Grave Dealings (The Grave Report, Book 3) Read online

  Metal crunched. So did I, leaving a Vincent Graves-sized indent in the garage door. It was taking “making an impact” to a literal level.

  The elf pulled himself away and dusted his hands. “Stay out of the matter. Next time I won’t go so easy on you, and it won’t just be a warning.” He turned and raced out of sight.

  I pressed a hand to my chest. A series of coughs racked my body. “Good...talk.” My head thunked against the door, and I shut my eyes. “And I just got this body. Church is going to be ticked.” My rest could wait. I had a case to start.

  It felt like firecrackers went off inside my chest and back as I got to my feet. I pushed the strange encounter from my mind. It was a problem for another time. I shoved my hands into my pockets and left the alley. Finding the nearest place of worship wouldn’t take long.

  The static buzz over my neck and shoulders returned. Someone was watching me—still. I cast a glance over my shoulder but saw nothing. I ruled the Night Runner out. He had made his point—painfully. I guess I had attracted another party’s interest.

  This was going to be a long walk.

  Chapter Two

  Moving through the streets of Queens isn’t difficult on its own, but when you’re forced to rubberneck and take odd paths, it adds up. I veered down an ill-maintained sidewalk. The cracked concrete looked like a dumping ground for adolescent trash. Torn pages from adult magazines and fast food wrappers whisked down the street with the breeze.

  Nobody followed me, but the feeling I was being stalked lingered, refusing to let go.

  Whoever was trailing me was good.

  I sped up and rounded the corner, doubling my pace until it became a jog. A cathedral came into view. It was a simple thing of brick, capped with a white tower. Much of the color had faded with age and the elements. I paused at the double doors and glanced over my shoulder one last time.

  Nothing.

  The pressure in my jaw built as my teeth ground. I cupped a hand to the side of my face. “You suck salty moose wang!”

  There was no reply.

  Figures.

  I scowled and pushed my way inside. The interior was the opposite of its outside. Beautifully crafted pews of dark cherry filled the floor. Columns of white wrapped with intricate filigrees of brass. The ceiling was painted to resemble a velvet sky strung with stars. It could’ve been pulled from a night in the African savannah.

  I moved towards the front, keeping my eyes open for anyone else. The place seemed deserted. I whistled. “Candy-gram for blonde and geekily handsome!”

  Someone cleared their throat, prompting me to turn.

  He sat several pews back with his legs crossed. The man was a dead ringer of what I’d called out for. Church’s looks were the definition of geek chic. He eyed me and arched a brow.

  “Uh, I woke up underwater—with my hands tied, by the way. Thanks for that.”

  “I don’t choose the circumstances, Vincent. You know this.”

  “I have the feeling you have a lot more control than you’re letting on, Blondilocks.” I eyed him hard.

  He sighed and pulled his designer glasses from his face. The dark frames stood out against his wavy, shoulder-length hair. Church pulled a cloth from his pocket and polished the lens without taking his eyes off me. It was like gazing into frozen azure waters. A heck of a stare.

  I fought not to blink.

  The edges of his mouth quirked like he was fighting not to smile. “Have you changed your mind about punching me?”

  I blinked. “The feeling’s coming back.” My fingers dug into my palm as my fist tightened.

  Church took note and eyed me. “Violence isn’t always the answer.”

  I snorted. “Tell that to the freak who jumped me on my way over here.”

  He thumbed shut the journal on his lap and clasped his hands over it. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Really? I am. I just got this meat suit.” I hooked a thumb to my chest. “How am I already pissing people off?”

  Church folded his lips and stood. “Vincent, I am always surprised by your ability to irritate others. In that regard, you have no equal. I’m sure you found a way.” His eyes shone with amusement.

  “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Please don’t. I’m not trying to encourage you.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and looked past Church. Two journals sat on the pew; a rich burgundy atop a saddle brown. They belonged to me. One helped me keep my memories straight between all the body bouncing I do. The other was a compendium of every bit of mythological lore I’d come across over my cases. It was the only real tool I had. I nodded at them.

