Beyond the Pale: A fantasy anthology (18 page)

With that, he
pushed open the door to the grim little hospital room and left. It hurt too
much to stand up, but I did it anyway, and shuffled to follow.

Prieto was
getting into the elevator when I emerged, but he caught my eye and jerked his
chin down the hall. “Four down,” he said.

The doors shut.

Carlotta was a
lovely woman with the soul of a pig. I’d always known that, but I’d never
really
known.

I’d never seen
the depths. Now I couldn’t get out of them. Not without climbing over someone
else.

She’d do.

Carlotta was
asleep. She was an older woman, with black hair threaded with silver and lines
on her face. Could have been someone’s mother, someone’s grandmother. Asleep,
you couldn’t see the real person.

Her eyes opened
when I dragged a chair up next to her bed—dark brown, as confused as any
soul dragged back from the dark. Except she’d been drugged, not dead, and the
softness cleared from her in seconds.

“Holly.” She
nearly spat my name. “I should have known he’d spare you. Sam always liked
you.
”

I didn’t answer
her. Somewhere, in the coldest part of me, I was seeing the agony of Andy’s
last moments, and I was realizing how much Lottie would have enjoyed it.

“The others?”

“Dead,” I said.
My voice sounded soft and distant. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Bringing back
the dead and fighting them like dogs. For
money.
”

Lottie’s bitter
brown eyes narrowed. “Don’t you judge me, you narrow little bitch. We all bring
them back for profit.” She smiled slowly. “I’m just creative.”

The room looked
red for a few seconds, and I had trouble controlling my breathing. My hands
ached, and realized I’d clenched them into tight, shaking fists.

“Creative,” I
repeated. “Why’d you ask Prieto for Andy?”

“I knew
somebody was stalking us,” she said. “If anybody could stop it, Toland would
have been the one. Besides—” She was still smiling, and it had a sharp,
cutting edge to it. “—he’d have made me a lot of money, after. A
lot
of money.”

I shuddered. It
was hard to stay in the chair. Hard not to put my hands around her throat and
squeeze.

“You’re done,”
I said. “I’m going to make it my personal mission to see you’re finished.”

“How?” Lottie’s
laugh broke on the air like ice. “You’re a stupid girl. I’m the
victim
. You counting on the Review
Board? Better not. So many resurrection witches gone? They might give me a
fine, but they need me. Now more than ever.”

She was
probably right, at that. Resurrection witches were a rare breed, and she and I
were the only ones left in the city. The Review Board would blame Sam. Lottie
would get away with a slap on the wrist.

Lottie would do
it again, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her. The police wouldn’t act. The dead
didn’t have legal rights.

I stood up. Lottie’s
dark gaze followed me as I crossed to the door. There was a thumb-lock on the
inside, and I flipped it over.

Lottie laughed.
“You going to kill me, Holly? You going to spend your life in prison over dead
men?”

“No,” I said. “Funny
thing about comas, Lottie. You can slip back into them without warning. It’s
really tragic.”

A flash of
something in her eyes that might have been fear. Her hand reached for the call
button.

I got there
first.

I held her
down. She struggled, and snarled, but when my lips touched hers, it was all
over.

I was the best
resurrection witch in Austin. One thing about being able to give life to the
dead... you can take it from the living. It’s forbidden, but it can be done.

I didn’t take
all her life. Just enough.

Just enough to
leave her wandering in the dark, screaming, trapped inside her own head. Her
body would live, mute and unresponsive, for as long as modern science could
maintain it, but Lottie Flores would never, ever bring back the dead again.

Not even
herself.

~

Andy was in the
morgue downstairs, two drawers away from Sam. I had to see him. What I’d done
to Lottie had hurt me in ways I knew might never be right again, but somehow
seeing his face, even in death, would give me peace.

I had no
potion. I had nothing but what was left inside of me. Darkness and passion and
need, so much need it seemed to bleed silver from my pores.

He was so
lovely. And he was at peace, the way I knew he should be.

I kissed him
lightly. I didn’t have any potion, and I put no spell behind it; it was just a
kiss, just the brush of lips.

But the
emotion
behind it—that felt like
magic.

