Bloody Bones (4 page)

“I called Beau and had him bring everybody down here on the understanding we could get some work done today.” His gaze was very steady on Bayard. Lionel wilted just a little; evidently one memo was not protection enough.

“Mr. Stirling, even if I can raise the graveyard in one night, and that's a big if, what if the dead are all Bouviers? What if it is their family plot? My understanding is that construction will stop until you rebuy the land.”

“They don't want to sell,” Beau said.

Stirling glared at him. The foreman just smiled softly.

“Are you saying that the entire project is off if this is the Bouvier family plot?” I asked Bayard. “Why, Lionel, you didn't tell me that.”

“There was no need for you to know,” Bayard said.

“Why wouldn't they want to sell the land for a million dollars?” Larry asked. It was a good question.

Stirling looked at him like he'd just appeared out of thin air. Evidently, the flunkies weren't supposed to talk. “Magnus and Dorcas Bouvier have only a restaurant, called Bloody Bones. It is nothing. I have no idea why they wouldn't want to be millionaires.”

“Bloody Bones? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?” Larry asked.

I shrugged. “It doesn't exactly say bon appetit.” I looked at Stirling. He looked angry but that was all. I would have bet a million dollars that he knew exactly why the Bouviers didn't want to sell. But it didn't show on his face. His cards were close to his chest and unreadable.

I turned to Bayard. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks, and he avoided my gaze. I'd play poker with Bayard any day. But not in front of his boss.

“Fine. I'll change into something more bulky and we'll go take a look.” The pilot handed out my suitcase. The coverall and shoes were on top.

Larry came up to me. “Gee, I wished I'd thought of the coverall. This suit's not going to survive the trip.”

I pulled out two pairs of coveralls. “Be prepared,” I said.

He grinned. “Thanks.”

I shrugged. “One good thing about being nearly the same size.” I slipped off the black jacket, which left the gun in plain sight.

“Ms. Blake,” Stirling said. “Why are you armed?”

I sighed. I was tired of Raymond. I hadn't even gone up the hill and I didn't want to go. The last thing I wanted to do was stand here and debate whether I needed a gun. The red blouse was short-sleeved. Visual aids are always better than lectures.

I walked over to him with my arms bent outward, exposing the inside of both forearms. There's a rather neat knife scar on my right arm, nothing too dramatic. My left arm is a mess. It had only been a little over a month since a shapeshifting leopard had opened my arm. A nice doctor had stitched it back together, but there is only so much you can
do with claw marks. The cross-shaped burn scar that some inventive vampire servants had put on me was now a little crooked because of the claws. The mound of scar tissue at the bend of my arm where a vampire had bitten through the flesh and gnawed the bone dribbled white scars like water.

“Jesus,” Beau said.

Stirling looked a touch pale but he held up well, like he'd seen worse. Bayard looked green. Ms. Harrison paled so that the makeup floated on her suddenly pale skin like impressionist water lilies.

“I don't go anywhere unarmed, Mr. Stirling. Live with it, because I have to.”

He nodded, eyes very serious. “Fine, Ms. Blake. Is your assistant armed as well?”

“No,” I said.

He nodded again. “Fine. Change, and when you're ready we'll go up.”

Larry was zipping up his coverall when I walked back. “I could have been armed, you know,” he said.

“You brought your gun?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Unloaded in your suitcase?”

“Just like you told me.”

“Good.” I let it go. Larry wanted to be a vampire executioner as well as an animator, which meant he needed to know how to use a gun. A gun with silver-plated bullets that could slow a vampire down. We'd work up to shotguns, which could take out a head and heart from a relatively safe distance. Beat the hell out of staking.

I'd gotten him a carry permit on the condition he didn't carry it concealed until I thought he was a good enough shot not to blow a hole in himself or me. I'd gotten him the permit mainly so we could carry it around in the car and go to the range in any spare moments.

The coverall went over the skirt like magic. I took off the heels and put the Nikes on. I left the coverall unzipped enough that I could go for the gun if needed, and I was set to go.

“Are you going up with us, Mr. Stirling?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then lead the way,” I said.

He walked past me, glancing at the coveralls. Or maybe visualizing the gun under it. Beau started to follow but Stirling said, “No, I'll take her up alone.”

