else put the mark on you. Touching the dagger made your system remember what was done to it. Ambrose has a similar mark on his left shoulder. He finally revealed the origins behind it after I had shown him my mark.”

Ambrose had glared down at Corrigan’s wrist, his fist so tight around his brother that his fingers had turned white. He’d thrown his wrist away on an expletive and walked back to his desk where he sat down with a great sigh.

“How did this happen?” he began, placing his elbows on the table he leaned heavily upon his hands.

Corrigan at first hadn’t been sure if Ambrose meant ‘how did he receive the mark’ or whether the question had been rhetorical, as in ‘how did I let this woman affect my family so?’ In either case Corrigan spoke his thoughts.

“It is the mark from an instrument of the death bokor, a dark order that has been designed to kill all paranormal infestations on this planet. Clarissa was one of them in life and has somehow been able to retain much of her abilities even in death.”

Ambrose had drummed his fingers against his slightly scruffy chin. “And who is in possession of this dagger now?” His eyes had looked up then, giving Corrigan a measuring stare.

“I do,” Corrigan informed him. “Clarissa believes she has hidden it from me, but I replaced her dagger with another of similar shape. She hasn’t, as of yet, noticed the difference.” Clarissa had thought to keep it safe, hidden away from him, but he knew that the best way to know for sure was to keep it where he could keep an eye on it. He knew nothing of the origins of this ‘Mrs. Connors’, nor did he trust her for the simple fact that it was in her home that Clarissa had found the instrument of destruction. “She didn’t know how it would react by her touch as I held it. It placed this mark on my wrist just as its twin is on your shoulder.”

Ambrose’s brows had then knitted together in a frown. “And how do you know of my mark? I do not remember showing it you.”

Anyone else would have been intimated by the rancor in Ambrose’s voice. Corrigan however, knew the truth of Ambrose and that put them on equal grounds when it came to revealing his knowing of the mark. “Because I know you better than you think, brother.” A faint grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, “And the fact that I was there when Margaret Ann was tending to your wounds, I was the one who carried you into your rooms. You don’t remember because I gave you an excessive amount of liquor to keep you from pulling open the stitches.”

They’d had a run in with a shape-shifter that had gone mad and was more than slightly addle-minded or sick. The large panther had gone after Ambrose because it mistook him for someone it knew and in this instance hated. Truman and Corrigan had put the sad creature down quickly enough, but Ambrose had suffered a nasty gash along his left arm and part of his chest. Animal bites needed to be looked after quickly, diseases and other nasty side-effects could happen from just a single bit from one of them.

Ambrose had shaken his head as if trying to forget the memory of the attack. “So now that you sport a similar mark you are free to ask me how I received mine.”

He’d spent many lifetimes keeping this secret hidden from his family. Now the truth would be revealed. It was almost comical that Corrigan would share in its revealing, because the love of a woman had been and would be both of their downfalls.

Corrigan touched the grinning skull mark over Clarissa’s stomach. It was a burn that would remain there, permanently, forever; or until the dagger was satisfied. She was watching him as he stroked her skin, unease in her eyes.

“What are you trying to say, Cor? Do you think another bokor did this to me?” A horrible thought flashed through her mind. She saw herself, a fuzzy, blurred image of herself as a living woman arguing with a man. Then in the next instant she was on the ground, his distorted face over her body, the dagger that had ended her life poised over her stomach. Blood ran everywhere, rivers running in all directions from a body that was fast cooling. In the next instant the vision was gone replaced by the usual blank void.

“You already know that,” he said, releasing her shirt and letting it hide the mark from the world. “You’ve always known the truth Clarissa you just didn’t want to face it. Do you want to know how Ambrose received his mark?”

She nodded, finding her voice wasn’t up to a verbal response.

“It begins when a man fell in love with the wrong kind of woman,” Corrigan began, taking her hand and leading her to a couch that had seen better days and more springs to hold up the cushions.

“That’s not a very nice beginning,” Clarissa remarked with a frown.

Corrigan brushed his hand against her hair. “It isn’t a nice story.” Sitting down next to her on the couch, he sat back, his arms spread wide to encompass the back the old leather couch. Clarissa sat back too, her head resting on the curve of his right arm.

“I want to know,” Clarissa whispered, sensing the intensity of this story required it.

“A man can live only so long before he makes the grand mistake that will almost always change his life forever in the worst sort of way and love is almost always the culprit.” Corrigan grunted when he received a sudden punch in his sides. “I’m just reciting how it was told to me, not my own thoughts on the matter.” He received a gentle pat along his side in answer to his defense on the matter of love.

“To make a rather long and sad story slightly shorter I’ll skip some parts. My brother fell in love with a woman who should have been off limits to him. He had barely survived the massacre of his settlement several years earlier when the French Huguenot settlers of St. Augustine were brutally slaughtered when word had reached the Spanish King that the French had made claim on La Florida. Almost all of them were put to death except the few who were spared for their skills or converted to Catholicism. Ambrose was one of the few who escaped either fate. He later returned to St. Augustine despite his history and became a well respected man in the community, though none would outright admit an association with him.”

Corrigan knew he was butchering the story and that he left out much of the important side notes in order not to bore Clarissa. Ambrose’s life story was more complicated and would take longer than several paragraphs in a book to encompass the full knowledge of him. Corrigan pressed forward with the tale; the last but most important parts of a life cut too short.

“A fair young Spanish woman caught his eye. But as always happens in these stories, word reached the ears of the girl’s father. The matter was taken to the community officials and it was deemed that Ambrose was trying to use the delusions of a young woman’s love to sway her heart against God and the true religion. When the girl was questioned she agreed that Ambrose had tried to turn her from God and her blessed faith. Ambrose was hung that evening, the love of his young life watching as the rope dropped.”

Corrigan touched his own throat, remembering his death. If he looked closely enough he could see a faint white line that ran across the area of his throat where it connected with his chest. Even now he could almost remember the way the blood and life’s energy had spilled from his throat to paint the sand in his death.

He felt Clarissa’s fingers as they moved to touch the exact same spot, pulling away his hand and placing a kiss on the warm pads of his fingers before tucking his hand in her smaller cooler one. He rubbed the back of his hand along her soft cold palm as he continued.

“He returned to consciousness along the alligator infested waters of the St. Johns River. He doesn’t remember how he got there or who returned him to life. All he knew was that he was somehow different from what he had been before.”

Corrigan glanced down to see Clarissa’s expression. “I’ll skip the part where he got retribution against those who had taken his life from him.”

Clarissa’s mouthed a ‘thank-you’.

“It goes without saying that it was difficult for Ambrose to adjust to his new existence. Not only that, he was limited to only a small population of livings in St. Augustine to take sustenance from. His presence in the city was quick to spread and in superstitious times it was easier for people to accept that a monster lived in their city. He had to move several times to new cities to keep from depleting entire settlements. It was while traveling the country that he met my brothers. We didn’t come back permanently to St. Augustine until only recently.”

Clarissa knew about some of this already from conversations with Henry and Eleanor. Corrigan had come to the States not long after his family had staked a permanent claim on the city by buying up most of the beach property, which expanded several miles north and south of St. Augustine.

“Back when bokors were readily available, the number of flesh-eaters remained low. Even today we are small minority in the paranormal world.”

“The mark upon his shoulder, like yours and mine, came from the dagger known as the Baiser de mort or the Kiss of Death. It was an instrument used by the bokors of that time to extract the heart of the flesh-eater. A way they believed would put the creature back in its grave. But luckily the bokor was inexperienced and by this time Ambrose had lived many lifetimes, enough to be too much for the bokor. He escaped without much injury except for the mark.”

“The dagger seeks a new death to add to its strength whether the wieldier is competent to take the life or not. If the life is taken then the mark is removed and the dagger is satisfied. If not it remains until another can finish the task.” Corrigan moved to touch her stomach, holding his hand lightly over the mark that they both knew was concealed beneath her clothing.

The knowledge that she had been touched by this dagger and knowing that someone she had likely known and been friends with had sought to murder her fueled Corrigan’s hatred of bokors.

“Your mark remains on your body because the bokor who sought to end your existence failed. Though your flesh has moved on, much of you remain intact in this world. Which means someone is out there who may or may not know you haven’t moved on to the next world.”

Clarissa held her hand over his on her stomach. She saw in his eyes that the truth of her death affected him as much as it had affected her. She shadowy faced man had been a bokor just like her. Corrigan hated all bokors and in some ways he had a right to.

“Ambrose has existed all these centuries with it still on his body and nothing has happened to him.” Clarissa said, trying to steer them away from the possibility that she could be taken away him; that a bokor was still out there with a need to see to her extermination. “Besides the dagger can’t work on me anymore, I do not have a body to kill. Perhaps it revealed that I was marked, but that doesn’t mean anything will come of it.”

“Maybe,” Corrigan half-heartedly agreed. Just because she didn’t exist in flesh and blood did not mean that she could not be harmed. “I can only tell you from Ambrose’s experience and perhaps it has been a small blessing to have the mark upon his body. Now whenever a death bokor is near him with an intention to kill, the mark warns him of their intentions.”

Clarissa studied Corrigan’s face, remembering her first meeting with his family. Ambrose had seemed reserved while inside she’d seen he’d been raging. Did the mark burn when she was near? “No,” he said as if sensing her thought patterns. “He knew he could trust you, if only a little, because at that moment you had no intention of using your gifts against us.”

“I never would,” she assured him as she reached up and kissed him on the chin. “I would never use my gifts against you. I’ve already seen enough to know that no good can come from them.”

Clarissa rested her head back against the crook of his arm. “Did you tell your family of the death bokor the Eidolon council has been trying to entice to come to the city? From what I hear from the others, though I don’t know if it’s not all hype, is that he’s the best at his craft. That concerns me. I don’t think I could stand up to someone who’s trained. Henry – you remember I told you about him, he was the first ghost I met. He has been sent to sweeten the deal with more money I would imagine. I’m not sure what entices a bokor; a pick-up truck of sacrificial chickens. I still wonder if the council members don’t already know that I was one to. None of them have made a point to question me, but sometimes I have this feeling that they’re setting me up. What do you think?” She waited several heart-beats for him to answer and when he didn’t she turned her face up to see the reason. “Corrigan LeMoyne, are you listening to me?”

Still no response, so she stuck her fingers rudely in his arm pits to get his attention. He seemed to come out of a day-dream. Then he focused his attention down on her agitated face as he rubbed the area where her fingers had poked him.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Clarissa asked on an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “What were you thinking about that distracted you so?”

“I was thinking of killing a bokor,” he said matter-of-factly. “No, I haven’t told my family of the Eidolon council’s new pet. I wanted to be the one to kill him.

Clarissa inched away from him, coming up to sit on the edge of the couch. “What?”

Corrigan’s face remained impassive as he watched Clarissa hovering on the edge of the couch. “I was thinking about how I would relish taking the life from this bokor who sought to take you from this world. I know he’s the same man you saw in your vision just now. When he reveals himself, and I know he will, I will take pleasure in ending his existence.”

Clarissa was suddenly on the couch again, sitting up on her knees which made her almost eye level with Corrigan. She braced herself using the stability of his shoulders and leaning forward till their faces were a breath apart.

“If anyone gets to take that man’s life from him, it will be by my hand,” Clarissa said, that secret dark spot inside her yelling in triumph at the thought of a new death.

Corrigan’s iridescent blue eyes flashed through a sequence of emotions. He knew of that secret spot that at one time had been allowed to take its revenge against the paranormal infestations on this planet. She kept it in check most of the time, but sometimes he wondered if he was dismissing a valuable part of her because all he wanted was to see the beauty of her soul, the soul that he knew loved him without question. That was the part she gave to him and that was the part of her he focused on. Just as she focused on the frail light in him and not on the dark monster that they both knew he was.

Your love is wrapped in delusions and fantasy. Your nature will turn her against you and she will kill you for it. The voice of bitter rationale invaded his mind.

You will kill her… She will kill you…

He pushed that hated voice away from him. Bringing his hands to her otherworldly face he held her head within the cradle of his palms. At any moment the love that they had found could fly from them, leaving them to take up their post as hated enemies. Corrigan would do anything even murder to keep that from happening. “I understand,” he said, stroking her soft cold cheek.

She returned to herself then, pushing away that evil little voice and returning to the woman she wanted to be. “Thank you,” she answered him, taking up the short distance to reach him, taking his lips.

As always when their lips met the world fell away into a hazy background. Lips met in communion of a love that connected two halves of humanities entirety, the body and soul connected through a bond as intricately woven as the threads of space and time.

Chapter 21-

Clarissa found her head on the soft worn leather arm of the couch, her heart – his heart – in her throat. Corrigan’s lips consumed her, taking possession of them in a manner most befitting the carnal beast of his species. Not to be a lack-luster partner in these situations she reached her hands to encompass the back of his head, holding him to her as the bare skin of her leg wrapped around him like the temptress snake of folklore.

Corrigan’s lips broke away from hers for a moment, his breath beating warm and heavy against her face. Her own cool breath escalated as he took up paying homage to the soft underside of her neck. She could actually feel the sensitive energy currents of her skin quiver in anticipation of his lips brushing heated caresses against her throat.

Then his lips returned to their post at her mouth, delivering messages of more things to come with the flick of his tongue against the seam of her mouth. Clarissa opened her mouth, more than ready to receive the news of carnal love from the man of all her soul’s desire.

His teeth scraped against the plump line of her lip and she could feel the shape of them, different from her own. Like all flesh-eaters, the canines were elongated more so than in a traditional human mouth and all their teeth were set in a jaw designed to exert enough pressure to cut through bone and tissue in a matter of seconds.

But as his teeth pulled gently on her lower lip, it was not in an act of pulling apart tendons from meat, but to enhance the pleasure of this beautiful act that at first seemed impossible. A flesh-eater and ghost caught in a world of carnal pleasure, unheard of until now.

When lips met so too did hands. Corrigan’s right hand reached up encompassing her left, holding it above her head while his left hand traveled the journey from her shoulder down to the soft undersides, down further where ribs met waist to hips that moved gracefully with the movement of her right leg that swept about him. He set a course to a destination of pure bliss. Her body which should have been insubstantial for his body to touch flowed with the energy of a thousand nuclear bombs. Though her flesh remained cool, already he could feel warmth under the surface with each sway of her hips against him, bringing heat to his already overheated body. He was sure her energy would consume them both in an inferno that would leave them both blissfully incapacitated. He’d like nothing better.

Tucking her hips closer to him, he expressed without words how much she was affecting him. He’d been fantasizing about what she’d look and feel like under all those pretty clothes she came over to his house in and he never saw her wear the same outfit twice. They went swimming in the ocean many nights and sometimes he hoped the current would whisk away her bathing suit so he’d get to see more of her beautiful skin. She always prudishly insisted on wearing a one piece suit with shorts. She was adamant about the fact that she had a slight muffin top in a bikini and that it wouldn’t look very good. He had no idea what a ‘muffin top’ was in reference to. In his estimation muffins were delicious and then that set his mind to Clarissa as a tasty muffin slathered in butter.

He felt her smile against his lips as he moved to kiss his way down her neck to the spot just above where her heart should be. With a girlish giggle he’d never heard from her before she whispered above his head. “I hope that’s not ‘rigor mortis’ kicking in?”

That stopped him. He lifted his head from where he was enjoying making licking bites over the area near the swell of her breast where he’d pushed the shirt aside. She had a delicious smell, black raspberry vanilla she’d said. It was her favorite scent she’d used liberally when she was alive and was so much part of her that now her skin smelled permanently like the potent fragrance. But he didn’t appreciate the ‘rigor mortis’ joke, not at the moment anyway. And it cooled his ardor enough to put blood back into his brain.

“No,” he said darkly.

Clarissa felt him let go of her hand, felt as he was retreating back away from her. She quickly held his hand to her, refusing to let him pull away because she’d made a really, really bad joke. She was extremely nervous about doing this with him and though she couldn’t deny she hadn’t thought about it before. That didn’t mean when confronted with the possibility of it actually playing out that she could just go through the motions without some moments of hesitation or in her case covering her own insecurities with a poor urban euphemism.