I felt him
reaching for me, in the dark, and I couldn’t help but respond. It wasn’t my own
magic. I wasn’t this strong.

I felt the
connection snap clean between us, silver and hot, vibrating like a plucked
string.

His eyes
opened, and he smiled.

“You came
back,” I murmured.

“’Course I did,
Holly,” he said. “I’ll always come for you.”

“I didn’t—there’s
no potion—”

“Don’t need
it,” Andy said. He stirred, and the sheet across his bare chest slipped down,
revealing raw bullet holes that were, before my eyes, sealing themselves closed.
“Got myself some skills, you know. More than most.”

I kissed him
again, tasting potions and poisons and my own tears. “How long can you stay?” I
asked.

He smiled. “Long
as you want me.”

Forever.

RED RUN

~

by Kami Garcia

No one drove on Red Run at night. People went fifteen miles out of
their way to avoid the narrow stretch of dirt that passed for a road, between
the single stoplight towns of Black Grove and Julette. Red Run was buried in
the Louisiana backwoods, under the gnarled arms of oaks tall enough to scrape
the sky. When Edie’s granddaddy was young, bootleggers used it to run moonshine
down to New Orleans. It was easy to hide in the shadows of the trees, so dense
they blocked out even the stars. But there was still a risk. If they were
caught, the sheriff would hang them from those oaks, leaving their bodies for
the gators, which is how the road earned its name.

The days of bootlegging were long gone, but folks had other reasons
for steering clear of Red Run after dark. The road was haunted. A ghost had
claimed eight lives in the last twenty years—Edie’s brother’s just over a
year ago. No one wanted to risk a run-in with the blue-eyed boy. No one except
Edie.

She was looking for him.

Tonight she was going to kill a ghost.

~

Edie didn’t realize how long she had been driving until her favorite
Jane’s Addiction song looped for the third time. Edie was beginning to wonder
if she was going to find him at all, as she passed the rotted twin pines that
marked the halfway point between the two nothing little towns, when she saw
him. He was standing in the middle of the road, on the wavering yellow carpet
of her headlights. His eyes reflected the light like a frightened animal, but
he looked as real as any boy she’d ever seen. Even if he was dead.

She slammed on the brakes instinctively, and dust flew up around the
Jeep and into the open windows. When it skidded to a stop, he was standing in
front of the bumper, tiny particles of dirt floating in the air around him.

For a second, neither one of them moved. Edie was holding her breath,
staring out beyond the headlights at the tall boy whose skin was too pale and
eyes too blue.

“I’m okay, if you’re worried,” he called out, squinting into the
light.

Edie clutched the vinyl steering wheel, her hands sweaty and hot. She
knew she should back up—throw the car into reverse until he was out of
sight—but even with her heart thudding in her ears, she couldn’t do it.

He half-smiled awkwardly, brushing the dirt off his jeans. He had the
broad shoulders of a swimmer, and curly dark hair that was too long in places
and too short in others, like he had cut it himself. “I’m not from around
here.”

She already knew that.

He walked toward her dented red Jeep, tentatively. “You aren’t hurt,
are you?”

It was a question no one ever asked her. In elementary school, Edie
was the kid with the tangled blond braids. The one whose overalls were too big
and too worn at the knees. Her parents never paid much attention to her. They
were busy working double shifts at the refinery. Her brother was the one who
wove her hair into those braids, tangled or not.

“I’m fine.” Edie shook her head, black bobbed hair swinging back and
forth against her jaw.

He put his hand on the hood and bent down next to her open window. “Is
there any way I could get a ride into town?”

Edie knew the right answer. Just like she knew she shouldn’t be
driving on Red Run in the middle of the night. But she hadn’t cared about what
was right, or anything at all, for a long time. A year and six days
exactly—since the night her brother died. People had called it an
accident, as if somehow that made it easier to live with. But everyone knew
there were no accidents on Red Run.

That was the night Edie cut her hair with her mother’s craft scissors,
the ones with the orange plastic handles. It was also the night she hung out
with Wes and Trip behind the Gas & Go for the first time, drinking Easy
Jesus and warm Bud Light until her brother’s death felt like a dream she would
forget in the morning. The three of them had been in the same class since
kindergarten, but they didn’t run in the same crowd.