  Church inclined his head and fetched both. He presented them to me like they were a gift. “Wait here.” He moved towards the altar.

  “Um, okay.” I stood rooted to the spot and blinked. That was new.

  Church vanished from sight and returned just as quickly. He carried a set of folded clothing atop his hands.

  “Aw, shucks, you shouldn’t have. I’m only drenched.” I placed my journals on a nearby pew.

  He raised a brow. “Technically, you are damp. Most of the water dried during your trek here.” Church placed the clothing on a pew next to me.

  I scowled and snatched up what looked like a perfect replica of the clothes I wore. Well, they were dry at least. I hooked my index finger within the collar of my shirt and pulled. Fabric stretched. Strings tore the next second sending buttons bouncing onto the floor. I tossed the shirt aside with a callous flick of my wrist. My pants fell to my feet after I kicked off my shoes.

  Church’s eyes went wide, and he turned away. “Vincent, I don’t think it’s wholly appropriate to strip in a place...” He gestured to our surroundings.

  I waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. It’s not my body. Don’t suppose you can tell me what killed this stiff and save me some time?”

  Church’s back was fully to me now. “You know I can’t.”

  I pulled off the guy’s briefs and slipped into the new clothes mechanically. My muscles loosened in response to the first touch of the shirt around my chest. It was like it had come out of the dryer. The pants were the same. “Toasty. Thanks.”

  “Of course.” Church tilted his head.

  “You can look, dude. I’m dressed enough.” I pulled on the socks and slid into the replacement sneakers.

  He turned and faced me. “You have questions on your mind.”

  “Yeah, I do. I’ve got a feelin’ you know what I’m going to ask.”

  Church nodded. “Ask anyway.”

  “I’ll ask the ones that matter, how’s that? I know how you’ll answer the others.”

  He gave me a paper-thin smile.

  “How is Lizzie?”

  “She is doing well in the care of her grandmother. Elizabeth still thinks about you, Vincent. You had quite the effect on her.”

  I shrugged.

  “You saved her and her sister. She’s at home with someone who cares about her because of you.”

  I grinned. It was good to hear. Lizzie was a little girl I’d met on one of my cases. Pretty normal, except for the fact she had the peculiar ability to see and speak to ghosts. Kids, right? They’re weird.

  Church cleared his throat. “That’s not the only question on your mind.”

  I shook my head. My throat seemed too tight, refusing to let me voice my question. “How’s Ortiz?”

  He brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes.

  “Church?”

  He remained silent and looked away.

  “How’s Ortiz?” My heart felt like I’d gone another round with the Night Runner.

  “I can’t answer that.” His voice sounded like he had swallowed a handful of sawdust. I could hear the desire mixed in with restraint. He wanted to tell me.

  I arched a brow. “Let me guess: These weird rules—the ones you can’t tell me about—are keeping you from answering?”

  He nodded.

  “Your boss is an
ass, no offense.”

  Church blinked, and his face twisted like he was caught between wanting to laugh and remaining poised. “Vincent”—his lips twitched—“I don’t think you can say that and mean it without offense.”

  I smiled.

  He held out his hand. “We’ve spent enough time talking. You have work to do.”

  I sighed. “Thanks, Mom.” I pulled on the cuff of my shirt, rolling the sleeve back to my elbow.

  Church grabbed my forearm. The man had a hydraulic grip. Heat radiated over the inner part of my arm and intensified. It felt like I had touched my skin to a stove.

  I shut my eyes. My teeth slid over each other as I grimaced through the pain. It went quickly. “Ow.”

  Church removed his hand.

  There was a patch of reddened skin. A black number fifty-seven sat in the middle. The magical tattoo would decrease in number by the hour until I found the thing responsible for murdering the previous owner of the body I inhabited. I glanced at it, then Church. “Feeling generous?”