“Forget I said that,” she said, taking up where he left off by kissing a trail along his warm neck to the open collar down his chest. He wasn’t responding as she’d hoped. Clarissa guessed the ‘rigor mortis’ joke hadn’t gone over so well with someone who was technically a reanimated corpse. She made little mewling sounds in the back of her throat, trying to encourage him, but he remained impassively still, his face staring off into the distance above her head.

Corrigan,” she nearly shouted, forcing his focus back down to her. He had this annoying habit sometimes of pushing her away from him, enclosing himself behind an invisible shield of glass. It took all her effort sometimes to smash it down and get to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Can you blame a girl for being a little nervous?”

“No,” he answered. Brushing her hair over and away from her forehead he placed a gentle kiss upon her warming flesh. Her cheeks had become rosy along with her lips making her entire face glow contrasting beautifully with the radiance of her inner soul. He pulled back knowing it was for the best. She wasn’t ready for him yet, and despite how easy it might be to override her anxieties he somehow guessed it wouldn’t be what she wanted; what they both wanted.

As Corrigan sat upright on the old leather couch, watching as Clarissa remained reclined enticingly over the armrest, he wondered where his new found sense of gentlemanly discretion had come from and why the hell it decided to rear its ugly moral head in his face at this moment. He watched the pout form over her temptress’s mouth and the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed in and out. They moved with her lungs like breathing mountains. His ‘rigor mortis’ was going to kill him if he didn’t think of something else to distract not only him but the siren next to him, who was even now moving over the couch on her knees to attack him.

“Clarissa,” he whispered as she curled herself on his lap. She was trying too hard, wrapping herself around him like a sexy contortionist trying to make up for the fact that she wasn’t sure of herself or him in this kind of situation. As far as he knew she’d never been intimate with anyone in her current form and her new body chemistry might work differently than when she was a living woman. That coupled with the fact that they’d never been intimate with each other like this, intense make-out session excluded. They were treading on new territory in their relationship.

She seemed almost frantic in her movements as if she were just trying to get through it, hoping that when it were over the worst part would be behind them and they could ‘maybe get it right the next time’. Her little purring noises and wandering hands were making him loose focus and with a determination that made his ‘rigor mortis’ rage retribution throughout his entire system he swept her hands away from her target bringing them to his mouth.

He kissed her cool finger tips, one by one, each time watching as her fingers curled spastically trying to get loose of his grasp. He held firm.

“Clarissa,” he whispered her name again, trying to get her eyes to focus on his face and his words and not on how she could get him out of his pants without the use of her hands. She captured his lips, silencing him, trying to use his body against him. Clarissa wriggled her hands free during a moment of weakness on his part. Those hands began to wander his body again.

She had quick little fingers and she’d made short work of opening the front of his pants before he realized it was happening. In the second before she reached in to explore further though he grabbed her dexterous little fingers and placed her hands behind her back.

“Corrigan LeMoyne, if you don’t let go of my hands I’m going to bite you,” she bit out harshly before doing just that. Her mouth was at the base of his throat just above the mark of his death and where his pulse beat quickly against her lips.

His ‘rigor mortis’ told him to ‘fuck gentlemanly morals and let her have her way with you’, but that damn frayed bit of moral fiber wouldn’t allow it. Corrigan pushed her away, pushing her down on the couch in the opposite direction from where they’d begun this. Holding her hands above her head, he waited until her head stopped thrashing back and forth, holding himself away from her bucking hips until she finally quieted and looked up at him.

Tiny prisms of liquid light fell from her angelic blue eyes. He’d come to realize that ghosts did not have the capacity to cry human tears. What leaked from their eyes was in fact a viscous form of their soul. Her chest rose and fell heavily with her strangled breathing. Clarissa was forcing herself to be something she thought he wanted, not realizing that all he wanted of her was her sassy smart-mouth self; the one that loved him without condition.

“Don’t cry, mo ghrá geal,” Don’t cry, my bright love. Corrigan wiped his thumb across the tears her soul wept. Clarissa made a wounded sound in her throat, trying to turn her face away from him. He wouldn’t let her, using one hand to hold both of hers suspended above her head, he forced her face away from the protection of her arm. His thumb made a sweep over her lips which quivered in her distress like a rippling pond.

“What’s the matter with me?” she said as she once again tried to turn away from him. Again he refused to let her hide from him. “I’m not naïve, I know how this goes. So why can’t I… ”she trailed off.

“I don’t care,” he said, though the damn ‘rigor mortis’ cried out, ‘I fucking care!’. He refused to listen. Moving back into a safer position on the couch he pulled Clarissa so that she was sitting half on the couch, half on him. “This isn’t something we have to jump into because social standards say that’s what we’re supposed to do. If we need to go slower to get to that point when we’re ready to faigh muin then we can do that.”

You burraidh, his sex drive raged at him.

Clarissa wiped away several more tears from her cheeks, looking up at him with a questioning frown. “I want to though,” she said, placing her hand on his chest, just over his heart. “Tha an t-eagal orm,” I’m frightened. She uttered the truth, her face against his side. He’d been teaching her some Gaelic and she was a surprisingly fast learner. He cupped her head as she continued. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you; that I’ll forget myself and make a mistake and truly hurt you.”

Clarissa’s fears weren’t entirely unfounded. Her gifts as a bokor coupled with the fact that she couldn’t remember how to control them at times made her feel as if the wrong move on her part could heap terrible disasters. But Corrigan knew that not only was he safe from her gifts, he’d never let her believe that her gifts were purely evil. A bokor could use their talents for dark magick. He had firsthand experience to the evil wrought from such a person. But Clarissa was not Elmira; the purity of her soul outshone the withered one that beautiful bitch carried.

“Tá grá agam duit,” I love you, Corrigan said against her hair, “Tá grá agam duit, a-chaoidh.” I love you, forever. It wasn’t the moment he would have picked to finally tell her the truth of his heart, but he found it vital that he tell her now, nonetheless.

He wasn’t usually one to believe in the instant bonds of love between two people, he was more inclined to believe that love had to be formed over time and hardship. But the fact that Clarissa could love him despite the knowledge that he should be her most hated enemy. That she was the only woman in his entire existence who had ever sought the light inside the soulless beast. It was proof enough that someone, God perhaps, had deemed him worthy of the elusive flame of love. Corrigan would hold that gently burning flame forever tending it so that it would never burn out.

Clarissa wrapped her arms around him, moving fully onto his lap as she held onto him as a boat to its anchor. Her face buried against his neck she whispered, “Tá grá agam duit. Tá grá agam duit, Corrigan. Tá grá agam duit, Corrigan, a-chaoidh.”

Corrigan was glad she couldn’t see him, her face buried against him. His face held an expression that read both pain and pleasure, the blurring of emotions that did something odd to his face as it drew lines into the usually relaxed, smooth skin around his mouth. He’d exist a thousand lifetimes on this planet and never forget the moment he first heard those words from Clarissa’s lips, spoken in a tongue that he’d not heard in decades or more. He wiped the evidence of this moment off his cheeks just as she drew back to look up at him, all the love in the world reflected in her angel blue eyes.

“I almost forgot,” he said, trying to speak normally around the lump of emotion that had set up residence in his vocal passage. “I have something I wanted to give you.”

Clarissa scooted off his lap at his urging. He walked on awkward legs over to a corner of the room that had been blocked off by a bed sheet that had been strung up. Clarissa held back an unladylike laugh as he discreetly put himself back in order while he turned to face away from her. He slipped behind the curtain for several seconds then reappeared moments later with two objects.

Coming back to her on the couch he handed her the first item which was wrapped rather poorly in cream colored paper with big blooming roses all over it. Clarissa smiled as he sat back down on the couch next to her, a hesitant, worried look on his face as she started pulling open the wrapping. Who ever had wrapped it, Corrigan, had used about a roll and a half of scotch tape on the package, even going so far as to winding it around and around like he was wrapping up a mummy. It took several really hard tugs to get just a little of the paper to tear.

“Here,” Corrigan finally said after watching her struggle for several minutes. “I don’t know anything about wrapping. Two rolls of the tape might have been overkill.”

Clarissa handed over the gift as he set the larger one on the floor. It was about the size of a picture window. She had an idea of what it might be, but didn’t want to ruin it by saying anything. In a matter of moments Corrigan had the wrapping paper off the first gift and he handed it back to her, that hesitant smile still on his face.

“Thank you,” Clarissa said, holding the back-pack out in front of her so she could see it from all angles. It was light blue which for some reason reminded her of Corrigan’s beautiful eyes. It was a little smaller than her old one but it was new and very pretty.

Corrigan forced her to turn it around until the front pocket was facing them. He pointed to a personalized stitching that wasn’t done by a manufacturer. In thread a few shades darker blue than the back-pack itself were two letter C’s, one placed backwards so that the ends formed a circle or a bloated symbolic heart shape. Inside sat a blooming rose with the center holding a flame that burned blue at its core. It was a beautiful symbolism for the bond that held herself and Corrigan connect. The C’s which represented each of their names connected with the blooming flame of their new borne love.

“It’s wonderful, perfect,” Clarissa managed through another set of tears. “My old one was looking a little beat up wasn’t it? I’ll try to keep this one in better shape.”

Corrigan kissed her cheek, wiping away the liquid light from her slightly warm cheeks. “Don’t leak out on me yet, love, I haven’t given you the other one. You’ll turn into a little ghost puddle if you keep that up.” He tried to lighten the moment with a joke, but found he had to keep wiping at his own face as well as hers. There was a lot of floating dirt in the attic, he told himself.

“Nothing could be better than this,” Clarissa exclaimed, holding the back-pack to her chest like it contained a million dollars instead of the paper stuffing that the store put in it to keep its shape.

Clarissa’s curiosity however got the best of her and she finally set the back-pack aside close to her on the couch as she accepted the second and larger gift from Corrigan. Holding it on the floor in front of her she pulled the paper off finding it easier than when she’d tried to open the other present. She looked to Corrigan who was watching intently as she opened his second gift.

Seeing her curious questioning face he answered simply. “I ran out of tape.”

“Someone in this family must know how to wrap a gift properly,” Clarissa said as she pulled away another strip of cream colored wrapping paper. It was really too pretty to destroy.

“Maude,” Corrigan spoke his sister’s name. She’d tried to show him how he was only supposed to use three pieces of tape and the different folding techniques he could use on odd shaped gifts. He hadn’t been a very good pupil to her tutelage. There might have been a moment when she threw the roll of tape at him. “She helped me with the stitching of the decals.” He’d done better with the sewing and had only broken the needle four or five times and kept the cursing to a minimum. Margaret Ann hadn’t been there and Maude was more lenient of cursing than she was or else she didn’t voice herself as strongly.

Clarissa had extracted the last strip of paper and was looking at her gift was an intense frown on her face as if she couldn’t quite come up with a response. She tilted her head to the left then to the right like she were an art dealer trying to make sense of a new artist. Then she made her eyes into tiny squints before opening them real wide like she was surprised.

“What are you doing?” Corrigan questioned her when she continued through several bizarre expressions. “I assure you no matter how you distort your face the canvas won't change on you.”

“Am I looking at this wrong because all I see is a blank canvas?” Clarissa ran her fingers over the pristine white canvas. Then she caught Corrigan with a fixed grin on his beautifully handsome face. “What, am I missing something here? Maybe you have to have a fleshy body to understand this kind of art. Thank-you by the way for my – not blank canvas.”

Corrigan laughed then at her adorable whit. “It is a blank canvas,” he said taking the canvas from the floor and holding up to her, “but already I see you absorbed in its fibers. I see your face and hair and that beguiling smile.” He traced the line of her cheek then a spot on the canvas where he thought it should be. “I want to paint you on to this canvas just as I see you now. In truth it’s more of a gift for me. I haven’t done a portrait work in a long time.”

Corrigan yanked her from the old leather couch, pulling her over to where the bed sheet was hung like a curtain. Holding back the sheet he gestured for her to go behind the curtain. He followed in behind her, letting the curtain fall in his wake.

It was dark outside and the attic wasn’t really built for making into rooms. There were two windows that looked out onto the front and back yards of the main house. But on either end the walls rose up at angles with no way for light to penetrate; moonlight or otherwise. The nook made by the curtain was illuminated by several oil lamps and hurricane lanterns and nothing else, making Clarissa feel like she were living in an older time. Or when Hurricane season was in full swing and the power was out. But in this moment she felt it was the former.

A chaise lounge had been placed near the wall with a decorative antique table set just in front of it. Several old tin lanterns hung from the ceiling, the cut-outs creating eerie shapes on walls. Placed a few feet in front of the ‘set’ was an easel and stool. Sketches and paint splatters marred the wooden floor and at once Clarissa realized this was where Corrigan did his painting work.

Corrigan led Clarissa over to the chaise lounge, pushing on her gently until she sat down on it. Clarissa couldn’t stop the smile from showing on her face as Corrigan, with an artist’s serious face, moved her limbs around on the chaise until he was satisfied. Like a puppet she was adjusted and rearranged, her hand at one time up close to her face then down by her side.

Clarissa reclined on the lounge chair which was surprisingly comfortable despite it being as old as her boyfriend. She reached to grab a cobweb that dangled in front of her face, caught and hanging from the lighted lanterns from above her.

“Don’t move,” Corrigan barked the order as he sat on his stool holding a pad of sketching paper in his hands. The canvas was set up on his easel but he wasn’t ready to start there. First he needed to practice. Soothing his voice he said, “I need you to be very still so I don’t mess this up. I haven’t worked with animate objects in awhile.”

“Yes, Mr. Artiste,” Clarissa quipped, feeling like Kate Winslet in Titanic. She adored that movie. She’d watched it recently at Eleanor’s house and Eleanor had made the statement that if she had been Rose she would have managed to get her fat ass over on that door and let Jack have room so he didn’t have to die. But that was only much later after the movie had ended. When she could talk without crying ‘I’ll never let go, I’ll never let go’ over and over again to the television screen as poor Jack Dawson sank into the cold depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

Corrigan ripped the top sheet off his sketch book, crumpling it up as he threw it on the floor next to him. He’d sacrificed a few of them in the last few minutes he’d been sketching and a small set of paper tumble weeds were rolling around the floor, moved by a portable fan he had set up next to him. He made grumbling comments to himself as he looked between the pad and Clarissa who couldn’t help but mimic his expression.

Several more minutes ticked by. She could almost hear them ticking in her head.

“Shouldn’t I be naked or something,” Clarissa questioned, breaking the silence in the room. “Don’t all painters have their models in the nude to create the perfect expression of human nature?”

He didn’t comment. More silent minute’s glugged by as Corrigan continued perfecting his sketches.

Clarissa saw a particle of dust as it flew by her face and reached out to capture it like a bug in her hand. “I’m sure I could manifest a look-alike diamond necklace.”

“No,” Corrigan finally drawled as he once again added to his collection of tumbleweeds. “This isn’t Titanic and I think it would be best if you kept your clothes on while I work.” He adjusted his posture on the stool while he tried to dispel the image of Clarissa lying naked on the chaise with an encouraging sirens smile on her beautifully otherworldly face. “You’re moving too much.”

“Oh,” she said, watching him as he squirmed on his stool, keeping her smile in check. “Sorry.” She returned to her proper position and tried to keep still. Her species wasn’t very good at keeping still. It was their very nature to move and flow with the energy and movement of the earth. But she tried really, really hard because Corrigan was immortalizing on to a canvas. This was a special moment and she didn’t want to spoil it.

After several more agonizing minutes of silence, however, she had to talk again. “So you know about Titanic, do you?”

Corrigan nodded his ascent as he drew the curving lines that outlined her jaw. He was finding it difficult to get it just right, not too pointy and not too round.

“Which, the actual ship or the movies they made about it? There was even a musical if I’m not mistaken.” He moved to her hair which flowed almost as if it were suspended in another time and didn’t adhere to the laws of this world. He liked running his fingers through it as her hair felt like he was running his fingers against a living stream that had somehow been electrically charged sending currents through her to his hand, yet the currents remained cool instead of hot.

“The movie obviously,” Clarissa answered, trying to talk while keeping still as death. Though why people thought death was still was anyone’s guess. Death was always on the go. “Why, were you there when the actual ship sank?”

