Grave Danger Page 8

  “Eleanor,” he said. “It was just a joke. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not crossing over anytime soon, okay? If you want to hit me, just do it already. I’d rather have that than you looking at me like you are right now.”

  “You deserve much more than me hitting you over the head even though that’s exactly what I want to do. But you’re not worth my time.” Eleanor stood up from the booth, looking to Clarissa and inclining her head before turning away from them both. She walked out of the restaurant, her head held high as she ignored the other patrons in the restaurant who were watching her leave.

  Richard’s focus followed Eleanor out the door. He knew he deserved that. The little woman was tough on the outside, but extremely fragile on the inside. It might have been a reason they connected so well. And the fact that she was stubborn might be another reason. She wouldn’t let him forget this anytime soon. Maybe she might start speaking to him some time in the next century if he was lucky.

  “You’re not an ass, Richard. But you could have fooled her.” Clarissa watched Richard as he watched Eleanor walk down the street toward her home, her back stiff. Once she was out of sight of them she would most likely crumble. Eleanor had projected her thoughts to Clarissa, telling her she needed some time to herself, but that she would meet up with her this evening so they could go to the town meeting together. “You’re walking on egg shells with her now. I would start being nicer to her for awhile; at least until she cools down from this. You really hurt her this time.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” Richard sighed. “I don’t think I can find my way out of this one so easily. I saw her face; she’s really pissed at me this time. Maybe in a few hundred years though.”

  “She cares a lot about you Richard. I get the impression that you can’t accept the idea that someone might actually like you for yourself. I know it’s not really my place to say this, but here it goes. You need to move on, whatever happened in your living past it’s not the same anymore. You’re not that person anymore.”

  Richard frowned, looking down at his plate. “That’s easy to say to someone when you can’t even remember your own past.” He looked up, giving her an unfriendly smile. “And don’t think I don’t know that. You might have flashes of memories, but it’s nothing concrete. Do you even know how you died, Clarissa?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t even know what I did for a living when I was alive, or remember anything about my family. As far as I know they could all be dead as well. I don’t have a past.” Clarissa fidgeted with her napkin on the table. It was true. She had no memories to haunt her. However, it was the lack of a past that haunted her, just as Richards past haunted him now.

  “Then don’t try to tell me how to handle my afterlife when you can’t even begin to figure out yours. I know you’re just trying to help, but don’t. Some things aren’t worth fixing and I’m not worth the trouble.”

  Richard stabbed the steak on his plate in aggression. He could feel the other ghost’s interest in their conversation. He had made a spectacle out of himself trying to turn a potential dangerous situation into a farce. And he would be lying to himself if he believed he hadn’t been scared there for a few moments. If Clarissa had actually known her own strength she would have done more than knock the proverbial wind out of him.

  “Shows over folks,” he called out over his shoulder to the other patrons in the restaurant. “You can go back to your meal. There’s nothing else to see here.” After a few minutes, most of them took the hint, either returning to their own table conversations or leaving the restaurant all together. And Clarissa and Richard were given a measure of privacy.

  “What do the flesh-eaters have to do with the town meeting tonight? You said earlier that you believed they might somehow be the topic of discussion.” Clarissa asked this question only because she wanted to distract Richard from his own melancholy thoughts. He wasn’t quite as immune to them as he would lead others to believe. He might behave outrageously most of the time, but Clarissa suspected it was a way to keep people away from him. His worst fear was to have people pity him if they knew his past, to feel sorrow for the poor soul no one had ever cried over in life or death; unloved and unwanted.

  “I know what you’re doing, and thanks.” Richard took another sip of his soda before he began. “It isn’t like this comes as a surprise to any of us. It’s in their genetic make-up to kill. But up until now it’s never been like this, or so they tell me. There have been more unnecessary deaths in the past two months than in the past ten years and it’s getting worse. If something doesn’t happen quickly I have a feeling there’s going to be a war of some kind; dead against dead to see who would get the control of the city.”

  “I’m not going to say I told you so because I think that might be bitchy of me,” Clarissa began, her face twisting in a humorless smile. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t actually come true. These creatures have to be stopped. We’ve let them use this city as their feeding smorgasbord for too long and it’s time to put the natural balance back in our favor.”

