Up From the Grave

Twenty-five

Hot breath puffed in my face before my cheek was coated in a long, wet lick. That startled me into a sitting position, which was when I realized that (a) I’d been lying in a bed, and (b) that bed must be in Mencheres’s house. Only he had two-hundred-pound English mastiffs roaming around as though they owned the place.

“I don’t want another lick,” I told my fawn-colored visitor, patting his huge head. He ignored that, tail wagging as he cleaned my hand next. I looked around, recognizing the amber-and-crème room from the last time Bones and I had stayed here. He was gone, but from the indentation next to where I’d been lying, he hadn’t been gone long.

Since I was still bloodied and dirty beneath my borrowed clothes, my first order of business was to take a shower. If I could’ve stayed under that blissful hot spray for hours, I would have, but after I scrubbed myself, I got out and rummaged for something else to wear. Mencheres always kept his guest rooms stocked. Once dressed, I left the bedroom, surprised to see moonlight streaming in through one of the many windows on this floor. I’d slept a lot longer than I realized.

“Down here, Kitten.”

I followed Bones’s voice to the second floor. He was in a navy-and-wood-paneled study/parlor—whatever rich people call extra rooms they seldom use. He’d showered and changed into a new set of clothes, too. His color looked better, indicating that he’d fed, but I was most relieved by his aura. It wasn’t fractured with exhaustion like it had been before. Bones might not be up to full strength yet, but at least he didn’t feel like he was about to keel over.

Mencheres was with him, his long raven hair pulled back into a single plait. No surprise, another mastiff was curled by his feet. Obviously, no one had told him that Egyptians from his era were supposed to be partial to cats.

“How’s Cooper?” was my first question. Please let nothing have gone wrong with his transformation . . .

“He’s fine, luv. Safely secured in a room below.”

One worry assuaged. I took a seat next to him on the couch, absently noting that the leather was butter soft.

“Any news about Katie?”

“Ian rang a few hours ago, said they hadn’t found her yet.” Bones stroked my arm, looking thoughtful. “Tate wasn’t surprised. Said she’d avoid people and hide until she’d fully assessed her situation.”

He sounded like he was quoting Tate. Once again, anger flared when I thought of everything that had been done to her. Katie shouldn’t be alone and operating with military-like caution. At her age, her biggest concerns should’ve been playing with dolls versus action figures.

I almost didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “Madigan?”

At that, Bones’s features tightened. “The same.”

Strike two. I took in a hopeful breath. “Any luck pulling some info off the hard drives we brought back?”

Mencheres answered that one. “I have my people working on them, but as of yet, they’ve been unable to recover any data.”

Strike three. Frustrated, I let out my breath. “So we’re nowhere closer to finding out who’s been backing Madigan all these years.”

And that person was probably on red alert now after hearing what happened at the McClintic compound. In short, we were back to square one. Maybe even a few squares behind since we had no idea if more Katies existed at other secret facilities.

Some days, it didn’t pay to get out of bed.

“Mencheres has a theory about that.”

If the edginess in his voice wasn’t clue enough, those soothing strokes on my arm stopped. Clearly, Bones wasn’t a fan of this idea.

“What?” I asked, staring into Mencheres’s fathomless obsidian gaze.

“Vampires and ghouls in Madigan’s condition often remember nothing of their human lives. Some, however, remember pieces of their past, if presented with the proper stimuli.”

“Bones stimulated the hell out of him with the beat down he delivered,” I responded flatly. “It didn’t work.”

An elegant shrug. “Not that sort of stimulus. The most successful is interaction with a longtime personal associate.”

“Do you mean have Madigan hang out with an old friend?” I couldn’t contain my bark of laughter. “That’s impossible. His only friend was his sick, twisted job—”

I stopped speaking as understanding dawned. Now I knew why Bones hated this idea.

“Don.”

Bones spit out my uncle’s name as though it tasted foul. “Though they weren’t friends, Mencheres believes their association was both long enough and notably significant to perhaps trigger memories.”

I didn’t know if I’d be mad at my uncle forever, but I sure hadn’t been ready to see him this soon. Then again, when had “ready” ever factored into anything?

“It’s worth a shot,” I said at last.

Now we had to see if Don would agree to do it.

Mencheres lent us his helicopter since it would take too long to drive all the way to D.C. We had to stop once to refuel and then once more outside the city because that was an air-defense identification zone. We weren’t about to announce our arrival to any interested government officials. So, five hours after we decided to involve my uncle, we parked around the back of Tyler’s building on Macarthur Boulevard.

It was the middle of the night, but the lights in his apartment were on. This time, we’d called first. Tyler hadn’t been thrilled about summoning a ghost at this hour, but introducing him to Marie Laveau seemed to have boosted our favor points. He opened the door on our first knock though he didn’t bother to conceal his yawn.

“Come in. Want to get this over with so I can get back to bed.”

From his pajama pants and robe attire, that was obvious. Dexter was more enthusiastic in his welcome. He danced around my feet, sniffing madly where Mencheres’s mastiffs had brushed up against me.

I petted him, missing my cat once more. One of Bones’s associates had Helsing, since my cat hadn’t liked living in close quarters with Dexter. Then we sat on the floor by a Ouija board set up on his coffee table. Like most in-city condos, Tyler’s was set up studio style, with the kitchen, bedroom, and living area all occupying the same small space.