“I read about it in the circulation papers, but no, I wasn’t in New York when the Lusitania carried in the survivors. I am however aware of the movie you’re referring to, one of many, but as young as you are you’re likely not aware of the others. So I know about Jack and his Rose and the whole three and half hour cinematic spectacular that put the two lead characters into pop culture infamy.” He started her eyes, trying to capture the perfect slant of them, the dark lashes and the sweep of her brows. “Helen has requested that we have a family movie night and I and several others were outvoted when choosing the movie. I fell asleep when they were changing the tapes. If a movie requires two VHS tapes to watch someone was too much of a wimp in the editing department. I got poked awake just before the boat finally keeled over and went under.”

Corrigan shook his head as if trying to get the extremely drawn out love story out of his memory cells. “For days I heard My heart will go on, coming from downstairs. And when it got to be so much that I knew every damn word I went outside to get away from it. I found Margaret Ann in the gardens with her portable CD player, singing loud and off-key the same nauseating tune. I swear those women wouldn’t shut up about the whole thing for another year after it came out. By then they had moved on to some other obsession, I know designed merely to irritate me.”

“I liked that movie,” Clarissa told him, a little sad that he didn’t see the beauty of the tragic love story the way she did. “My friends were obsessed with the Jack character. They had Leonardo Decaprio posters and calendars and who knows what other promotional stuff. I have to admit I did have the soundtrack and I played that Celine Dion song on an endless loop for hours. I had the movie marquee poster over my bed.” She made an overly dramatic sigh. “Leo was so cute in that movie, wasn’t he? He was like the Robert Pattinson of the nineties,” she told him with a wave of her hand.

“I have no idea what you’re rambling on about but can you do it without moving your arms and legs?” He had moved on now to outlining her figure. It didn’t matter what she was wearing at the moment, he could put another outfit on her once he’d started the actual painting process. He just needed to get the sweep of her waist and rounded hips set perfect with the line of her legs. Corrigan had placed her slightly turned on her side and he was wondering now if he shouldn’t have put her fully on her left side. The pillow he’d stuffed behind her kept her somewhat elevated in the right position but she had a tendency to move her legs and arms. She was starting to slide in the opposite direction from where he’d begun to draw her body which confused him as he’d start to continue a line that would no longer look the same seconds later.

“Oh don’t give me that line,” Clarissa teased as she once again slide further away from where he’d place her. “Everyone knows about the vamp people. Even Mrs. Connors knows who he is except she always calls it the Twilight Zone movie. Which is kind of appropriate because people can go ‘a little nuts’ and enter their own little obsessive zones when they think someone is making a poor comment about their vampire friends.”

Corrigan set his sketch pad down for a moment, coming across the space to where Clarissa was grinning up at him. He still wore the expression of a man focused on his craft. Putting his hands under her body he moved his muse back into the proper position. Brushing his fingers through her hair he bent down to place a sweet kiss on her lips, pulling back after several seconds to say against them, “Try not to move, love. I’m almost finished.” Then he pulled away and went to his seat to continue his work.

Clarissa touched her mouth, holding his kiss in before putting herself back to where he had placed her. Corrigan’s eyes continued to swing from her to his sketch book and each time she would catch that look of unconditional and unpretentious love revealed in his iridescent blue eyes.

The bonds of her love for him stretched tight around her heart – his heart. She was sure that he loved her as irreversibly as she loved him. And even though both their worlds and those they cared in it were fraught with murder and deceit, here in this quiet attic it was just them; a man and a woman no longer a flesh-eater and a bokor ghost.

You will kill him… Kill him….

Chapter 22-

Trueman’s laboratory was located on the first floor at the back of his house facing the gardens Margaret Ann had built for him and Debora more than thirty years back. It boasted a twenty-two foot ceiling with three of the walls stacked high with built in shelves and made for a large open space. The fourth wall was made almost entirely of glass and faced the garden.

Late afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass mosaic windows mixed between panels of frosted glass. The waning light filtered through the religious gothic images of the passion of Jesus of Nazareth and modern secular images of fields and flowering plants which highlighted the odd interior. Long wood plank tables held various medicinal plants. Flat leaf bilberry bush and feathery marjoram, along with the aloe Vera plant and ginkgo balboa as well as wormwood took up much of the space. A potted Linden tree sat on the floor next to a metal watering can. Contrasting sharply with the conservatory theme were the harsh and sterile metal tables and modern laboratory equipment including several blood staining machines and high powered microscopes that gave the room a forensic-mad-scientist appearance. Shelves upon shelves of medical journals and reference books protruding with scraps of paper used as book marks with more lined in abstract piles on the floor.

Trueman sat in his leather recliner, an opened book in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. He was wearing his reading glasses again except this time he had them placed slightly askance on his slightly unkempt blonde head. He lifted his head from reading when he heard his brother make a grunting noise.

Corrigan held the cotton swab firmly against the bend in his elbow. He watched with a frown as Debora held the latest blood phlebotomy from him. Once a week, each of them endured this process of collecting and examining their blood and while it was done religiously and with good intentions, none enjoyed being a guinea pig to Trueman and Debora’s experimentations on them.

“I don’t understand why you’re so difficult to draw from, Corrigan.” Debora turned her head to the side as she examined her brothers blood in the light, turning it this way and that. “Stop grumbling, please. That’s no way for a grown man to behave. You act like I took an entire pint out of you.”

Corrigan ceased his mutterings about her trying to drain him out of all his recently obtained blood supply as he pressed down firmly with the cotton swab to his arm. In a moment it would stop, but until then if left unchecked even a tiny bleed could become fatal. Because of this, nature had made the layers of their epidermis hold a stronger compound of denser tissue that prevented most tearing made by common accidents, even scratching, so as to decrease the risks of bleeding out.

Unfortunately that meant normal medical needles and syringes had a more difficult time pushing through the layers. Trueman had developed a unique diamond headed tip to his needles to puncture the skin’s surface so that they could extract or insert fluids into their system. It was also a very precise puncture wound which prevented needless injury and the build-up of scar tissue. Healing time was quick as their tissues consistently regenerated themselves and even substantial injuries if given the proper care would work themselves out over several hours contrasting with the usual days it required in the typical human system.

Deborah did a Wright’s stain and differential of her brother’s blood, putting it under the scope to have a better look at his cells. With each of her siblings, her husband and herself, she would perform a Complete Blood Count to evaluate all cellular components of the blood and determine the volume of each. Then each new sample was evaluated against the previous samples. Two commercial grade refrigerators were set between the stack of shelves on one wall to store the samples.

After several more seconds Corrigan removed the stained cotton swab, throwing it into a brightly colored hazardous waste bucket next to him. He moved his finger over the area where Debora had taken his blood but finding no puncture wound to his flesh, only a slight blush to the skin to even hint that she’d stuck him.

“He’s not so bad, actually,” Trueman said, joining the conversation. Placing the glass of tea and book on the end table next to him he rose from his recliner to join them both by the lab equipment. He’d set up most of the room for work, but had included a living room setting out of part of the space. Because in Trueman’s mind work and leisure didn’t exist too far apart he always wanted to be near his equipment and plants if inspiration struck.

“Xavier has a more difficult time. He’s a stubborn man, so much so that even his veins refuse to give in most of the time.” Trueman placed his hand gently on his wife’s back causing her to look up from the scope. She smiled up at him as she moved aside to let him have a look.

As her husband was engrossed in focusing the microscope, Debora returned to Corrigan’s side to go through her next process of tests and questions she did with each of them. Debora had been an apprentice of sorts to Trueman since they’d first come together, their relationship being the longest running in the family.

Corrigan performed the standard eye roll in his mind as Debora pulled out from a desk drawer a notebook she had dedicated solely for information obtained from her tests and questions of him. Corrigan’s name was written in her precise copperplate handwriting on the cover of each manual. There was also a shelf on the wall dedicated to his medical records alone and with her borderline obsessive organizing nothing was ever forgotten or misplaced.

“So,” she began, using her doctor/patient voice. “How have you been sleeping lately?”

“Fine,” he said. She made notes on his chart. It was only the beginning of a serious of questions about his overall health. And each of them was required by decree from Ambrose himself to sit patiently and answer all these questions.

After many more questions, which were each answered by Corrigan using as few words as possible or simply a nod or shake of his head, they moved on. Corrigan always felt like he was a horse or a cow when Debora began looking into his ears and shining lights in his eyes before insisting that he open his mouth while she stuck what looked like a Popsicle sticks bloated cousin inside. When she was finished poking and prodding him she gestured for him to step onto a portable scale she took out from another drawer.

She made some quiet comments to herself as she was jotting down her results into his chart. Trueman, who was holding another notebook full of Corrigan’s charts from some time back, looked over his wife’s shoulder as she was making her markings into the new chart. He nodded when she looked up at him and pointed at something on the chart. But they said nothing to Corrigan.

He left them alone as they talked in hushed tones and pointed to the two charts punctuating their words with taps of their identical pens. Corrigan walked over to the Linden tree, which had only recently been planted. Because of its fast rate of growth, in a few months it would be too big to remain indoors.

Much of the tree population on the property was made up of these trees. The stalwart tree was a plant extensively used in medicinal practices for curing headaches and as a sedative as well as being ‘rooted’ in the world of mythology. He knew a portion of the lore of a woman, Philyra. Who after giving birth to a centaur child, asked the gods to take her humanity from her. They turned her into a Linden tree. But he couldn’t remember the rest of the story or whether, after becoming a tree, the woman was satisfied. He didn’t realize so much time had passed until he heard his name being called.

“Corrigan,” Debora spoke his name, drawing it out using a deeply concerned tone to her voice.

“Yes,” he answered, fingering one of the leaves.

“Will you come and sit over here with us?”

He looked up to see both his adoptive siblings sitting in the living room portion of the room which housed Trueman’s leather recliner as well as a sofa and two other chairs. There was also a gas fireplace set in the wall which was more for show than for producing heat.

Corrigan made his way across the room to one of the chairs. Debora had chosen the striped printed sofa while Trueman was back in his recliner. As he sat he watched their identical level stares. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something in his charts had displeased them.

“Would you take refreshment with us, Corrigan?” Debora asked as she gestured to a service tray that held an etched glass pitcher of iced tea, several matching glasses and a plate of homemade pastries that Maude had made and sent over earlier.

Corrigan was figuring out how best to decline her offer when he caught sight of Trueman holding up a tiny metal flask. When Debora wasn’t looking he made a gesture with it over his own glass of iced tea. Quickly changing his mind, Corrigan forced a smile on his face and nodded.

Debora returned his smile with one of her own as she filled the etched glass with the brewed liquid. She placed a sliced lemon on the glass for effect and reached out across the low coffee table as Corrigan extended his hand to take it from her.

“Oh,” Debora exclaimed just as Corrigan had taken the glass, “I forgot to get the coasters. I’ll be right back.” Standing up to go retrieve them from the hall closet where she kept other table linens and such. She eyed the two men before saying, “Don’t you dare put those glasses down on my coffee table. If I come back and find even a partial wet ring on the wood, you’ll both be very sorry.”

Debora left them then, only turning around once to give them a look that said she meant what she said.

When he was sure she was far enough away Corrigan extended his glass of iced tea to his brother. Taking off the stop of the flask, Trueman poured a good amount into his brother’s eagerly waiting glass. “Don’t be stingy, Trueman,” Corrigan said as Trueman was about to pull back.

Trueman chuckled as he continued to pour more into Corrigan’s glass. He watched as his brother took several gulps from the glass to make room before he extended it out again for a refill. “You’re a real Irishman, Corrigan.” He emptied the contents into his glass.
Corrigan’s dark brows drew down as he brought the glass once again to his mouth. He downed half the contents before he moved it away, letting it hover over his right thigh. “That’s a poor stereotype,” he said after he cleared his throat.

“Maybe,” Trueman said, putting the cap over the now empty flask. “However, I can’t help but note the obvious. You’re overly moody with a volatile temper that could rival Xavier’s if and when you ever let it out.” He held up his now empty flask, shaking it for emphasis. “And you just downed enough spirits to kill an average man. I made this little concoction myself. Don’t tell Debora, because she has issues with drinking.”

Corrigan just nodded, his glass finding its way back to his mouth. Corrigan had brought the glass to his lips and was swallowing another mouthful when Debora re-entered carrying a stack of pretty little coasters. Trueman hastily tucked the flask down between the cushions as she made her way back toward them. Taking a quick inventory of her coffee table she set the coasters down in front of the men. Looking up she noticed Corrigan’s more than half empty glass.

“You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” she said as she filled her own glass. Placing a lemon wedge artistically on the rim of the glass she arranged herself on the sofa, her ankles crossed and her dress slacks adjusted so she wouldn’t wrinkle them.

Trueman stifled a laugh at his wife’s question. Debora gave him a curious look as he tried to wipe his mouth of the grin that was more than evident on it. Shaking her head at her husband’s odd fit of laughter she took a sip of the iced tea she had made. It was good, not too sweet and extremely refreshing.

Corrigan set the now empty glass on the table, making sure it found its way onto the coaster lest he get an earful from his sister. Trueman did the same. Debora fingered the etched details on her glass as she stared into the mouth of it, watching the tiny glaciers in her tea bob up and down with the slight movement of her hand. The room was once again quiet, the light filtering through the mosaic scene on the far wall, barely reaching them in the darkest part of the room.

“Do you know why we are here?” Debora addressed the room, still looking into the mouth of her glass.

“You asked me over to take a new sample,” Corrigan answered automatically.

Debora looked up then, an embarrassed smile on her face as she realized that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. But it couldn’t be taken back now. “No,” she said, shaking her head as she looked off into a world of her own imaginings. “Why are we ‘here’, why do we exist?” She made a strange sigh as she placed her glass down on the coffee table on a coaster of her own.

“I don’t know.” Corrigan glanced over at his brother who had put his glasses back on his face. He was adjusting them over his nose when he caught Corrigan looking at him. He frowned as he took his hands away, placing them on the arms of his recliner. “You’re the scientist, Trueman, what do you think?”

Trueman scratched an area on his forehead, running his fingers through his slightly out of place hair before fidgeting with his glasses again. It was compulsive, he couldn’t help it. “If I knew the answer to that, not only would I be the richest man in the world, I’m quite sure I’d destroy every known belief system, past and present and watch as it fell into one crumbling pile of esoteric rubble. That very question haunts every being on this planet. It’s the drawback of knowing your own existence because you’ll spend every day wondering ‘why’. I don’t know and deep down I don’t really want to know.”

“You’re dying,” Debora blurted out, unable to keep the words inside any more. Corrigan was her youngest brother and even though he was much older than she, there was a vulnerability about him that brought out a motherly instinct in her. An instinct that she couldn’t put to good use because of what she was. “You’re killing yourself, for her.”

Corrigan sat back in his chair, unsure of how to respond.

“What Debora is trying to say is…” Trueman tried to express in better words his wife’s harsh accusation, but she wouldn’t let him.

“No,” she shouted at him. “Don’t make it less than what it is. I won’t let him hurt himself because he feels guilt over what he is. How can I stand by and watch while he slowly loses his mind and turns into a,” she paused, her hand going to her mouth before she finished her sentence on a whisper, “until he becomes a mindless, cataleptic zombie.”

Corrigan knew what she meant. He’d seen for himself what could happen to his kind when they neglected themselves, their minds lost to them until there was nothing left but a sack of flesh with no purpose other than to consume. They were truly dangerous, but then the creature didn’t last long to cause much harm. They were the kinds of creatures fit for the horror movies.

Debora came off the sofa in a flash of movement as she came to kneel at her brothers chair. Taking his hand into her smaller one she held it to her mouth. Corrigan was at once taken back by the gesture. He didn’t know what to say so he just sat there looking down at her. He watched the tears slip freely from her eyes, trailing down her unchanging skin.

“Is she worth ending your existence, slipping away into those dark shadows where we can’t find you?” she said, clasping his fingers tightly to her cheek. “Isn’t it enough to know that I love you as if you were truly my own brother? We are your family, and we would never make you change who or what you are.”

Corrigan felt a tightening around his chest at the utterance of those whispered words. Yes, he knew that they cared for him, but love, no, he hadn’t known that. But his family didn’t understand that he didn’t want to be an evil creature anymore. Clarissa accepted him for what he was, but even then he wondered if she only suppressed that dark side of him from her mind. Was their love based on lying to themselves and each other?