When Wes and Trip weren’t smoking behind the school or hanging out in
the cemetery, they were holed up in Wes’s garage, building weird junk they
never let anyone see. Edie’s mom thought they were building pipe bombs.

But they were building something else.

~

The blue-eyed boy was still leaning into the window. “So can I get a
ride?” He was watching her from under his long, straight lashes. They almost
touched his cheeks when he blinked.

She leaned back into the sticky seat, trying to create some space
between them. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

Would he admit he was out here to kill her?

“My parents kicked me out, and I’m headed for Baton Rouge. I’ve got
family down there.” He watched her, waiting for a reaction.

Was this part of the game?

“Get in,” was all she said, before she could change her mind.

The boy walked around the car and opened the door. The rusty hinges
creaked, and it reminded Edie of the first time Wes opened the garage door and
invited her inside.

~

The garage was humid and dark, palmetto bugs scurrying across the
concrete floor for the corners. Two crooked pine tables were outfitted with
vises and tools Edie didn’t recognize. Wire and scrap metal littered the floor,
attached to homemade-looking machines that resembled leaky car batteries. There
were other salvaged and tricked-out contraptions—dials that looked like
speedometers, a portable sonar from a boat, and a long needle resting on a
spool of paper that reminded her of those lie detectors you saw on television.

“What is all this stuff?”

Wes and Trip glanced at each other before Wes answered, “Promise you
won’t tell anyone?”

Edie took another swig of vodka, the clear liquid burning its way down
her throat. She liked the way it felt going down, knowing it would burn through
her memories just as fast.

“Cross my heart and hope I die,” she slurred.

“It’s hope
to
die,” Trip said, kicking an empty beer can out of
the way. “You said it wrong.”

Edie stared back at him, her eyes glassy. “No, I didn’t.” She tossed
the empty bottle at a green plastic trash can in the corner, but she missed and
it hit the concrete, shattering. “So are you gonna tell me what you’re doing
with all this crap?”

Wes picked up a hunk of metal with long yellow wires dangling from the
sides like the legs of a mechanical spider. “You won’t believe us.”

He was right. The only thing she believed in now was Easy Jesus.
Remembering every day to forget. “Try me.”

Wes looked her straight in the eye, sober and serious. He flicked a
switch on the machine and it whirred to life. “We’re hunting ghosts.”

~

Edie didn’t have time to think about hanging out with Wes and Trip in
the garage. She needed to focus on the things they had taught her.

She was driving slower than usual, her hands glued to the wheel so the
blue-eyed boy wouldn’t notice how badly they were shaking. “Where are you
from?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t pick up strangers.” His voice was
light and teasing, but Edie noticed he didn’t answer the question.

“You shouldn’t get in the car with strangers either,” she countered.
“Especially not around here.”

He shifted his body toward her, his white ribbed tank sliding over his
skin instead of sticking to it the way Edie’s clung to hers. The cracked
leather seat didn’t make a sound. “What do you mean?”

She felt a wave of satisfaction. “You’ve never heard the stories about
Red Run? You must live pretty far from here.”

“What kind of stories?”

Edie stared out at the wall of trees closing in around them. It wasn’t
an easy story to tell, especially if you were sitting a foot from the boy who
died at the end of it. “About twenty years ago, someone died out here. He was
about your age—“

“How do you know how old I am?” His voice was thick and sweet, all
honey and molasses.

“Eighteen?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Good guess. So what happened to him?”

Edie knew the story by heart. “It was graduation night. There was a
party in Black Grove and everyone went, even Tommy Hansen. He was quiet and
always kept to himself. My mom says he was good-looking, but none of the girls
were interested in him because his family was dirt-poor. His dad ran off and
his mother worked at the funeral home, dressing the bodies for viewings.”

Edie saw him cringe in the seat beside her, but she kept going. “Tommy
worked at the gas station to help out and spent the rest of his time alone,
playing a beat-up guitar. He wanted to be a songwriter, and was planning to
leave for Nashville that weekend. If the party had been a few days later, he
might have made it.”

And her brother would still be alive.