“Wish I could teach you to do this yourself,” Tyler said, placing his fingers on the planchette. “Too bad you lost your ghost juju.”

Some days, I regretted that. Most, I didn’t. “Everything ends eventually.”

Then we swished the planchette around the board while Tyler began his invocations. Since I didn’t have any personal items of my uncle’s this time, we had to weed through a few random spirits before Don materialized in the room.

When he realized who’d summoned him, he looked surprised. Then guilt pierced me when his next expression was fear as he glanced about.

“There are no Remnants, no Marie,” I said steadily. “Just us, Don.”

His form wavered, blurring at the edges. Now that he knew we had no means to stop him, was he leaving?

Then his haziness cleared up, revealing his faultlessly combed hair and sophisticated-yet-understated business suit. A knot inside me eased. For more reasons than needing his help, I hadn’t wanted Don to vanish as soon as he saw us. I was still angry at him and not sure where his actions had left our relationship, but it appears that hadn’t stopped me from missing him.

“What do you want, Cat?” he asked in guarded tone.

Don didn’t even look at Bones; a good thing since his stare was cold enough to flash-freeze steam. I took my fingers off the planchette in favor of drumming them against the Ouija board.

“Madigan burned his hard drives beyond usability and killed himself when we infiltrated his secret facility,” I summarized briskly. “Bones brought him back as a ghoul, but something went wrong. His mind’s vegetable soup, and we were hoping you could pull some meat out of it.”

Tyler’s mouth dropped upon hearing this. Maybe he’d thought I wanted him to raise my uncle just so I could bitch at him again. Don’s expression didn’t change though his outline wavered for a moment.

“Why?” he asked at last. “You shut down his operation like you wanted to, and now he’s your prisoner. What else is left?”

“Stopping whoever’s been backing him,” I said, deliberately not mentioning Katie. I didn’t want Marie finding out about her, and she was one of the only people in the world who could successfully interrogate a ghost. “Someone shelled out countless millions to keep Madigan’s operation running, not to mention the money that person spent to keep you from finding out about it.”

I was poking his pride with that last comment. When he was alive, Don’s clearance had been above Top Secret, yet he’d been unaware that Madigan was continuing his experiments with the full blessing of Uncle Sam. Meanwhile, Madigan had known all about Don’s operation and had even been put in charge of it after his death. That had to rankle.

“If we don’t stop him, that same person will find someone else to replace Madigan,” I continued. “We can’t let that happen.”

“What if the backer is too high-ranking to take on?” Don asked.

Bones’s voice held the same resonance as low, ominous thunder.

“For this, no one’s too high-ranking.”

Don stiffened, glancing once at Bones before his gaze flicked back to me.

“This has never been his country, but it is yours, Cat. You’d really assassinate whoever’s behind this, no matter who it is?”

Even dead, Don’s allegiance to his nation was undiminished; an admirable quality. If only he’d shown the same loyalty to his family.

“You ran a secret operation that protected American citizens from dangers they didn’t know existed,” I replied, holding his steel-colored gaze. “Whoever’s behind Madigan knowingly funded the kidnapping, torture, and death of thousands of Americans, all for the purpose of illegal genetic manipulation. That’s reprehensible enough, but what’s worse is the war it could trigger if word leaked to the wrong undead ears.”

Then I got up and walked over to him, almost daring him to leave as I spoke the next part.

“You still love your country, Don? Prove it.”

He smiled then. Sad, jaded, and so weary that guilt struck me once more. Humans, vampires, and ghouls could find brief respite in sleep, but could ghosts? Or was their existence one endless day that stretched pitilessly into eternity?

Even if it wasn’t, as I stared at Don, sympathy began to outweigh my anger. He’d lied to me, manipulated me, and allowed a ruthless bureaucrat to use my DNA for secret experimentations, yet there was more to him than that. Don had protected the soldiers who worked for him, not experimented on and killed them like Madigan had. Once Brams was invented, Don turned down untold millions in pharmaceutical patents because he refused to release the drug to the public. When Madigan broached his forcible-breeding idea, Don fired him and kept him from me. Years later, when I revealed that I was in love with a vampire, Don allowed Bones to join the team. Then he lied to his superiors about my length-of-service agreement so I could quit when my life took a different direction, not to mention all the times he used his influence when vampire conflicts put me on the wrong end of the law.

His good deeds might not outweigh his bad, but Don’s greatest offenses occurred while he was still under the misconception that all vampires were evil. Through my teens and early twenties, I’d done some awful things under that misconception as well. In the years since, I’d tried to make up for that, and so, in his own way, had Don.

Even if he hadn’t, he didn’t deserve this fate. One day I’d be gone, yet he’d still be chained between a world he could never cross into and one he could never return to. Inadvertent or not, that was because of me—a punishment that far exceeded his crimes.

Above all else, Don was family. Flawed almost to the point of brokenness, yet family. I might not be able to forgive him today, but eventually, I would. Family was too precious to throw away if there was even a chance for reconciliation.

Don proved that when he finally gave his answer.

“Don’t bother playing on my patriotism, Cat. My country’s lost to me now, but if this helps you with something you’re determined to do anyway . . . well, then take me to him. I’ll see what I can do.”