“You’ve not been out with Chas in the last week and it’s already showing in your chart.” Trueman crossed one knee over the other, his posture reading one of an observant doctor. But in his eyes Corrigan could see his own worry; it was personal. “You’ve lost substantial weight and both your red and white blood cell numbers are down. I haven’t done enough tests to see but physically I can see the toll your abstinence is taking on your system, your skin and the dark circles under your eyes, the fact that you don’t sleep as you should. You’re wearing thin Corrigan.”

“Because of the nature of our genetics we must replenish our cells constantly as our bodies attack what cells we have in our system. Right now you’re showing signs of acute hemolytic anemia, which can be treated well enough in a typical human but it’s more serious in our species. In fact it can be more than deadly if left unchecked. You will become a creature without conscious and we can’t allow that. If you continue to refuse to meet the needs of your diet,” he paused, his eyes drawing down, his mouth hardening. “If you refuse then we will be forced to take matters into our own hands.”

“You would force feed me,” Corrigan said, incredulously, knowing his brothers intentions. “You’d force it down my throat like a child.”

“If it means your health and wellbeing then we will,” Debora answered, moving to stand. “We will do everything in our power to see to your health and safety. It is our job as your family. If that woman thinks to force you to change because of her prejudices against us then she has another thing coming to her.”

“Clarissa has never made me choose, nor has she ever told me to change my diet. I’m not the victim you seem to think I am. If I decide to hunt less then that is my choice, not yours.” He refused to continue to let them think that Clarissa was the only reason for his change of heart. He had thought this for some time now. He wished more than anything that there was another way, but such things were never easy. He and his family were what they were and there was no way to change their needs to survive.

That need to survive beat at his brain every day that he went without the sustenance of living flesh and blood. Corrigan told himself that he could hold out, but he knew he couldn’t. If it went much longer he’d either go on a rampage or become the very thing his sister feared. Then he’d be truly lost them; Clarissa too. He didn’t want that. And drinking didn’t seem to help either. Despite the fact that he’d nearly emptied his eldest brother, Ambrose’s, good stock he kept in a locked pantry in the main house.

“Does she know what will become of you if you continue abstaining from your diet?” When he shook his head she continued. “Then I think it’s time we had a girl’s night out. If Clarissa is going to accept you and our family as we are then she needs to see us as we truly are and not what we pretend to be. Keeping her closeted in your attic room every night can’t keep the rest of the world at bay forever.”

She watched as Corrigan looked away and it was in that moment that she saw the truth. He thought that if he could keep her to himself that they could stay that way forever. But she knew better than most that love did not exist in a vacuum. If it was to survive it had to be out in the harsh elements of the world. True love shone bright even in the muck and nastiness of everyday life.

“Bring her to the house on Friday and we will see if she can hold up to her promises.”

“What are you going to do, Debora?” Corrigan asked, not liking the tiny smile that worked its way on her youthful mouth. He watched as she wiped her tears and returned to the sofa. “Clarissa has been nothing but polite to all of you. And for the most part you all ignore her presence here. Why do you think I’d allow her to go out with you? Take her on one of your ‘girl’s trips’ when I know it would only serve to alienate her and make her feel more unwelcome then she already feels?”

“That is exactly why she needs this; why you both need this.” Debora fixed a crease in her pant leg before she leveled her brother with a serious stare. “Drinking yourself into a stupor is not a way to solve your problems. You,” she said, turning her focus to her husband, “should know better.” Drawing her attention back to Corrigan she continued. “If she wants to be part of this family then she will ‘eat’ with the family and only when she sees us at our worst will we be certain of her affections.”

Corrigan placed his hand over his eyes, stopping his mind from going there.

Chapter 23-

Several Days later at the house of Cyrus Cercopoly…

She needed to remember to breathe or at the very least keep up the allusion that air was passing in and out of her lungs. Ghosts didn’t really breathe like a normal human. The look of breathing however was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, as a chest that did not rise and fall was considered ugly and dead by Eidolon standards. They did not care to look too closely at their own deaths and distanced themselves from all things that reminded them of the physical nature of death. But Clarissa was having a difficult time remembering to ‘act alive’ when inside she was reliving her own death.

Jackson sat on her left at the table, his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers just barely touching her neck. They were at the elegant dining table of Cyrus Cercopoly who was seated several seats down at the head on the table on her right.

She fidgeted on the soft cream colored cushion of her chair, hating the lingerie under her rose colored satin dress. Clarissa felt more than naked and reprimanded herself for allowing that ‘little girl’ to put this contraption of undergarments on her.

“You will wear these garments from now on, Clarissa. It pleases me. Do you understand?” Isabella Canova had said through a tight smile. Then she had touched her hand, a light caress sending shooting pains up Clarissa’s arm straight to her heart – the core of her soul.

Taking a quick glance down to where Cyrus sat, his posture reading that of a king surrounded by his subjects, she caught sight of Isabella seated to his right. Isabella looked to Cyrus for a moment then her golden cat eyes caught Clarissa’s stare. She smiled down the table toward Clarissa, showing teeth. An evil teenage look of superiority reflected on her deceivingly youthful face before turning away to whisper something in Henry’s ear, who sat on her right. His date to the function, Millicent Carp placed on his right.

Isabella had swept Clarissa away on a shopping spree to Paris days earlier. Contracting a private plan out of the Sanford Airport, they had spent the day and part of the evening darting from store to store, amassing a hefty bill that could very easily make a mockery of the national debt. Clarissa had been measured and poked at for much of the day. Until that day she never thought she could say with a straight face that shopping was torture; with Isabella Canova she had found those words to ring true.

When she wasn’t commenting on the differences between Clarissa’s adult body and her own younger looking physic, she was insisting on garments that would help boost or disguise her obvious physical flaws. However, while Clarissa stood for hours in nothing but her ‘grandma-looking’ underwear, not once did Isabella remove any of her clothing.

Clarissa felt Jackson’s fingers on the cool flesh on the back of her neck and it instantly brought her back to the moment. She refused to look at or acknowledge the man sitting next to her. If she did, she was sure she would have some kind of conniption and pass out. Could a ghost even pass out?

Her brain was scrambling through so many sequences of events, flashing through her brain like a slideshow on drugs. The images whizzing by in a blur, yet each somehow crystal clear. Once again she saw that woman lying on the floor, her life’s blood draining out in dark rivers on the floor beneath her. The dagger poised over her stomach where it had made sure work of tearing into the meat of her body. Then the image of the man above her, only now the face was no longer held in shadow, it was clear of the allusion her brain had forced into place out of self-preservation. She could see clearly the handsome and charming face of a man whose heart she had foolishly believed had held a lasting connection to her own. But he had ripped her heart to shreds, both emotionally and physically, leaving her to die on the hard sidewalk outside the Orlando hospital.

Clarissa held herself in check as a horrible and sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Olivier Prince sat with his dinner knife poised over his lamb chop using the gentle movement of his hand to slice the meat from the bone, a precision that was both beautiful and deadly. That hand had cut out her heart. Clarissa refused to look higher than that hand lest she do something she couldn’t take back.

The death bokor brought his fork to his mouth, a satisfied grin on his face as he took a bite of the tender meat. Everyone around him was deep in conversation or into their plates of food. Two options had been served, one for those of the living persuasion and those that were not.

Olivier knew Clarissa was watching his hands, just as he knew she finally recognized him. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to come back to herself; to remember from her past. When they were first being introduced she had given him a blank stare as if he were a stranger in her eyes. Then as they were seated for dinner he felt the change come over her, washing through her system until her mind was flooded with repressed memories. The only one who had noticed however was the boy she had come to the function with. He seemed to be watching Olivier carefully over Clarissa’s head as if he knew more than the others.

Olivier reached for his dinner roll just as Clarissa reached out for her glass of water. Their hands collided sending a spark of electricity that knocked her glass over and left a burned mark on his dinner roll. Clarissa hastily brought her hand back, holding it to her middle in the exact same spot where she had first felt the knife in his hand slice through her flesh.

At once heads turned, curiosities rose as they turned to the cause of the commotion. Cyrus’s gaze fell on Clarissa’s, his stormy gray eyes closing a fraction as he connected with her. He was one of the few who could delve deep into the psyche of others. She couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to and her terrible truth was exposed to him. She swore she could feel the range of emotions coming from him as their connection lasted; only a fraction of a second but for him it was enough. She could feel his anger at her deception. When he pulled back she felt coldness steal over her heart, but it didn’t stop or overshadow the ache in her stomach.

Clarissa rose from her seat. She couldn’t stay here anymore. Even as voices called her back or questioned each other as to what had just happened, she fled from the dining room, not caring if it was rude to her host. He could stuff it up his ancient non-corporal ass.

As she reached the safety of the foyer, she expelled a breath of cool air from her lungs.

“Clarissa,” she heard Jackson’s voice just behind her. Clarissa turned about in the direction of his voice as Jackson was closing the double doors behind him that lead to the dining room, sealing them in. “What was that about?” he said as he came to stand in front of her.

“I saw what happened when your hands connected. That wouldn’t have happened unless your mind was else were.” Jackson stared down at her as she stood so still not looking at him, but behind him. It was then that he felt another presence.

Jackson turned around in time to see Olivier Prince shut those same doors that led back to the dining room. The expression he wore was that of genuine sympathy, but Jackson could see underneath the older man’s mask to the cruel streak that touched the corners of his mouth and flashed in the dark brown eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I just came out to see if Ms. Schofield was feeling unwell.” Olivier walked casually over to them, a prowling gate that said he was a man who bowed down to few if any. He reached out to touch her forehead, but Clarissa quickly jerked out from under his touch.

“Don’t you dare put a hand on me, you bastard,” she swore at him while keeping her voice on a low level so the others in the dining room couldn’t hear. “I’ll kill you before I ever let you touch me.”

Jackson, at hearing those words, took up a position in front of Clarissa, blocking her from view of the death bokor. He didn’t like this man, not since the moment he’d laid eyes on him when he’d been driven into town to see to their problem with the flesh-eaters and event then he known that there was something off about him. Jackson had seen the way Clarissa had clutched her stomach, seen her worried eyes when she’d sat next to him at dinner. And her outburst only made him dislike this man more. Even though he wasn’t bokor, he knew his family’s abilities could hold up enough against Olivier Prince.

“Are you Clarissa’s little champion, boy?” Olivier said, a hint of his Cajun accent creeping into his otherwise bland speaking voice. “How extremely brave of you to think that you could stand between me and my fiancé, but then I always thought teenagers a rather reckless species.”

“Fiancé,” Jackson quoted back, his head making a quick jerking motion to look behind him at Clarissa who still refused to meet his eyes. “Clarissa doesn’t have any family,” he said, believing his own lie.

Olivier shook his head, a sardonic smile touching his full lips. He was about an inch taller than Jackson, his ego even taller than that. A man in his mid-thirties with stylishly cut dark brown hair, he was considered by many to be a catch with the ladies as well as being the best at his craft. Clarissa had been one of those foolish women. But then Olivier had perfected the politician’s talent of two-facedness better than any in Washington.

“Clarissa and I have been engaged for over a year now; up until her unfortunate demise. We were going to marry just after her birthday.” He chuckled to himself as if something he’d said was funny. In his twisted mind it was.

In the next instant Olivier had Jackson by the collar of his dress shirt, pulling him up until his feet dangled inches off the ground. Jackson kicked the air trying to get loose. Their eyes met, Jackson looking down as Olivier grinned up at him. For several seconds their eyes locked before Olivier threw Jackson into an antique table in the corner that collapsed beneath the sudden weight of Jackson’s flailing body.

“I have to say, Clarissa, I’m surprised to see you here,” Olivier continued as he took Clarissa by the arm, holding her close to his body. “I never thought to see you in this very interesting form.” His eyes were alight with cruel passion as he forced her closer to him. “You were always very pretty in your flesh, but outside it you seem to be even more beautiful. It must be that your soul was more desirable than the body. You positively outshine the other spirits in that room.”

Clarissa jerked out of his restraining hands, but was only free for a second before he had both her arms pinned down by her sides. She could feel the strength in his touch, not just the physical strength of his body but the strength of his bokor powers. She wasn’t sure she could compete with him.

His lips captured hers despite her attempts to turn her face away from him. At one time she had loved kissing this man, loved everything about him. It had been far too late before she recognized the signs about his true nature. He loved the kill, more than she did.

That lump tried to rise in her stomach. It made her insides hurt to know what she had been before death had hidden the truth from her mind. She had loved the hunt for the creatures she believed didn’t deserve to be on this earth. Clarissa had taken them all down, even the very young ones who didn’t know that what they were was wrong. But in Clarissa’s mind a child monster was just as bad as a grown one.

Olivier had been worse though. At least she had been merciful. He had taken great satisfaction in torture. Clarissa couldn’t stand to have those lips on hers, not when she knew those lips had commanded his victims to humiliate themselves before he’d ended their existence. It was like kissing the devil himself and it made that lump in her stomach – in her soul – burn to know that she had loved this devil.

Clarissa managed to pull her mouth away from his, hating the taste of him on her tongue. “I hate you,” she whispered as he leered down at her.

“You were always so overly dramatic, Clarissa. I wondered why I put up with you as long as I did.” He brought one manicured finger up to her lips. “Maybe it was this little talented mouth of yours.” He rubbed his finger over the seam of her mouth, an evil gleam coming to his eyes. “I wonder how it would work now that you don’t need to breathe.”

That sent Clarissa over the edge as a new found strength stole through her. She pushed at him, not only with her hands but with the strength of her own bokor powers. She was a Sorcière, a female bokor, and just as capable as he in the use of her magick.

Olivier stumbled back, his arms going wide to steady himself. Clarissa was on him, her movements sure and fast as his had been, pinning him to the far wall near the door to the dining room. She would wonder later why no one came out to investigate, but right now her mind was on the matter at hand.

She could feel Jackson behind her as he righted himself and stumbled a bit to get to his feet. In a moment she’d make sure he had nothing broken. Now she’d make her feelings clear to her ex-fiancé.

“You ever come near me again and I will take you down.” Her voice laced in the venom of her magick. She held Olivier to the wall with little effort even though he was a good deal taller and bigger than she. His face remained beautifully impassive as she continued. “Just because I no longer have flesh doesn’t mean I can’t see you destroyed. And trust me when I say it will be my pleasure to see that your soul goes back where it belongs.”

“Go hIfreann leat!” To hell with you! She released him, stepping back as she watched him fix his collar with a calmness that she knew was likely only an illusion. He gave her a final once over before he turned and opened the doors, retreating back into the dining room.

Clarissa went over to where Jackson was standing on shaking legs, his hand holding his back. She missed the malevolent smile that came over Olivier’s face just as he passed through the double doors and left them.

“Are you all right, Jackson?” Clarissa said, touching his back, moving his hand away to see if he was bleeding. He wasn’t. “Jackson, I’m so sorry.” She continued to fuss over him until he stopped her by taking her hand and bending forward to look down into her troubled eyes.

“You weren’t like him, Clarissa.” He made the quiet comment, the soft deep voice that was so Jackson. “Maybe you weren’t completely innocent, but then none of us really are. But you were never like he is, a real monster.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Clarissa spoke quietly as she fixed his shirt and tie that been horribly wrenched loose from Olivier’s near stranglehold. “But it isn’t true. I was exactly like Olivier when I was alive. It didn’t matter that I hurt people. All I knew was what he’d told me about abnormalities in this world, and I believed him. Maybe that’s why I didn’t move on. Maybe I’m being punished for the crimes I committed against those people I saw as aberrations in my world.”

“I don’t want to go back in there, Jackson,” she said, stepping away from him. “I don’t want to be with those people anymore.” Clarissa wiped against her face making sure she wasn’t crying, at least not on the outside. “What time is it?” she asked Jackson. Clarissa hadn’t thought to put on a watch and Cyrus’s house was devoid of any clocks. She speculated that Cyrus didn’t like the look of time as he had spent most of his being dead.

Jackson looked down at his right wrist. Some days he was left handed and other days he wasn’t. “It’s about quarter till ten. They’re likely finished eating and probably getting ready to go into the parlor. I’ll take you home if you like.”