Edie remember the night her brother died, his body stretched out in
the middle of the road. She had stepped too close, and a pool of blood had
gathered around the toes of her sneakers. She had stared down at the thick
liquid, wondering why they called the road Red Run. The blood was as black as
ink.

“Are you going to tell me how that kid Tommy died?” The boy was
watching her from under those long eyelashes.

Edie’s heart started racing. “They had a keg in the woods, and
everyone was wasted. Especially Katherine Day, the prettiest girl in school.
People who remember say that Katherine drank her weight in cheap beer and
wandered into the trees to puke. Tommy saw her stumbling around and followed
her. This is the part where folks disagree; in one version of the story, Tommy
stat with Katherine while she threw up all over her fancy white sundress. In
the other version, Katherine forgot about how poor Tommy was—or noticed
how good-looking he was—and kissed him. Either way, the end is the same.”
Edie paused, measuring his reaction. At this point in the story, people were
usually on pins and needles.

But the blue-eyed boy was staring back at her evenly from the
passenger seat, as if he already knew the way it ended.

“Don’t you want to know what happened next?”

He smiled, but there was something wrong about it. His eyes were
vacant and far away. Was he remembering? He sensed Edie watching him, and the
faraway look was gone. “Yeah. How did he go from making out with the prettiest
girl in school to getting killed?”

“I didn’t say he was killed.” Edie tried to hide the fear in her
voice. She didn’t want him to know she was afraid.

“You said he died, right?”

She didn’t point out that dying and being killed weren’t the same
thing. If Edie hadn’t known she was in over her head the minute he got in the
car, she knew now. But it was too late. “Katherine was dating a guy on the
wrestling team, or maybe it was the football team, I can’t remember. But he
caught them together—kissing or talking or whatever they were
doing—and dragged Tommy out of the woods with a bunch of his friends.”

The boy’s blue eyes were fixed on her now. “Then what happened?” His
voice was so quiet she had trouble hearing him over the crickets calling out in
the darkness.

“They beat him to death. Right here on Red Run. Some guy who lived out
in the woods saw the whole thing.”

The boy nodded, staring out the window as the white bark of the pines
blurred alongside the car. “So that’s why no one drives on this road at night?”

Edie laughed, but the sound was bitter and cold. About as far away
from happy as it could be. “This is the Bayou. If you avoided every road where
someone died, there wouldn’t be any roads left. Folks don’t drive on Red Run at
night because Tommy Hansen’s ghost has killed six people around our age. They
say he kills the boys because they remind him of the guys who beat him to
death, and the girls because they remind him of Katherine.”

Edie pictured her brother lying in the glow of the police cruiser’s spotlight,
bathed in red. She had knelt down in the sticky dirt, pressing her face against
his chest. Will’s heart was beating, the rhythm uneven and faint.

“Edie?” She felt his chest rise as he whispered her name.

She cradled his face in her hands, but he was staring blankly beyond
her. “I’m here, Will,” she choked. “What happened?”

Will strained to focus on Edie’s tear-stained face. “Don’t worry. I’m
gonna be okay.” But his eyes told a different story.

“I should have listened…”

Will never finished. But she didn’t need to hear the rest.

~

Edie could feel the blue-eyed boy watching her. She bit the inside of
her cheek to keep from crying. She had to hold it together a little while
longer.

“You really believe a ghost is out here killing people?” He sounded
disappointed. “You look smarter than that.”

Edie gripped the steering wheel tighter. He had no idea how smart. “I
take it you don’t?”

He looked away. “Ghosts are apparitions.
 
They can’t actually hurt anyone.”

“Sounds like you know a lot about ghosts.”

~

It was the same thing Edie said the second time she hung out with Wes
and Trip in the filthy garage. Wes was adjusting some kind of gadget that
looked like a giant calculator, with a meter and needle where the display would
normally have been. “We know enough.”

“Enough for what?” She imagined the two of them wandering around with
their oversized calculators, searching for ghosts the way people troll the
beach for loose change and jewelry with metal detectors.

“I told you, we hunt ghosts.” Wes tossed the calculator thing to Trip,
who opened the back with a screwdriver and changed the batteries.

Edie settled into the cushions on the ratty plaid couch. “So you hang
out in haunted houses and take pictures, like those guys on TV?”