Silence among the three flunkies. I'd expected Ms. Harrison to stay behind in her high-heeled pumps, but I'd been sure the two men would come along. So, from the looks on their faces, had they.

“Wait a minute. You said ‘her.' You want Larry to wait down here, too?”

“Yes.”

I shook my head. “He's in training. You can't learn if you don't see it done.”

“Will you be doing anything that he needs to see today?”

I thought about that for a minute. “I guess not.”

“I do get to come up after dark?” Larry asked.

“You'll get to see the down and dirty, Larry. Don't worry.”

“Of course,” Stirling said. “I have no problem with your associate doing his job.”

“Why can't he come along now?” I asked.

“At the price we're paying, humor me, Ms. Blake.”

He was being strangely polite, so I nodded. “Okay.”

“Mr. Stirling,” Bayard said, “are you sure you should go up alone?”

“Why ever not, Lionel?”

Bayard opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “No reason, Mr. Stirling.”

Beau shrugged. “I'll tell the men to go home for the day.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “Do you want the crew back tomorrow?”

Stirling looked at me. “Ms. Blake?”

I shook my head. “I don't know yet.”

“What's your best guess?” he asked.

I looked over at the waiting men. “Do they get paid whether they show up or not?”

“Only if they show up,” Stirling said.

“Then no work tomorrow. I can't guarantee they'll have anything to do.”

Stirling nodded. “You heard her, Beau.”

Beau looked at me, then back to Stirling. He had a strange look on his face, half amused, half something I couldn't read. “Anything you say, Mr. Stirling, Ms. Blake.” He turned and strode off over the raw ground, waving at the men as he moved. The men began to leave long before he got to them.

“What do you want us to do, Mr. Stirling?” Bayard asked.

“Wait for us.”

“The helicopter, too? It has to leave before dark.”

“Will we be down before dark, Ms. Blake?”

“Sure. I'm just going to take a quick look around. I'll need to get back in here after dark, though.”

“I'll give you a car and driver for your stay.”

“Thanks.”

“Shall we, Ms. Blake?” He motioned me forward. Something had changed in the way he was treating me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I didn't like it.

“After you, Mr. Stirling.”

He nodded and took the lead, striding over the red earth in his thousand-dollar shoes.

Larry and I exchanged glances. “I won't be long, Larry.”

“Us flunkies aren't going anywhere,” he said.

I smiled. He smiled. I shrugged. Why did Stirling want it to be just the two of us? I watched the senior partner's broad back as he marched across the torn earth. I followed him. I'd find out what the secrecy was all about when we got to the top. I was betting I wouldn't like what I'd hear. Just me and the big cheese on top of the mountain with the dead. What could be better?

4

T
HE VIEW FROM
the top of the mountain was worth the hike. Trees stretched out and out to the horizon. We stood in a circle of forest that showed no hand of man as far as the eye could see. That first blush of green was more pronounced here. But the thing you noticed most was the lavender color of redbuds through the dark trees. Redbuds are such delicate things that if they came out in the height of summer they'd get lost in all the leaves and flowers, but here with nothing but naked trees the redbuds were eye-catching. A few dogwoods had started to bloom, adding their white to the lavender. Spring in the Ozarks, ah.

“The view is magnificent,” I said.

“Yes,” Stirling said, “it is, isn't it?”

My black Nikes were covered in rust-colored dirt. The raw, wounded earth filled the mountaintop. This hilltop had probably been just as pretty as the rest once. There was an arm bone sticking out of the dirt next to my feet. The lower arm, judging from the length. The bones were slender and still connected by a dry remnant of tissue.

Once I'd seen one bone, my eyes found more to look at. It was like one of those magic-eye pictures where you stare and stare and suddenly see what's there. I saw them all, studding the ground like hands reaching up through a river of rust.

There were a few splintered coffins, their broken halves spilling out into the air, but mostly it was just bones. I knelt and put my hands palm down on the ruined earth. I tried to get some sense of the dead. There was something faint and far-off like a whiff of perfume, but it was no good. In the bright spring sunlight I couldn't work my . . . magic. Raising the dead isn't evil, but it does require darkness. I don't know why.

I stood up, brushing my hands against the coverall, trying to clean the red dust away. Stirling was standing at the edge
of the naked dirt staring off into space. There was a distance to his gaze that said he wasn't admiring the trees.