“No,” Clarissa interjected. “Stay, you should stay and enjoy yourself. I think it would be good for you to do a little self PR work. The Spectral Services need someone like you, Jackson. That is, if you still want to be an S.S. member one day.”

“Of course I do,” he answered, adjusting his coat.

Jackson took Clarissa’s coat from the walk in closet by the front door. He was one of the few who could touch non-tangible objects made by the Eidolon people. The problem with things made by magick, however, was that it didn’t last long. The energy always wanted to return to its natural state, which was why Clarissa never wore any article of clothing twice as she couldn’t. Magick preservatives could be placed in the garment, but even then it wasn’t enough. The beautiful dress Clarissa was wearing tonight would dissolve back into the natural world in a matter of days if she was lucky. Already it had been a few days since its conception. All the Eidolon cloths had a short expiration date.

Clarissa hugged the coat to her. Not because it provided warmth, at least not physically. She reached into her pocket to get out her cell phone when Cyrus burst through the double doors, taking up the extra energy in the room by his presence alone. Those doors were getting more use tonight than they got in a month. Clarissa watched as “his majesty” made his grand entrance.

“Ms. Schofield, will you be joining us in the parlor.” His all seeing gray eyes roved up and down her person as if he were looking at more than just the physical spectrum that most saw. “Or do you still require a few more moments to yourself?” His eyes caught sight of his broken antique table before drawing his attention back to them. He closed the doors behind him.

“You certainly are a trouble maker, Clarissa.” It was the first time Cyrus had ever addressed her so informally. “If your previous associations with Mr. Prince hinder your ability to serve on the advisory committee then I ask that you step down from your post. I do not tolerate my council members to make an exhibition of their selves in my home. We are very fortunate to have found him. His willingness to assist in community matters is hanging on a very tight thread, one that could easily snap if he finds us less than welcoming. Do we have an understanding then?”

Clarissa nodded, turning her focus down on the phone in her hands. She scrolled through her list of numbers until she found the one she wanted. She pressed to connect, putting it up to her ear.

As it was ringing she looked up the far distance to the oldest of her kind. The man who could very easily squash her like an irritating and unimportant bug under his Cesare Paciotti inspired dress shoes which cost him just as much, if not more to have the likeness on his feet. If he thought she could tolerate her ex-fiancé and attempted murder – she wasn’t sure it could be called murder because she still walked this earth – then Mr. Stiff-upper-lip Cercopoly had another thing coming to him.

“I understand you’re a self-righteous ass,” she said to his slightly shocked face. Clarissa was sure no one had ever spoken to him like that. At least not in some time, several decades if not more and Clarissa liked the thought that she was the first to put him in his place in all that time.

Clarissa walked the distance to her date and reached up to kiss Jackson on his astonished and adorable face. He looked good tonight in his suit. Any girl with a quarter of a brain in her head could see that Jackson was a fine catch and not just because he looked good in a suit. He was a good kid and one day he’d be a fine man.

With a dignified air in her step she walked to the front door. Corrigan’s phone was still ringing yet he wasn’t picking up. He had a tendency to lose it, though as yet she couldn’t guess how. The old brick of a phone was huge. Just as she had the door open and was ready to walk out she turned back to face the man who lead the Eidolon people of St. Augustine.

“I would rather die again than be on your advisory council, you uptight jerk. Both you and your bokor buddy can go fuck each other till the sun comes up for all I care.” She forced a pleasant smile on her face for her date. “Good night, Jackson.” She slammed the door shut behind her.

Chapter 24-

“Are you feeling all right?” Clarissa pressed her fingers to his forehead, finding his skin cool, almost clammy to the touch. Corrigan shook his head up and down, but even that small movement looked like it took more effort than it should.

Making a concerned frown, Clarissa drew a line along the curve of his dark eyebrow. Corrigan wasn’t well and even in her ignorance of his species she knew what the cause of his current state of health meant.

She was killing him and he was slowly dying for her. Clarissa, with the full awareness of the woman she had been in life morphed and molded with the woman she had come to be in death now had a very different understanding of Corrigan’s dependence on taking lives. It went against every moral code she had developed as a human.

Clarissa wasn’t entirely human, not anymore.

Love for Corrigan had changed the rules and she could see how women could so easily fall for men who chose a dangerous life; one that for those on the outside with little investment could quickly condemn. And whether it was right or wrong, when it came down to choosing between the love of her existence and some faceless/nameless victim she would choose Corrigan.

Clarissa had met Corrigan on the bridge. He had given her one long look up and down at her in her dress and heels and smiled in obvious approval. He’d kissed her then and there, and with that kiss had wiped away the last bitter tastes of Olivier from her mouth. Several minutes later when he’d pulled back he’d told her she was over dressed for tonight and that his sisters wanted to take her out for a girl’s get together.

Standing now in the hall on the second floor of the main house, Corrigan stood with one hand in his jeans pocket the other braced against the wall next to him. He watched with apprehensive eyes as Clarissa knocked on the closed door.

The door was opened as Helen stood poised with one hand on the door while the other reached out to take Clarissa’s hand. Clarissa was startled for a moment when their skin touched. But Helen just smiled at Clarissa and pulled her into the room.

“Sorry, Cor, your level of testosterone isn’t allowed inside. We’ll take good care of her.” Helen propelled Clarissa further into the room while she remained on female guard duty at the open door. Even as Corrigan tried to peer around her to see Clarissa in the guest bedroom Helen wouldn’t allow him to go any further than the entryway.

As he was looking over Helen’s head into the brightly lit room, he felt someone coming up behind him. Corrigan turned in time to find Chas standing just behind him in the hallway. He moved forward to hand something to his wife, a pair of earrings.

“Thanks for getting them, baby,” she said, rising up to kiss him on his dark cheek. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, we have some serious preparations to get through before we go out.” With that she slammed the heavy door to the guest room closed in their faces.

Both men could hear the music as it was turned up several clicks, nearly drowning out any female chattering that was going on inside. Corrigan and Chas stood silent in the hallway, not sure what to say to the other.

Chas was the first one to break the silence. “You’re coming out with us tonight whether you like it or not.” His words were meant to be abrasive and to the point, but Corrigan knew his slightly older brother well enough to catch the emotion in his voice. So they all knew he’d stopped hunting. That he’d drunk more than his share of liquor and was slowly letting his body turn against him. “I don’t give a fuck about your noble motivation because if it comes to force I won’t hesitate. None of us asked to be what we are and it’s the very nature of the world that you either eat or get eaten. It can’t be helped that the humans aren’t the top of the food chain, they never have been.”

Corrigan remained standing still, one hand braced on the wall as he stared transfixed at the closed door. He suspected that Clarissa knew more than she let on. And he knew that despite his resolve he couldn’t hold out forever. Already it was so much effort just to stand in this hallway. It had been a few days since his intervention with Debora and Trueman. They’d tried to give him a transfusion like a normal human, but it wasn’t enough. The blood wasn’t fresh enough and already its nutritional value had depleted by half.

“I know, Chas.” Corrigan made the statement, his head slightly bowed and now looking at the bottom of the door. He didn’t feel himself and for a moment he imagined that the floor was rising up to meet him. It wasn’t.

“You are too fucking heavy to carry,” Chas grumbled as he caught his younger brother before he kissed the hallway floor with his fall. Corrigan, despite his weight lose, was still several inches taller than Chas and it was quite a load to take his full weight. Chas sagged under their combined weight and then he felt the weight lessen. Looking up from his bent position he found Trueman with one of Corrigan’s arms slung over his neck.

“I’ll help you take him downstairs,” Trueman said, his glasses riding slightly askew on his nose. “I’ve brought a couple of bags of fluids to put in him. That should do until we can get him something more substantial.” He watched as Corrigan’s head flopped forward on his chest. “He’s in no position to put up a fight tonight.”

Corrigan mumbled something incoherent.

“Shut the fuck up, Cor,” Chas barked at his brother as they made their way down the stairs, his weight dispersed between him and Trueman. “No one gives a shit what you think right now.”

Clarissa watched through the crack in the door as the brothers took Corrigan down the stairs. She had thought he’d seen her watching them, but then his face had become blank and then he’d nearly fallen on his face.

“They’ll take good care of him,” Helen whispered near her ear. Clarissa turned around with a start nearly colliding with woman. “Sorry, I didn’t scare you, did I?” she said with a teasing grin.

“They’re going to take Cor out whether he likes it or not,” Margaret Ann stated as she stood by the portable CD player set on the varnished antique dresser top. She was only half dressed and dancing to the Cranberries, the volume set to a high decibel.

Most of the women were only partially dressed or in the process of changing, all the while dancing to the music coming from the stereo. Clarissa imagined this was what a burlesque show would look like.

“You’re not going to wear that are you?” Margaret Ann said, sauntering over to where Clarissa stood by the door. “That’s way too formal.” She twirled around Clarissa eyeing her up and down. “What else you got?”

Clarissa looked down at herself in her rose satin dress and matching shoes then to the other women in the room.

Helen was wearing a short skirt in a dark plum color, a flowing matching top with tiny bell sleeves and large hooped silver earrings. Maude was kneeling gracefully on the large four poster bed in the guest room with her hands raised high above her head as she swayed to the next tune on the stereo. Aaliyah, if Clarissa wasn’t mistaken. She had on a dark, almost black denim jean, a shimmery top in her hands. At the moment she was just wearing the jeans and her pink lace bra, her red hair streaming loose around her body. Debora was in a tight camisole top, a frothy looking scarf about her long neck dancing at the end of the bed, one hand wrapped around one of the posters as Clarissa got a clear view of her blue underwear with a rainbow painted over the butt. Margaret Ann was wearing leggings dyed a dark fuchsia color and a pink top that started out dark on the hem and lightened as the fabric went on. She wore a sparkling gold belt over her slender hips and bright sequined flowers covered most of the top. They all looked like were in a sexy candy company advertisement.

“Can’t you make things out of thin air?” Helen asked as she touched the sleeve of Clarissa’s coat. “I heard that ghosts can make things out of the energy of nature like magick or something.”

“I’m not very good yet,” Clarissa said, trying to be modest, “but yes I can create objects using the energy of the earth. Clothing is a little more difficult because it has to be so precise or it comes off looking like a reject from Project Runway.”

“Oh, I love that show,” Maude exclaimed from her position on the bed. “I’m sorry, Margaret Ann, but you are out. Auf Wiedersehen, Margaret Ann.” She tried to say it in the best German accent she could come up with as she made mock kissing noises to Margaret Ann who rolled her eyes at her.

“If anyone should be voted off it should be Debora,” Margaret Ann said as Debora danced past her, dancing to her own rhythm in her head and not paying any of them any attention. Margaret Ann smacked Debora on her rainbow covered behind. “Hey, Isadora Duncan, put some pants on, we don’t have all night.”

Debora made an angry pouting face at her sister as she massaged her behind. She flounced back in a way only Isadora could have pulled off without looking ridiculous, swatting Margaret Ann in the face with the tail of her scarf.

“It feels so real,” Helen said as she touched Clarissa’s clothes. “Somehow I thought it would look different or that I couldn’t touch it.”

Clarissa took her coat off, laying it on the back of a chair. “It is real, it just doesn’t last long. You can touch it and feel that it’s real because your body holds some of the same components that make up its conception. What makes you real also makes the clothes real and it is what makes me real.”

“So let’s see,” Debora said from across the room as she stepped into her skirt. “Make some clothes to wear.”

Clarissa felt their collective eyes on her as she began taking off her dress. She wasn’t used to undressing in front of people, but she had become somewhat used to putting herself on display after spending a day with Isabella. At least these were grown women who had more tack and if they saw something lacking in her physic would at least keep it to their selves.

“Ooo-lala, regardez tout que le lacet français et le satin.” Look at all that French lace and satin. Helen remarked as she and the other women finally saw Clarissa in her under garments. “I don’t think this was what I was expecting you to have on underneath that demure looking dress. Cor’s eyeballs must roll into the back of his head seeing you in this little François number.”

Clarissa didn’t comment. Instead she closed her eyes, blocking them out for a moment as she concentrated on creating from the natural elements at her disposal. Breathing in and out she flipped through several choices she had seen in some of her fashion magazines. She’d set up a subscription to Eidolon Entertainment, a gossip magazine on the latest news about celebrity ghosts and Drop-Dead, a new fashion magazine.

Whatever she picked it had to coordinate with what the other women had on. So going with the same theme of colors she chose a thigh length black skirt with a bit of dark blue lace at the hem. The top was a form fitting tank top with a matching cardigan. The soft fabric had intricate stitching detail, using bright pink and mauve and lilac interspersed with cobalt blues and periwinkle. To compliment the outfit she chose black strappy heels with splashes of hot pink and lavender on the toe and heel.

The women watched as the clothes came together on her body, as each piece was formed from what looked like thin air. Clarissa’s hair moved as if a wind were blowing over her body, but there was no wind in the room. The dark colors made her natural glowing pale skin stand out even more. The stockings remained on her legs held up by a fastidious garter belt and if she moved in a certain way the top of it could be seen, a peek-a-boo invitation to the eager eye of any male.

Clarissa opened her eyes to the pleased looks of her boyfriend’s sisters. She knew that they had asked her over, not as a simple invitation to go out with them on the town, but to put her to the test to see if she really did deserve to date their baby brother. She’d like to say that it didn’t matter what they thought of her, all that mattered was what Corrigan thought of her, but that wasn’t true. She needed their approval as much as she needed Corrigan to accept her as she was. She was part of his life/death now, but they would always be his family and that would always be a deciding factor in their relationship. In the end, when it came down to the bare bones of the truth she was not his species and they were.

“Do you approve?” Clarissa asked, meaning the dress, but secretly meaning so much more.

Maude looked Clarissa up and down as she placed her diamond earrings in her ear lobes. She brushed her long shinning red tresses over one shoulder, running her fingers through the ends. Her eyes met Clarissa’s with an intensity that would leave most wanting to bow at her feet in sublimation, but Clarissa remained standing meeting that look without flinching.

“We’re getting there,” she said.

***∞***

Wonderwall was streaming through his head as he sat on the couch in the sitting room on the first floor. Chas had put the ear buds in his ears and plugged him into his mp3 player. Chas knew what he liked and that Oasis was one of his favorite groups. He kept he eyes closed as the music swam through his brain as the fluid from the third bag of blood went through his system.

Corrigan could hear the sound of his own shallow breathing inside his ears. When he finally managed to crack his eyes open it was to see the looming face of his eldest brother. The expression he wore made him wonder whether Ambrose was going to hug him or punch him in the face. If he’d been Xavier he would bet the latter one, but then a solid punch from Xavier was like a mother’s hug.

Ambrose held up an empty bottle of his finest whiskey so it was clearly in Corrigan’s line of vision. He shook it to emphasis its lack of content. There was deceptiveness in Ambrose’s appearance. That because of his youthfulness he wasn’t as great a threat as the others in the family. That was a lie. Despite his boyish good looks he was a man full grown with the knowledge and experience of many lifetimes to back him up.

Ambrose knew how to survive and that he took any means necessary had always appealed to Corrigan in the past. But Corrigan wondered if his brute determination made him reckless and lately there were many questions left unanswered to create mistrust between the brothers. He’d never really believed his response to Cyrus’s meeting in their home and now there was a death bokor in town.

Clarissa had explained on their way back to his house that she’d met the bokor that evening at the Eidolon dinner function at the ruling council member’s home. They’d been planning this for weeks but the surprise guest had only been revealed on the night of the dinner.

“I quit,” she’d said to him. At first he didn’t understand what she’d meant until she explained further. “I’m not on the advisory council anymore. I can’t be part of their scheming against your family.” Then a look of embarrassment had crept into her face and it had taken some cajoling to get her to finish. “I told him he could go,” she made a gesture that was easily understood. Corrigan was both shocked and a little bit proud. He would have liked to have seen the look on the old ghosts face. Cyrus was in many ways, though he’d never thought this before, very much like Ambrose.

Corrigan felt the IV tube being taken from his arm. He felt almost better, but it would take a lot more than bags of blood to satisfy him.