  “You’ll need the time.” He paused, and his mouth pulled to one corner. “And luck.”

  The desire to bury my fist in his face returned. But I’m a mature adult. I reined it in and gave him the finger.

  He sighed.

  I gave him a look. “Don’t suppose you could give me something to go on here? Not even a teensy clue?”

  Silence.

  “Give me something work with, Church.”

  “I did.” He pointed to the journals, then my tattoo. “And time is passing.”

  I bent at my waist and looked down as I recovered my journals. “Fine.” When I looked up, Church had vanished. I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah, you’re a regular Harry Blackstone, congrats.” The smaller burgundy journal slipped from atop the stack. Its corner struck my palm as I fumbled for it. The collection of memories hit the ground at an angle. A plastic card slipped out.

  I bent and scooped up the journal and card. A picture of a man that could have been used on a Korean travel brochure stared back at me. Cognac eyes and tousled black hair with a hint of a tan. Good lookin’ guy. I smiled at the driver’s license and held it towards the ceiling. “Smartass.” I had a feeling Church heard me wherever he was. The man always seemed to know.

  I tucked the journals under an arm and turned my attention to the piece of plastic. My index finger bounced off the card as my fingernail struck the section with his information. I burned the name and address into the back of my mind. “Let’s go find out who you really are, Mr. Kim. And...what the hell offed you.”

  Chapter Three

  The walk to Daniel Kim’s apartment complex took longer than I’d have liked. I had taken the longest route I could. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my unseen tail nipped at my heels the entire trip. It felt like a pair of screws had drilled their way through the back of my skull. Whoever was keeping tabs on me was good, and annoying. Their presence had cost me.

  I’d lost an hour. Fifty-six left.

  The apartment complex was unremarkable. Three stories of brick with windows trimmed in white paneling. Sturdy and, by the looks of things, affordable. I walked up three concrete steps and stopped at the door. The glass was clean enough to offer me a hint of a reflection. It wasn’t much, but with the street lamps behind me, it gave me a decent view over my shoulder.

  Nobody sensible would roam the streets this time of night. The only thing that passed by was a 90s sedan with dimmed headlights that barely illuminated ten feet before it. Still, the unshakable feeling someone was watching didn’t subside.

  Dull pressure radiated around my gums as my teeth ground. My fingers dug into the meat of my palm. I balled my fist tighter before releasing the tension. A series of gentle breaths through my nose and I was calm. I raised a fist over my head, hoping my stalker would see it. A smile spread across my face as I extended a single finger.

  They got the message.

  I pulled the door open and stepped inside. The white tile was in serious need of polishing. I crossed over to the carpeted staircase and stopped. A burgundy plaque, with tenant names and apartment numbers, hung on the wall. My finger trailed across the list horizontally until I found what I was looking for. I stayed an extra minute to commit the names of his neighbors to memory. It’s hard working a case when you’re stumbling over who’s who.

  Nodding to myself, I grabbed the railing and hurtled up the stairs to the second floor. I passed doors the color of rustic oak as I searched for Daniel’s apartment. I found it halfway down the hall. My lips folded under my teeth as a realization hit me.

  “Urfle, murfle, gruhl.” The base of my fist ricocheted off the wooden door. It vibrated where I had struck it. It did little good to open it. I nursed the temptation to drive my heel into the spot just above the doorknob. If I did it right, I could force the sucker open. I resisted the urge. It didn’t seem like a good idea starting off my case by damaging the victim’s home and pissing off the building’s superintendent.

  A click sounded behind me. I turned to the source. The door opposite pulled back, and a young, dark-skinned male blinked at me, then at the door.

  “Locked out, Daniel?” He scratched the side of his head and offered me a lopsided smile.

  I growled.

  The scrawny kid recoiled. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties and the definition of an information technology geek. The guy had a shaved head, and his rectangular glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose. The only thing he had going for him was his height, standing a little over six feet.