He spoke without looking at me. “I can't bully you, can I, Ms. Blake?”

“Nope,” I said.

He turned to me with a smile, but it left his eyes empty, haunted. “I invested everything I had into this project. Not just my money, but clients' money. Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Blake?”

“If the bodies up here are Bouviers, you're screwed.”

“How eloquently you put it.”

“Why are we up here alone, Mr. Stirling? Why all the skullduggery?”

He took a deep breath of the gentle air and said, “I want you to say they aren't Bouvier ancestors even if they are.” He looked at me when he said it. Watched my face.

I smiled and shook my head. “I won't lie for you.”

“Can't you make the zombies lie?”

“The dead are very honest, Mr. Stirling. They don't lie.”

He took a step towards me, face very sincere. “My entire future is riding on you, Ms. Blake.”

“No, Mr. Stirling, your future rides on the dead at your feet. Whatever comes out of their mouths will decide it.”

He nodded. “I suppose that is fair.”

“Fair or not, it's the truth.”

He nodded again. Some light had gone out of his face, like someone had turned down the power. The lines in his face were suddenly clearer. He aged ten years in a few seconds. When he met my gaze, his dramatic eyes were woeful.

“I'll give you a piece of the profits, Ms. Blake. You could be a billionaire in a few years.”

“You know bribing won't work.”

“I knew it wouldn't work just a few minutes after we met, but I had to try.”

“You really do believe this is the Bouvier family plot, don't you?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and walked away from me to gaze off at the trees. He wasn't going to answer my question, but
he didn't have to. He wouldn't be so desperate if he didn't believe he was screwed.

“Why won't the Bouviers sell?”

He glanced back at me. “I don't know.”

“Look, Stirling, there are just the two of us up here, nobody to impress, no witnesses. You know why they won't sell. Just tell me.”

“I don't know, Ms. Blake,” he said.

“You're a control freak, Mr. Stirling. You've overseen every detail of this deal. You have personally seen that every ‘i' was dotted, every ‘t' crossed. This is your baby. You know everything about the Bouviers and their problem. Just tell me.”

He just looked at me. His pale eyes were opaque, empty as a window with no one home. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell me. Why?

“What
do
you know about the Bouviers?”

“The locals think they're witches. They do a little fortunetelling, a few harmless spells.” There was something about the way he said it, too casual, too offhand. Made me want to meet the Bouviers in person.

“They any good at magic?” I asked.

“How am I supposed to know?”

I shrugged. “Just curious. Is there a reason why it had to be this mountain?”

“Look at it.” He spread his arms wide. “It's perfect. It is perfect.”

“It is a great view,” I said. “But wouldn't the view be equally good over on that mountaintop? Why did you have to have this one? Why did you have to have the Bouviers' mountain?”

His shoulders slumped; then he straightened and glared at me. “I wanted this land, and I got it.”

“You got it. Trick is, Raymond, can you keep it?”

“If you are not going to help me, then don't taunt me. And don't call me Raymond.”

I opened my mouth to say something else and my beeper went off. I fished under the coverall for it, and checked the number. “Shit,” I said.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm being paged by the police. I've got to get to a phone.”

He frowned at me. “Why would the police be calling you?”

So much for being a household name. “I'm the legal vampire executioner for a three-state area. I'm attached to the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team.”

He was looking very steadily at me. “You surprise me, Ms. Blake. Not many people do that.”

“I need to find a phone.”

“I have a portable with a battery pack at the bottom of this damned hill.”

“Great. I'm ready to head down if you are.”

He did one last turn, taking in that breath-stealing billion-dollar view. “Yes, I'm ready to go down.”

It was an interesting choice of words, a Freudian slip you might say. Stirling had wanted this land for some perverse reason. Maybe because he was told he couldn't have it. Some people are like that. The more you say no, the more they want you. It reminded me of a certain master vampire I knew.

Tonight I'd walk the land, visit with the dead. It would probably be tomorrow night before I actually tried to raise them. If the police matter was pressing enough, it might be longer. I hoped it wasn't pressing. Pressing usually meant dead bodies. When the monsters are involved, it's never just one dead body. One way or another, the dead multiply.