“Are you proud of yourself, Corrigan?” Ambrose said. He threw the empty bottle at Corrigan who managed to catch it before it made solid contact with his head. “I knew this woman would bring trouble down on my house.” He eyed his youngest brother closely. “You think I don’t know of the death bokor they’ve brought into town? You think I don’t see the way you watch me these days? She has brought mistrust between us, between you and your siblings. And you put us all in grave danger by your actions with a woman you barely know.”

“I know her,” Corrigan said defensively.

Ambrose paced back and forth across the room. His hands behind his back he mumbled to himself in French.

Chas was lounging in one of the chairs, his arms crossed aggressively across his chest, his green eyes flashing angrily at his younger brother. “So you know she was a bokor. That she spent her life destroying things like us and if she wasn’t dead she would still be out there hunting our kind down. You think just because she’s a ghost now she doesn’t still have that drive to exterminate us? It’s engrained in them. It’s who they are, and you can’t change that. Just as we can’t change what we are.”

Trueman was putting his equipment away in his oversized medical bag when a thought came to him. He’d spent a good part of his life and death studying the human body, first as a professor at Rutgers College and then later after his death, in his own home.

Tradition had it that the flesh-eater needed to consume the nutrients of the living to keep themselves from becoming the mindless zombie creatures of Hollywood and the literary world. Neither of which had ever really got the history of them correct. But it wasn’t the blood and flesh that was so important, it was what was mixed in, running through like a living energy inside a human body that supplied the living with the one thing that separated the flesh-eater from them. And it wasn’t the soul, as one might imagine. No, it was the essence of life which wasn’t metaphysical but tangible. Animals had it in small doses, but not like in a human. If this could be harnessed it could not only extend a flesh-eater existence but that of anyone connected with the supernatural.

And Clarissa’s life’s essence was almost completely intact in her ghostly form, which meant she had been strong in life to keep so much of it intact when part of her passed on. She’d retained enough that at times she acted almost alive. And she couldn’t die as a normal human would because there was no blood and flesh blocking access to her stream of essence. It was right there, perfect access.

“No,” Trueman said, almost shouting. Heads turned and faces drew into similar expressions of disapproving confusion.

Corrigan removed the ear buds from his ears just as Nirvana’s In Bloom was starting to play. Trueman had this look on his face that reminded him of a mad scientist from one of those B-movie horror films.

“Trueman,” Ambrose said as his brainy brother remain fixed on the floor, his body still as his mind went into overdrive. Sometimes he would be talking to Trueman then he’d turn away for a second and when he turned back his brother would be gone. Ambrose had learned long ago that real geniuses had moments of insanity that most people mistook for a lack of social skills. His brain just worked differently than the average person. “What is it?” he continued after Trueman remained quiet staring off into a world of his own making.

“If I could just find a way to replicate the essence then I’d only need a small amount.” Trueman was talking but no one was following along. He continued rambling using big words such as electrophoresis.

Xavier crossed the room from his position by the door to pop his brother on the side of his head. Trueman immediately clutched his head, the pain in it making his brain slow down to a normal human level.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Trueman barked. “Why did you clock me in the head for?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Xavier drawled. “I thought you were freezing up and about to crash. I always find it easiest to fix mechanical problems by giving them a good smack. That’s what I always do to the computer at home when it starts acting goofy.”

Trueman stood up to his full height, staring down the distance to his stubborn older brother. “I’m not a mechanical device,” he growled low. Even though he was a brain, he wasn’t a weenie. If Trueman wanted to, he could easily take down his brothers; the glasses were as deceptive as Ambrose’s boyish looks.

“Usted me podría haber engañado, el hermano,” You could have fooled me, brother.

Trueman ignored Xavier. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, not when he’d had such a great epiphany. He looked around at his brothers, men who under different circumstances would never have known each other. Now, with a great deal of work ahead of him, he could very likely find a means to save them and himself.

“I think I found a way to satisfy and tame the beast.”

Chapter 25-

“Here,” Maude shouted over the music as she put a glass in Clarissa’s hand. They were all sitting in one of the booths in the in the lounge area of the nightclub. Located on the corner of Washington and Orange Avenue, Necropolis was a Goth Club that supported a vampire friendly environment; not that many of the undead actually hung out here. A very melancholy interior with New Wave/Alternative upstairs and Dark Wave and Industrial Goth downstairs, piped in through a fancy sound systems.

“Thanks,” Clarissa shouted back as she held the drink to her lips. The glass swirled with a red liquid that looked like some sweet dyed syrup. It fit well with the theme.

What did not fit in with the dark theme where the four women in their candy, rainbow inspired outfits. They stuck out more than a grown man at a Jonas Brothers concert.

“Have you ever been in this club before?” Clarissa asked Corrigan’s sisters as they each held an identical drink to hers on the table in front of them. They shook their head, no, all while grinning at her, their elongated canines flashing white for a moment from their brightly glossed lips.

That was the ‘in’ thing these days. And though everyone in this club dressed the part in dark colors, likely sporting tiny teeth attachments of their own, these candy colored confections of womanhood were the real deal. Clarissa watched as Debora pulled something small out of her sparkly rhinestone covered purse. It was a vial of some sort and when the lights flashed over their heads she could see it was a tiny vial of rich, dark blood. She always imagined that blood to them was like chocolate to the normal person, addicting and it came in varying quality and design.

Debora splashed a drop in each of the women’s cocktail glasses, her own being a non-alcoholic version of the same thing. Lastly her hand stopped suspended, hovering over Clarissa’s for a moment. Clarissa felt their collective gazes on her as Debora held the vial of human liquid over her glass.

Consuming the blood of a human was a sin. At least that was what she had believed most of her life. For a moment Clarissa had the image of the black and white cow from the Chick filet ads telling the customers to eat more chicken. That was what humans had been promoting all along. Eat the dumb chicken, not me. But in this world, they were the ‘dumb chickens’.

Clarissa nodded her head, watching as the viscous fluid plopped into her already red swirling drink. But you could easily see the difference between the real stuff and the syrup. The women watched her as she slowly brought it her mouth. And as the blood mixed with the alcohol, hitting her taste buds, she instantly understood what all the madness was over.

It was fresh, not from a bag from the chilled units at a blood bank. Frozen blood likely tasted just like frozen meat stored in the freezer, the freezing process destroying some of the flavors. Not that most humans would be able to tell the difference. The sweetness of the drink cut some of the metallic taste, but it was still there, coating her tongue like a living thing.

It was absolutely spectacular.

“There,” Maude said, taking a deep drink of her cocktail. “Now, you are one of the girls.”

“But you still don’t trust me, do you?” Clarissa asked her truthfully. This was the first time she had been with Corrigan’s sisters without him. This was probably the best chance she’d get to make them see she wasn’t the woman she’d been in life.

“If you were us, would you trust you?” Helen said, fingering the rim of her cocktail glass. “We all know what you did when you were alive, you destroyed people like us. Can you blame us for not being the friendly welcoming party to one of the only beings who could literally send us back to our graves?”

“Trust goes both ways, Clarissa.” Margaret Ann held up her glass, watching as the flashing lights from above hit the contents of her drink, catching the subtle movements in the living blood; the essence. “How can we trust you if we can’t be sure you completely trust us? We are after all the monsters in this game. Only a fool sides with the beast.”

“Then I must be a fool,” Clarissa stated, putting heat and passion into her voice, “Because I’m absolutely crazy for the beast.”

“Alright, ‘Belle’, we give you that one,” Maude said, making a reference to the story of Beauty and the Beast. She puckered her glossy lips in thought, staring at Clarissa in an odd look that reminded her of Cyrus when he gave her that intense stare. “You do care for my brother. More than I think is good for you or any of us. If you know his history then you know he hasn’t had much in the way of human affection. Nor does he give himself away so easily. With you he seems a different man. Even around us, and we’ve known him for years. He’s shown less constraint with us and I can assume it is your doing.”

“I would never hurt your brother,” Clarissa said to the group of women. “And I’m learning to trust you, just as you are trying to let yourself trust me. I don’t expect a welcome party, nor am I oblivious to the truth that we were once enemies. But I don’t feel like I’m that woman any more. My death has given me a new set of eyes.”

“Those are pretty words,” Debora spoke up, twirling her Isadora inspired scarf around in her hands. “But words are just that, words to fill the empties on a page. But it will be your actions that will make us see if you can be trusted.”

“Fair enough,” Clarissa said. Then she thought of something. “If you want trust then I will give you something about myself that not even Corrigan knows yet.” That caused their collective mascara and shadowed eyes to light up in sudden interest. They leaned forward in the booth or closer to Clarissa as she decided the best way to word this secret declaration.

“Yes,” Helen prompted after several seconds.

Clarissa mentally cleared the blockage in her vocal chords. This would indeed be a statement fit for any eager gossiper and would reveal her trust of these women.

“There is a bokor that the Eidolon community has been able to convince to come to our city and see to the matter of all of you.” She watched their expression closely. Debora and Margaret Ann frowned and looked to one another. Helen nodded her head waiting to hear more. Maude’s expression remained blank of anything other than what could be called feigned interest as if she already knew what Clarissa was going to say.

“But what no one knows, not even Corrigan, is that this death bokor used to be my teacher. He was a university professor known for being eccentric, but he was so charming and handsome that people forgave him. Olivier taught the craft of vodou that had been taught to him by his grandmother. He said I had a natural gift unlike any he’d ever seen in a person who wasn’t born into the faith. We became close, going over the line of teacher and student until I convinced myself that I was in love with him. He was truly evil, he enjoyed hurting the monsters we were sent out to destroy because we believed it was the right thing to do. But he went too far and I couldn’t take it anymore. We started arguing a lot and I refused to go out on more and more cases. I told him I didn’t love him anymore and that I would never marry a hateful creature like him. He got angry and used my dagger against me.”

Clarissa lifted her top so they could see the pale flesh of her stomach. The grinning skull stared out at them, a happy thing waiting to be reunited with the dagger. “It looks like the one on Ambrose’s shoulder, doesn’t it?” Maude and Margaret Ann shook their heads nodding a yes at the same time.

“He murdered me and almost completely destroyed me completely.” Clarissa put her shirt back down. “But I was – am strong and I didn’t want to move on to the next plan of existence. So I am a ghost because I was selfish and wanted more of this life.”

“We are all selfish,” Maude said. Her eyes almost softened as she stared at Clarissa. “I’m glad that you told us this secret. We will keep it as long as you want us to. Won’t we girls?” They each nodded in agreement.

Something caught Maude’s attention as her eyes shifted to a mass of people across from them. Helen touched her arm and Maude nodded a wordless message to say that she was doing something and needed a moment.

Shouting could be heard, which was odd because the music should have been too loud, making conversations blur together into a single mass. But Clarissa could hear it too, a single argument sticking out in the overlapping conversations. She closed her eyes and reached out to the heart of the noise. It was a man and a woman, he was older and she was scared, her heart racing inside her frail chest, her blood pumping speedily in and out of the organ while her brain fired off endless messages to a body too broken to accept them.

“He wants her to leave with him, but she doesn’t want to.” Maude’s eyes were shut, her face relaxed as she concentrated. “He likes to use ‘lost ones’, those that are frail and without family or loved ones that would miss them if they were gone. If he hurts her it will be because she wasn’t listening and it would be her fault; not his if she dies.”

“How many of them have there been?” Margaret Ann asked as she reached out to touch her sister’s hand that rested limply on the table.

“I see so many of them, I can’t count them all.” Her mouth tightened and her eyes too. “Their faces are so young, some of them not long out of childhood. The horror on their faces as he looks down at them, the light escaping from their eyes as they lose consciousness, then his face is red with their blood as he licks their dead skin.” She shuddered as her eyes opened and she was once again looking toward the other side of the room.

Maude leaped onto the table and off of it, managing not to knock over any of the glasses. She turned to look at Clarissa, a heated intense stare that made her almost afraid.

“Come,” was all she said and Clarissa was following her. Pushing through the mass of people, they came to the man and woman still arguing, paying little attention to the two otherworldly creatures approaching.

“Excuse me,” Maude said to the man. He was dressed in a black dress shirt and black dress pants, a skinny tie decorated with tiny white spiders hung loose around his throat. One silver spider dangled from one ear lobe.

His head whipped around, his eyes widening in surprise as he found Maude standing next to him. She was a stunning beauty with her hair loose and falling in soft waves behind her, but anyone with eyes could see she didn’t fit the part of this club. The man’s eyes raked her from head to toe and his expression read exactly that.

“What do you want?” he barked out in a gravelly voice. It wasn’t his real voice, just one he thought fit with his image tonight.

“Could I speak to you in private for a moment?” she said in a syrupy sweet voice. Maude turned to give the shaking living woman a warm smile. The woman blinked at her, wide eyed as if she was looking at a ghost. She wasn’t, she had yet to notice Clarissa standing so close to her.

Clarissa leaned forward, close to the scared women’s ear. She was young, far too young to be living on her own and falling under the deceptive wing of this monster; one that was of the living persuasion.

“You don’t have to go with him. Do not trust him. He is not what he seems.” Clarissa slipped something into the women’s clutched hands. It was a card with a number she could call, a support hot-line.

When Clarissa glanced up, Maude was leading the man into the back of the club. She caught up to them in time to watch them walk out the steel back doors into the dark night.

Clarissa followed them out, letting the heavy doors close silently in their wake. This man would never cross this threshold again. At least not in this life and if he believed in karma it would be only as the lowliest insect or a politician, whichever one was worse.

“What do you want?” the man said snidely, folding his arms over his chest in an aggressive posture. He was used to women cowering in his presence or fawning over him in adoration. Maude did none of that.

Maude sauntered up to him slowly, so close that only a breath of air was between them. She flashed him her canines, a quick peek to show him the beast inside her. He actually smiled, thinking it was a kinky thing and not the first clue to his quickly approaching demise.

“I wondered at first,” he said with a grin. “What with the outfit and all, but I see you’re just like me.” He flashed his own set of points, which were very expensively put in by a doctor who charged a hefty price tag for the look.

Maude smiled a Cheshire grin at the man, showing her beautiful yet deadly teeth to the man. He was obviously dumb because everyone knew that when an animal showed its teeth, it wasn’t friendly, it was a sign of aggression.

In this case it meant that he would never have need for his expressive teeth improvements. Maude was on the man before he realized she wasn’t playing around. His neck was thrown back by the force and a quick snap took out a large section of it revealing tendons and meat, blood gushing out in splendid acrobatic maneuvers. He fell in a fleshy heap onto the dark cement, his mouth moving wordlessly, his eyes wide with fright.

He wore a similar expression to those of the women he had hurt. Now it was his turn. Maude crouched over him, letting a drop of his own blood drip onto his ashen face.

“I will never be like you,” she whispered. “You won’t ever hurt an innocent again.” Then she bent down even further to place a kiss on his forehead, leaving behind the imprint of her lips in blood on his skin. “May the good lord have mercy on your retched soul, for he is both merciful and wise in these ways,” she said as she stood up and away from his body.

Clarissa turned as the door behind her opened revealing the other sisters. They were silent as they made a procession line toward the body of the dying man. He was still breathing, but just barely.

Debora was the first to bend down, taking an arm and bringing it to her mouth. She watched Clarissa as she bit down, blood running in little rivers from the open wound down on the ground. It was like a challenge, like when med-school students eat their lunches while standing around corpses. It was a challenge to see if Clarissa could stand to watch them eat another human being.

The other women gathered around the man, taking appendages into their mouths, some of them watching Clarissa, others focused on the meal in front of them. It was quiet except for the occasional noise from the almost dead man. Little by little he was disappearing, turning to nothingness just has he had done to his victims.

Clarissa’s cell phone jangled loudly in her clutch purse. She quickly pulled it out thinking it was Corrigan. But when she read the number it was Jackson’s name scrolling across the screen.

“Hello?” she said, as she answered it. There was a moment of dead silence on the other end. Then the sound of scuffling in the background followed by a short cry before a voice spoke through on the other end.

“Clarissa,” said the soft voice. It was Leah. “Are you there?” Her voice rose high on the last syllable causing a creeping sensation to steal down Clarissa’s spine, metaphysical spine that is.

“Leah, what is the matter? Where is Jackson?” She was cut off when a new voice spoke through the other end.