  I raised a hand as a way of apology. “Yeah, sorry, rough night.”

  He looked me over and nodded. “Sounds like it if you’re coming in this late. Working overtime at the gallery?” He arched a brow.

  I nodded. It was a nice bit of information I wouldn’t need to fish for, and it made sense. Long Island City was home to a fair bunch of artists. I didn’t know how it was useful, yet. At least I had another stop after I checked out his place. As soon as I figured out how to get into it. I let one of my hands rest on the knob.

  A disorienting wave rolled through my brain. It was like syrup crashed down and congealed within my skull.

  Daniel’s foot bounced off the door and he swore. He jostled the knob in frustration. His hands burrowed into his pockets, fishing for a key he didn’t have. He placed his back against the door and crossed his legs. The man shut his eyes and thought for a moment.

  The vision snapped out of clarity only to be replaced by another. I watched Daniel cross over the concrete roof to an ill-maintained looking ventilation system. His fingers closed around the poorly fastened grate, and he pried it loose. Daniel ran a hand over the side. Something rippled against his fingertips and clung to the skin. It felt like tape. One of his fingers came across a sliver of metal that was cool to the touch. He closed his hand around it and pulled.

  The memory faded, and I blinked several times as I readjusted.

  My neighbor eyed me sideways. “You...okay, Daniel? You look like you’ve had a four-oh-four error in your head.”

  I blinked again.

  “You know, error, broken page?”

  I stared.

  “Like your mind went blank—crashed.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  He nodded to himself. “Fair enough. You want me to call the super and see if he can get you into your place?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it. I know where I left my key.” I took a step towards the stairs.

  “Wait. You coming to movie night tomorrow, or, um, I guess tonight—shit. What time is it?”

  I stopped. “Movie night?”

  “Yeah, you know, at Ashton’s place?” He pointed to a door several apartments down from mine. “The gang gets together, and we watch a movie...like the name suggests.”

  I bowed my head. “Sure, yeah, um, count me in.”

  He looked at me like I was strange then yawned. “Cool, cool.”<
br />
  “Sorry for waking you.” I turned to move towards the staircase.

  “No worries, was already up troubleshooting stuff for clients. Perks of the home IT gig.”

  I ignored him and raced forwards. My legs hammered over the stairs as I made my way to the roof. I flung open the door and rushed to the grate. My journals came to rest near the ventilation shaft as I placed them down. I closed my fingers around the edges like Daniel had, and pulled. The grate resisted. Rolling my shoulders, I placed my heels against on framework and leaned back. The metal pulled free. My hand slid against the inside.

  The same coolness filled the tips of my fingers as I brushed the key. I gripped and wrenched it free. Ribbons of clear tape tagged along.

  Daniel may have been absentminded if he needed a spare, but he was clever enough to hide it well. I pursed my lips and hoped he wasn’t too clever. It could have been a contributing factor to his death.

  I discarded the tape and stuffed the key into my pocket. The grate fought me as I tried to realign it on its brackets. I managed to get it to stay in place, albeit a bit crooked. A quick look around reassured me no one was nearby. My foot lashed out. Weak metal groaned as the grate warped and fell into alignment. It’d be a pain to remove in the future, but it wasn’t like Daniel was going to use it again.

  The thought sent a numbing cement through my gut that solidified behind my navel. It’s something that never fails to get you. The idea that I’m running around in what used to be someone else’s body. Someone who had a life, one taken by the paranormal. Like mine had been. All I could do was gank whatever killed them and offer that person some semblance of justice. Or vengeance.

  My fingernails dug deep into my palm. The feeling pulled me from my train of thought. I recovered my journals and moved towards the door, shutting it without looking as I headed down the stairs.

  I approached his door and unlocked it. My hand closed around the knob, and I took a breath before opening it. The muscles along my spine tensed.

  Daniel’s body may have ended up in the water, but when it comes to the paranormal, nothing is that simple.