Grave Danger Read online

  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 havi
ng 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.