“I thought I’d call to give you a heads up this time, death bokor.” His voice sounded ragged like it took a lot of effort for him to speak. “Wouldn’t you like to watch me take this witches life? Her life’s essence is so strong.” Then there was a scraping noise like something metal crawling over a floor.

Clarissa closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint where the call was coming from. All the while she was trying to think up logical reasons why Jackson was doing this. Leah was his friend, why would he want to harm her and for what purpose?

“Time is ticking for her.” Jackson made a maniacal laugh in his throat, one that she had never heard from him. He wasn’t himself. It was almost like he was possessed of something evil and it flowed through his voice into the phone.

A loud high pitched scream cut through and then the phone went dead.

Clarissa dropped the phone. Actually it fell through her hand onto the ground, cracking on its way down, breaking into so many pieces that could they never be put together.

Helen’s head jerked up then, a drop of blood holding onto dear life on the edge of her lip. “What is the matter?” she questioned, after swallowing what was in her mouth.

“That was Jackson, he has Leah,” she paused reaching out to find them. They were at the Government House, inside one of the chambers. “He has her and he says he’s pleased by her strong essence. He intends to kill her for her essence.”

Maude looked up then. “This girl is a strong psychic and her life’s essence is stronger because of it. That is what the boy wants. She is human and he must kill her to get to the essence. It is found in the blood and tissue of the living, but only we would have use for it. I don’t know why he would want it.”

Debora discreetly wiped her mouth with a bit of fabric from the man’s shirt. “If he is possessed then he would have use of it. It is what allows the creature to walk among the living for longer periods of time. The demon needs to replenish his host with the essence of others or he kills his host’s body.”

Jackson must be possessed, Clarissa thought. Then a most terrible thought occurred to her. Jackson was the one who had murdered all the S.S. members. Because of their psychic ability they were prime targets for him and would replenish the demon parasite inside him.

“I have to stop him,” Clarissa said in a frantic tone. “He has to be stopped before he kills anyone else.”

Clarissa reached down for the remains of her phone, when her hand was stopped by Maude’s steady warm hand, the blood of her victim coursing through her. She looked up to see the other woman holding something in her hand. It was her dagger, the one that Corrigan had been hurt by. The same dagger that had ended her life and until seeing Olivier she’d forgotten all about it.

“Where did you get that from? I thought I hid it?” She took the dagger, holding it tightly to her chest.

Maude shook her head, no. “Ambrose had it in his study. I knew it belonged to you. It practically screamed your name at me. I'm giving this back to you now and trusting that you use it wisely. You are our sister now.” She looked to her sisters who affirmed her statement. “We help a sister, no matter what.”

“Then help me save them both,” Clarissa exclaimed, clutching the dagger tightly. She would have wondered why the dagger hadn’t hurt Maude, but her thoughts were only on Leah and Jackson.

“We will if we can,” she answered. Clarissa rounded them up so that each of them was touching a part of her body as she imagined them at the Government House. They disappeared.

Chapter 26-

The Government House stood quiet. On weekends it was closed to the public, but Clarissa still had access to the locked doors with the information needed to manifest the appropriate key. She unlocked the doors, quietly as possible, slipping inside with her new sisters’ close behind her.

Margaret Ann taped her shoulder, forcing her to look back at her. She made a motion with her hands that said she and the others were going to wait inside one of the side rooms, out of the way but close, in case she needed them. They had agreed that Clarissa would go in alone so that the possessed Jackson would think he had the advantage.

Clarissa’s heels echoed on the marble floor as she walked quickly down the hall toward the farthest chamber where she knew Jackson had Leah. The younger woman’s frightened thoughts were like buzzing bees inside Clarissa’s head. And the feel of panic rose high in her system as did the level of evil malevolence coming from the closed double doors.

The dagger was concealed inside her skirt, between the fabric and her skin, the hilt resting against the grinning skull on her stomach. She mentally held it there, warm against her cooler flesh, like it was happy to be home, enjoying being close to her and the kiss it had left on her.

Clarissa opened those double doors to a sight straight out of some horror novel. As most humans would, she focused her attention on the center of the scene where Leah sat on a high chair made of forged steel and metal, ghoulish designs and symbols etched into the curving layers of the chair along the arms and legs and the high back. Her legs barely touch the ground and Clarissa could see by the sudden jerking motion that she was pinned somehow to the chair by an invisible hand.

Clarissa walked further into the room and the doors slammed shut behind her, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. Then someone stepped out from a small door behind Leah, coming to stand next to her. The lights were off and only the glow of several lighted candles illuminated the grim scene.

Leah’s throat struggled to speak, the veins in them bulging in effort, but nothing emerged from her sealed lips. Her eyes were on Clarissa beseeching her to do something, a tear slipping from her lilac colored eyes to fall into the waiting hand of Jackson.

Jackson brought the warm liquid in his hand to this mouth where he made a great show of licking the salty moisture. “Even in her tears you can taste the essence of life,” he said in a voice not his own.

Clarissa could see his eyes were glazed over like he was in some kind of drugged stupor. But this was so much more serious than an intoxication of the senses. She started to draw closer to them as he stepped back behind the chair.

“Do not come any closer,” he barked.

Clarissa stopped mid-stride. She saw him not for the monster he was now, but the boy she had grown to think of as her friend. He was not himself. “Jackson, you are possessed by a demon,” she said.

“No,” he answered back with an evil grin. “I am using my abilities just as you told me to do. Leah’s witch magick will be a perfect addition to my own powers. What do you think, Clarissa? You and I could be unstoppable.”

It was the kind of talk only lunatics made and she wasn’t buying into it. “You only think that because the demon is tricking you. It wants you to take lives so it can use you as his host. You’re the one who has been committing these terrible murders, aren’t you?”

That grin remained on his young and still handsome face. “You’re a clever little ghost aren’t you?” he said in a patronizing tone. “Yes, and it was so easy, even easier to place the blame on those flesh-eaters across the bridge.”

“Why,” was all she could get out her mouth, watching Leah struggle against her invisible restraints.

“Why?” he shouted and it reverberated around the room. “Because those bastards wouldn’t let me join them, they refused to make me a member, so they had to go. If I couldn’t be an S.S. then at least I could take everything they held precious. No one would come to St. Augustine with monsters roaming would they? Their pretty built up world would crumble then. Wouldn’t it?”

Clarissa felt the dagger warm even more against her body. It wanted a life, it wanted Jackson’s. She stepped closer so that only Leah and the enormous chair were between them. “I can’t let you harm any more people,” she said sadly. She reached for Leah, slipping through the restraints and cutting them away with her gifts.

Leah crumbled into her arms and held on to Clarissa with every last bit of strength left inside her body. Clarissa held her, trying to sooth her friend with words of comfort. Then Leah’s body stiffened just before Jackson made an unholy shriek.

Clarissa was forced to throw Leah away from her where she slid across the floor with the momentum and another thought of push from Clarissa. Jackson lunged at Clarissa with a force that knocked them both onto the ground with Jackson on top.

She tried to slip out of his grasp, but he held her pinned with a force she could not shift through. His face loomed over hers, only inches away. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing and Jackson was momentarily distracted by the sight of it. Then his focus shifted back up to her face.

“I always thought you were rather pretty for a ghost,” he said, rubbing his cool finger over her bottom lip. “You and I could have been so good together, but you never noticed me like that. You’d rather have a soulless beast than me.” He leaned down and crushed her astonished lips with a kiss meant to hurt.

Clarissa felt it happen, a pulling motion that started out on her lips and continued straight to the core of her soul. Her body stiffened as she realized that Jackson was tugging on her soul, trying to take it from her like the day she had given him the lesson. But he meant to take her soul completely from her body, leaving her nothing but a vapor of energy that would slowly disperse into the atmosphere.

It was a reaction born of desperation and need to survive. The dagger at her stomach found its way to her hand as if it could read her thoughts. Clarissa broke the contact of their joined lips emitting a scream that echoed not just in the room but far into the city. Those with a keen ear for the supernatural could hear its wave of energy for miles.

Jackson pulled back at the noise, his chest hovering above her and she made her move. The dagger fueled by the momentum of her arm and the daggers own thirst for death found contact in Jackson’s chest in a dead center mark over his wildly beating heart.

They stared into each other’s eyes then down at his chest where the dagger was logged. He pulled it out, a smile covering his mouth as his life blood seeped out running over Clarissa and onto the floor where it pooled and congealed.

Maude and the other sisters stormed into the room, drawing up short when they saw the scene in front of them. Clarissa dropped the dagger, taking hold of Jackson’s face as he continued to smile. Then his expression turned to a look of pure horror as his eyes cleared from the fog and he looked once more down at his blood stained chest. He fell away from her to land on his back, his hand over his heart.

Clarissa moved with him, leaned over his body, the shinning tears from her eyes streaming down to fall in glowing puddles across his bloodied chest mingling with the blood in beautiful macabre swirls. “I don’t want to die, Clarissa,” he whispered those words before his face went blank and his breath fell short and stopped.

“No,” Clarissa whispered angrily.

“I always said you where a bit of a drama queen,” Olivier Prince’s smooth voice said from the other side of the room. He was holding Debora in his arms, looking between her and Clarissa. “You’ve rounded up the cattle quite nicely I see. I have to give you credit, Clarissa, you are good at your craft.”

“What are you doing here, Olivier?” She turned to touch Jackson’s lifeless face once more before she stood up to face her ex-fiancé.

“What are you doing here,” he mimed back at her. “I guess that means you haven’t really grasped the full spectrum of tonight’s events.” He shook his head at her ignorance as he came closer to her, Debora in his arms. “That poor stupid boy,” he said as he looked down at Jackson’s still form on the floor. “I think now would be a good time to make your grand entrance Francisco.”

Clarissa stepped back as a bright light seeped out from the hole in Jackson’s chest cavity. It moved over his form for a moment only to move away and become solid revealing the figure of Francisco Fatio, one of the Eidolon Council members. He eyed Clarissa up and down.

“You never did notice me, Clarissa.” His face made an angry frown as he approached her. “Your eyes looked right through me every time even when I smiled at you or tried to get you to notice me. I was invisible.”

“So you used Jackson’s body to commit murder against the people who work for you?” This made no sense at all.

“His life essence was strong,” he commented, licking his lips. “It was easy to take over him and he never remembered the crimes he committed when I was using him. Those poor fools trusted him so easily, never suspecting that I was underneath.”

Olivier pushed Debora away from him and into Clarissa’s waiting arms. She held the other woman to her as they both watched him stroll over to where Francisco stood now eyeing Leah who had regained herself and was pressed against the wall hoping no one would remember she was there.

Olivier held him back with one outstretched hand when Francisco would have lunged after Leah. He held the ghost in a stunned suspension. As the women watched they could see most of Jackson’s life’s essence seep out of the ghost’s pores, a life unto itself, and reach for Olivier. The death bokor smiled as he too tasted the life essence of the psychic young man.

It occurred to Clarissa then as it should have much earlier. The reason Olivier was so strong in his abilities was because he was stealing them from other psychic beings. And that was why he killed her, not because he was angry but because he wanted her gift. But he hadn’t gotten it. She had been too strong, even for him.

The ghost and he were in it together this entire time. Olivier had planted the dagger he’d used against her in Maddy’s home knowing that it would draw itself to her. He’d been hoping that she’d use it against Corrigan and his family and when she hadn’t he finally agreed to come to the city to force her to remember her past with him. Thinking to force her back to his side and using Jackson as bait to do it. He’d used a boy to make a point, that she was destined to kill. But she had changed since he had known her and she’d never trust the words of this man again.

“I see the gears working in your ghostly brain, my dear,” Olivier said as he let the ghost out from his suspension.

Francisco glared angrily at the death bokor. “You always take more than your share,” he complained.

“Don’t be such a baby. Friends share.” Though Clarissa knew that Francisco was no friend of Olivier, he had no friends, just people he manipulated into working with him. “You can have the witch.”

At that, Francisco’s face turned to instant joy. He turned to see Leah steadily making progress away from them. She turned fearful eyes when she realized they were talking about her.

She screamed as the ghost lunged at her from across the room. Clarissa only had a moment to think before she rushed them, knocking Francisco away from Leah. She pushed the other ghost with power he could not compete with, forcing him up against the wall, his feet dangling above the ground.

“What are you going to do?” he teased her. “You’d never kill one of your own kind, you know they’d force you out of the community. I am a respected councilman and you are nothing but a troublesome girl.”

Clarissa squeezed the mental hold she had over his throat watching his face bulge and the ectoplasm in his system to color his cheeks. He made a struggling movement, kicking his feet in the air. She closed her eyes as she concentrated, letting everything else fall away as she thought committing the worst crime of her existence.

“No,” he blurted out of tight lips, but it was too late.

Clarissa held firm, knowing he’d never be able to fight her. Francisco struggled against the hold, his pupils dilated and his hands clutching at something near his heart. A hole emerged from the energy waves that covered his skin revealing the interior of his body, a light not unlike the tears that had spilled from Clarissa’s cheeks, falling out into rivers to spill on the floor beneath him. His ectoplasm held some of the essence of life keeping him intact and his was spilling out quickly like blood in a human.

Something emerged from the gaping hole in his chest cavity, an almost smoky substance that quivered in its loose form. It was being pulled like a steer on a lasso closer to Clarissa. She held open her hand letting it settle into her palm. It was cold, like holding a ball of ice, but glowed like the lights of the heavenly hosts from above.

Francisco watched as his soul was held in Clarissa’s hand, the thread that connected him to it was tight and starting to break one delicate thread at a time.

Olivier came to stand just behind Clarissa. She could feel his presence now, but she kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t look at Francisco without losing her hold.

“You are a truly talented woman, Clarissa.” He brushed her gently waving hair from her shoulder, placing a kiss on the side of her neck. In the past that intimate kiss would have made her feel special, now it only made her feel sick. “Forget my past mistakes and join me. Francisco was too reckless in his greed. I wouldn’t have let him kill your witch friend. I only wanted to show you the full magnitude of your gifts.” His hand reached out to touch the soul within her grasp, squeezing it, causing Francisco to cry out in anguish. “End his existence, take his soul and join me,” he said, his hand going under hers to hold her hand in his own, connecting their powers.

Clarissa felt his strength flow through her and it made both of their skins glow in an otherworldly light. It was like two lightning bolts had found one another, crackling with their combined intensity. Once it had been everything to her to have him by her side holding her hand as she administered extermination on the abominations of nature.

“No,” she whispered. “I am not God to play with the souls of men.” She released the soul letting it go back to its host body.

Clarissa opened her eyes to see the soul of Francisco hover in front of his body. When it should have returned to him, it was snatched up by the force of something stronger than anyone in this room. His hand held the quivering soul of a man who had damned his soul for all eternity.

“Death,” Maude whispered as she stood by her sisters.

He inclined his head to the collective women, eyeing them each before focusing his attention on Clarissa. “You have chosen wisely this time, Clarissa.”

Death held tightly to Francisco’s soul as the room was filled with the man’s horrendous screams. Clarissa and the others were forced to cover their ears from the intensity of his voice. The damned cried endlessly and forever and there was no absolution from their crime.

A blast rent through the atmosphere around the collective people, hitting Clarissa full force as she was the closest to the scene. It knocked her to the ground, her eyes shut tightly against the blinding light. Her own scream escaped her mouth, but it was covered up by a deafness that stole her away into an empty nothingness.

Chapter 27-

A warm hand touched the cool surface of her face. She moaned drawing closer to its heat. Clarissa’s eyelashes fluttered open to the sight of a fallen angel, his iridescent blue eyes filled with concern and beneath that a love she was beginning to think could be everlasting.

“I didn’t know that ghosts could pass out,” Corrigan said, his voice rough with raw emotion. “You scared me for a moment. I thought I lost you.”

Clarissa smiled up at the person she would miss most in this world if she was forced forward onto the next plane of existence. Then a line from one of her collections of beloved movies popped into her head. Reciting a line from Tom Cruises character in Far and Away and with her most convincing Irish accent she said, “For a moment there, you did.”

“Clarissa,” a woman’s anxious voice said before Eleanor’s frowning face came into view. “Are you all right? You’re not crossing over are you?” She touched Clarissa’s cheek, before turning to Corrigan as she pushed him away from them. He moved back with a curse that Clarissa didn’t think to translate. Eleanor didn’t care. “Oh, we were so worried about you. I heard your scream. Actually everyone within a fifty mile radius heard it.” Eleanor ran her hands over Clarissa as if she was a doctor and not a ghost.

“Stop fussing over her, Elle,” Richard said as his face came into view on the other side of Eleanor. “She’s a tough cookie, aren’t you, death bokor.” He winked at her and Clarissa cringed before looking at Eleanor.

“I thought we were friends and you would keep something like that from me?” Eleanor made a pouting motion with her lips like an insulted child. “Not to mention him,” she threw her hand to where Corrigan was standing with his brothers. “You’re dating a flesh-eater.” She said it in a tone that Clarissa couldn’t help but take as funny.

“That’s not funny,” she said.

“Leave her alone, Eleanor,” Henry’s voice could be heard just behind her. He moved Eleanor gently out of the way so he could lean over seeing for himself that Clarissa was all right. “You okay, Clarissa?” He smiled down at her, a dimple showing in his scruffy cheek. “I told you, you were something special and I’m never wrong about these things.”

“You just want credit for unmasking me,” she said. “Can you help me up now?”

Henry and Richard got on both sides of her, helping her to regain her feet. She wobbled for a moment. The blast had made her shaky. As soon as she was on her feet Corrigan was by her side pulling her away from the two ghost men. He pulled her to stand with his sisters and brothers who had joined him.

The flesh-eaters and Clarissa stood on one side of the room while the ghosts stood on the other, both sides watching the other with suspicion. There were several ghosts she recognized standing there besides Henry, Eleanor and Richard, including the remaining council members and some of the S.S.

Cyrus walked out from behind the crowd of ghosts to stand at the front of the divide. He inclined his head toward Clarissa before his gaze settled on Ambrose. Ambrose walked forward from his position behind Chas to meet Cyrus on his side of the dividing line.

“I told you Francisco was not what he appeared.” Ambrose spoke to the slightly taller but younger man; in deathly years. “It was his doing along with the death bokor that murdered your human servants. You wouldn’t believe that one of your own could do something so heinous, even when members of your own council spoke out against you.” His eyes went to Hanna who nodded her head in agreement. She had known there was something odd about Francisco; that he was growing too strong when if anything he should have grown weaker.

“Where is this death bokor?” Cyrus looked through the mass of people on both sides. He did not remember seeing the death bokor, Olivier, when he and the others had reacted to Clarissa’s scream of anguish. Instantly, he had known what that sound had meant.

“He escaped,” Leah said from the Eidolon side of the room. Her arms where around her grandmother's body in a deep hug, afraid that if she let go they would be separated. “When the blast came I saw him fall but he recovered quickly and was out of the room, using some kind of illusion to hide him from the others who were coming.”

Leah looked once toward Jackson’s still body that had been moved to a dark corner of the room before she hid her face in grandmother’s soft shoulder. Clarissa’s own gaze went to the still form in the corner. There she saw Maddy bent over her grandson, tears streaming endlessly from her eyes, her face looking older than she was. Her mouth made movements, prayers to guide her grandson’s soul to a better place. He was too young to die, but Clarissa knew that Death did not discriminate.

“We reinstate our contract with the LeMoyne family,” Cyrus said in his most authoritative voice.

Ambrose inclined his head saying nothing more. He stepped back, returning to his wife’s side. She clutched his hand inside her smaller one. He brought her hand to his mouth where he placed a gently kiss on the side of her knuckles.

“I gave the dagger back to her,” she said.

“I know,” he answered back.

Cyrus’s attention was back on Clarissa. Once again his gaze raked her body from head to toe. By now she was used to his intense stares. “So do you now choose to be with the LeMoyne family and cease your association with the Eidolon community? You have already made your feelings clear about me and under the circumstances I can understand your bitterness to the council. There is no obligation that states you must leave the city, only that you would not be a citizen of the Eidolon people. You of course would still be under the protection of us as you still remain a citizen of St. Augustine like any other human.”

“I don’t see why I have to choose between being a member of your community and being with the LeMoyne’s. Aren’t we all under one community despite our differences; we are a community of the dead.”

Cyrus thought for a moment, but before he could answer Isabella rushed forward. “You can’t be a member of our community you deceiving little witch.”

Leah visibly stiffened at that comment. Her eyes flashing anger as she brought her hand up. Her mother hurriedly pushed it back down by her side.

Isabella came to stand in front of Clarissa, her own hands reaching out to Clarissa. Just as she was going to give Clarissa a terrible shock Isabella found herself on her beautiful little teenage bottom. She stared up with indignant furry on her face as she clutched at the area above her heart.

“Did you see what she just did,” Isabella shouted like an errant child up at Cyrus. “Cyrus, make her pay for that.” Cyrus remained thoughtful as if thinking the situation over carefully. Seeing that he was going to be no help, Isabella turned to look behind her at Henry. “Henry, do something.”

“Sorry, brat,” he said. “This time you can’t have your way.”

Isabella rose to her feet, glaring down at Clarissa. “You’ll pay for this, if not today then one day of my choosing. I suggest you watch yourself.” With that she stormed out of the room, several people following close behind her. Her little slaves, Clarissa thought, people who were afraid of her wrath; people that were not Clarissa.

“Now that the children are out of the room I can finish,” Cyrus said with what looked like a smile, the first Clarissa had ever seen on him. He looked very handsome with a smile, his silver eyes shining against his slightly tanned face.

“You have given me something to think over for the next several decades.” At first Clarissa wasn’t aware that he was teasing until the smile broke out full force on his face. “You will give me and my council some time to think this over. As of now, however, you remain on suspension from the community. I only hope that there is someone to take you in.” His eyes roved over the collective faces of the LeMoyne family.

Clarissa felt Corrigan’s arm press tightly into her side as he wrapped it around her and she looked up at him. “Would you be willing to stay with my family? I know the attic isn’t a great place, but I’m sure Ambrose will let you use one of his many guest rooms. Won’t you?”

“Of course,” Ambrose answered back quickly.

They had had much to discuss while the women were out on their nightly adventure. When his wife and sisters had reached out to him to tell him of Clarissa’s danger he had insisted on going with Corrigan.

“You are my brother, Corrigan. If this woman means so much to you then I can do no other than be there for you both.” He’d hugged Corrigan then, an act that had never taken place in all the years that they had known each other. Then he’d punched him in the arm, a motion that appealed to Xavier who mimicked the gesture. Then the rest of them followed suit.

“I’m sorry I was an ass,” Chas had said as he hugged his younger brother and best friend. “But in my defense, I wouldn’t have really taken a bite out of her. I’m not sure I could have anyway. She’d knock me on my ass again.”

Corrigan looked down at the person he’d given his heart to. When she had lain so still on the floor moments earlier he had thought his heart had truly been ripped and shredded into unidentifiable pieces on the floor with her. He could not exist in this world without her, not anymore.

“On trial basis, if you want,” he added. “There are more property choices farther along the beach if you would prefer a place of your own.”

“We can stay with your brother,” Clarissa told him, “for now at least,” she added.

He hugged her closer to him. Leaning down and kissing the side of her head. Clarissa watched as Eleanor and Richard stared at her as if she had grown a set of angel wings. Henry continued to smile, the dimple evident in his cheek. He nodded to himself before his eyes roved over to Eleanor.

Clarissa saw something painful flash across his face before he hid it behind another smile as he turned away. He then moved to stand with some of the S.S. talking to them, suggesting that they return to their homes.

“Then it is settled,” Cyrus said. His eyes scanned his side of the divide. “For now,” he added.

The Eidolon people who were present filed out of the room followed by the few S.S. members who had joined them. All that was left now were Cyrus, Clarissa and the LeMoyne family. The heavy doors shut silently behind the last to leave, Hanna Zespedes. She gave her council member one long look before she shut the door in her wake.

A small cry interrupted the sudden silence in the room, bringing to attention Maddy who still crouched in the corner next to her dead grandson. She held his fast cooling hand in her own, pressing it to her cheek as if she could keep his warmth from escaping.

“He said he didn’t want to die,” Clarissa whispered as she removed herself from Corrigan’s side. She walked the distance to the dark corner. Only now did she realize that the lights had been brought up, but still the corner remained shadowed as if Death’s presence still lingered in the room watching over this young man’s body.

Clarissa knelt down beside Jackson, touching Maddy on the shoulder. She jumped at the contact, turning her face up to Clarissa’s with the wild eyes of a women lost in the depths of her own grief.

“Will he be like you?” she asked. “I thought it would take less time.” Maddy looked around the room like she was looking for a ghost that wouldn’t appear when it was called. “Please, Clarissa, when is he going to come back to me?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “If he’s not meant to exist as a ghost I can’t make him come back.”

“Then make him like them,” she said, her voice frantic now. “I want him, even if he’s not the Jackson I knew. I don’t care. He’s too young to die.” She turned her face down, her tears falling harder as she whispered over and over again, ‘He’s too young to die’.

Ambrose came to kneel by the living woman, taking her by the shoulders and lifting her away from the body of her grandson. She let him lead her away to the waiting arms of one of his sisters. He returned to where the body lay and to Clarissa’s side, taking up the cool hand of the dead young man.

“Not only does the dagger destroy, it creates new life in the form of one of our kind,” Ambrose began. He brought the dagger, holding it with as little of his skin as possible. Pain was evident in his face but he didn’t let go. Clarissa took it from him quickly and she could see instant relief on his face when she did.

“How,” she asked him. “How can I force him into an existence that he didn’t ask for? If you had a choice, would you wish to be what you are?”

“I had no choice,” he bit out. Then he said in a softer voice, “But even still I think there are worse things in this world than what we are. This young man has known of us for some time, even finding friendship in us.” He looked to Corrigan, then back at Clarissa. “It is your decision.”

Clarissa wasn’t sure how she knew the precise steps, but she placed the dagger length-wise over Jackson’s chest with the hilt facing toward his head. It made the sign of the cross over his heart. She closed her eyes, imagining his death but backwards as if she could reverse the effects of time and return his body to the way he had been in life. But even still, she knew that Jackson would not be the same person he was. Death had touched him and he would never be the same.

Warmth flooded through the dagger into her arm and into Jackson’s cooling body. Energy washed over his body encasing him in a living cocoon. Jackson’s skin began to twitch and move as the re-animation began. Under normal circumstances the ease of the process required several attempts and something a kin to a blood sacrifice, but Jackson’s spilt blood was enough combined with the enhanced bokor powers from Clarissa.

The first thing Clarissa heard was a sigh of breath coming from Jackson’s lungs. When she heard the sound of his first breath her eyes popped open to see Jackson's gaze focused and on her. He reached down to touch the open wound in his chest only to find it closed leaving the broken bloody fabric of his shirt as evidence to the dagger striking him down.

He tried to speak but no words formed. Ambrose touched his forehead forcing Jackson to look at him. “Don’t strain yourself. It will take a moment for you to regain your power of speech. I won’t let anything happen to you.” It was something like a father would say to a son, the look in Ambrose’s eyes as he talked quietly to Jackson.

Clarissa stood up, finding warm hands to steady her. Again, she felt wobbly on her feet. The effort of reanimating Jackson had taken a toll on her strength. “I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’ve got you too, babe,” she said in a poor Sonny and Cher imitation. He just looked down at her with a ‘you’re-crazy-but-I-love-you-anyway-look’.

Cyrus came to stand near the scene, his gray eyes going from the newly formed flesh-eater on the floor to Clarissa and Corrigan. “Again Ms. Schofield you surprise me.” He looked down once more at the young man who he had seen grow up before his eyes. Now he was a creature he hated most in this world and for good reasons. Perhaps his opinion of the LeMoyne family had softened, but not to such an extent that he could forget his personal past with one of their kind. “I’m leaving now before you try using your talents against me and my non-corporal ass.”

He left, striding away purposely in a way only a man like Cyrus could pull off with such intensity. Clarissa watched as he closed the doors behind him. She heard her name being called and turned around to find Jackson on his feet making his way slowly toward her.

Corrigan stepped back as Jackson stopped in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her into his arms as he hugged her. “It wasn’t me who said those things to you. It was the ghost, the astri-zombie. I would never hurt you.” Jackson stepped back, his face drawn down in anguish. “I killed those people because he made me and I couldn’t stop him from forcing me to do it. I don’t even remember when he started using my body.” He scratched his blood soaked blonde head. “Even now it seems fuzzy like I was in a dream and I can only remember parts of it.”

“Jackson,” Maddy screamed running up to him and taking him into her arms. He hugged his grandmother back with obvious restraint as if he were afraid she would break. “I asked her to do this,” she said when he pulled back, putting distance between them. “I thought it the only way to keep you here.”

“But I’m,” he looked down at his hands covered in his own blood and suddenly a thing inside him started to growl, wanting to taste it. He licked his hands, but it wasn’t what he wanted. His own blood wouldn’t stop the beast that was roaring inside him. “I’m like them now,” he finished.

“I know,” she said, “I’m sorry, I wanted you and I wasn’t thinking.”

Ambrose interrupted them. It was useless now to discuss things that could not be changed. “We will take him home with us now, madam, and see that he is well taken care of. We’ll think more on the ramifications of these nights’ events on a later date. You should return to your home as well and rest. I know this is as traumatic for you as it is for your grandson.”

Maddy nodded her head stiffly as she stepped away, putting more distance between herself and the flesh-eaters. She turned then and walked out of the room, a single sob escaping her lips before she could make it to the door.

Xavier already had a mop in his hands and a bucket near him as he began washing away the blood on the floor. “I find it insulting that I must wash up after his mess,” he said. His wife popped him on the back of the head as she instructed him to continue his given chore.

Trueman and Chas were removing the large metal chair, putting it into a room where they locked the door. Soon enough the room was set to right and one could almost believe that nothing had happened in this space. Except for the smell in the air and strange current of a diminishing energy that reminded them that death had been close to this room. He had likely been brought here by Jackson’s death and seeing the corrupt soul of Francisco had thought to kill two birds with one stone; a terrible pun to bring up in this situation.

What was left of Francisco Fatio lay in a dark smear on the floor. It could not be scrubbed up, but in a few days it too would disappear with the rest of him.

The LeMoyne family, along with their newest extended family members, made the long walk back to the complex in a short amount of time, making it to the bridge quicker than humanly possible. Clarissa grabbed Corrigan then, shifting through the atmosphere with him leaving the others to jog the rest of the way home. She didn’t think they’d mind.

***∞***

Clarissa held onto Corrigan as they appeared in his attic bedroom. Turning in his arms she pulled his head down for a kiss that she was sure sealed their heart to soul connection forever. Corrigan tightened his hold on her, running his hands along her back as he returned her kiss ten-fold.

After several minutes she pulled back. “I love you,” she said, running her fingers along his warm cheek, moving it to touch his mouth.

“As I love you,” he answered, kissing her fingers as they covered his lips. Then he scooped her off her feet taking her to his green comforter covered bed. He looked down at her as she was laid out for him like a feast, her arms open and raised near her head, a smile on her enticing little mouth. Corrigan stood there for several seconds just watching her.

Clarissa grabbed his shirt front, pulling him down over her onto the bed. She ran her fingers through his dark midnight hair, loving the feeling of him so close to her. Pulling his head down for another kiss, she draped her leg around his hip bringing him in closer contact with her body. “You’re not getting out of it this time,” she told him with her lips pressed against his, a saucy tone in her voice.

“Whatever your heart desires,” he said, kissing her.

“Our heart,” he heard her say inside his brain. It was the first time she had ever spoken to him using the band of communication he had with his siblings. Cyrus was correct, Clarissa was full of surprises.

###

The End.

Thank you, dear reader, for downloading this book. And if you are wondering what will become of the other characters in this story, then perhaps it would please you to know that their adventures are not quite complete. The next installment at this time is entitled Dead End, which will explore Jackson’s story more fully. I would be most appreciative if you would return to the site from which you downloaded this work to let me know your thoughts. Please critique and not criticize. Thank you very much for your interest.

Works By: K.E. Rodgers

Divine Kingdom

Shadow Musique

When Man-Made

Rainbow Heart

Life in Pause

Table of Contents

Grave Danger