  “As far as I know there aren’t too many death dealers waiting around for a phone call so they can swoop in and take these creatures out. The fact that we have been able to negotiate with them at all is a miracle in and of itself.”

  Clarissa scrunched her face in confusion. “What do you mean by death dealers, what’s a death dealer?”

  Richard forgot she wasn’t as familiar with their world as he was. She wouldn’t know anything about these supernatural beings that the Eidolon referred to as the Death Dealers or Death Bokor. They were living humans who could control the dead and un-dead, all of them; from ghost to ghoul, mummy to vampire and most importantly the zombie or flesh-eater. And they were rare in these modern times with science relegating their beliefs in the paranormal as the fanciful imaginings of quacks and charlatans. The vodou, a religious practice combining the gods of Western Africa with European Christianity was still a practiced faith in this country. Finding its beginnings in the Caribbean islands when African slaves were brought over from their homelands by the Europeans and later, spreading up into the Florida peninsula and farther north becoming part of the culture in the cities it touched. Most people were familiar with Voodoo and Hoodoo practices of New Orleans, popularized by Queen Marie Laveau in the 1800s. But other forms of Vodou have been practiced in this country even before this country was a country at all.

  The swamps and rivers of Central and South Florida housed small Haitian communities who held true to their ancestral African values even when the rest of the population dismissed them. The religious practice of vodou was an inclusion religion which promoted religious tolerance, evolving with its practitioners, incorporating Roman Catholicism and European mysticism. The Death Bokor was created through this religion, though most vodou practitioners would know nothing about these persons. As secretive as the freemasons these wielders of ancient magick kept to themselves. And as time went by there weren’t many bokors on hand to manage the flesh-eaters and so the Eidolon community was forced to manage without them.

  “A Death Dealer is kind of like a medium to the paranormal world. Their living humans who can speak to the deceased and through the ancient arts manipulate the un-dead. It’s a very rare talent that only a handful of livings possess and for some time they’ve been a near extinct species.”

  “So you’re saying a bokor could control these flesh-eaters.” It was the natural world counteracting the creation of such a monstrous being. If they could exist in this world, then there needed to be something to keep their numbers from spreading.

  “Yes, but as far as I know there are no bokors in the St. Augustine area. We’d have to go down south or even farther to Louisiana where most of the vodou population lives; not that those places would know of any death bokors. That is if there is any death bokors left.”

  “Would you know a death bokor if you saw one?” she queried. “Are they dressed a certain way to let others know
what they are?” These Death Bokors seemed to be an elusive bunch. If it was their natural responsibility to protect the balance of the supernatural world, then they should be out doing so, not hiding away in the bayou or Everglades.

  “No, they look just like you and me.” He grinned. “Well, maybe not exactly like you and me. They have flesh and blood to sustain them. What I mean is that they are ordinary looking living humans, but they’re anything but normal. I only know about them from other ghosts, but apparently centuries ago they were like supernatural warriors taking down hundreds of flesh-eaters at a time. Now, who knows if all that wasn’t just an embellished tall tale?”

  Clarissa and Richard left The Boneyard several minutes later. Richard offered to escort her back to Mrs. Connors home, but Clarissa kindly declined. It was still daylight and she was getting a little tired of being chaperoned around town. If she was to get used to this existence then she needed to acclimate herself to the city on her own terms and without someone constantly watching over her. Clarissa had an uneasy feeling that she was being carefully watched by the community, making sure that she could be trusted within their city. There were secrets in this city that someone didn’t want let known, she could feel it. But right now at the forefront of her mind was figuring out a way to find a death bokor and bring one into the city.

  Chapter 6-

  Clarissa left Richard at the corner between Rhodes Avenue and Fletcher Street. He was going to stop off at Henry’s home to get a couple of LP’s he had loaned out back from him. Clarissa nodded her goodbye as he walked away from her. He was such a peculiar soul, she thought. But she suspected that Richard would be a person to trust, someone who wouldn’t turn their back on a friend even if what they were doing could endanger them all. Clarissa shook herself mentally at that last thought. She wasn’t doing anything to endanger the community. If anything she was going to help them.

  Testing out her knew spectral abilities Clarissa imagined the layout of the old city, figuring out where St. George Street was in conjunction to where she was standing now. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself standing on the pedestrian thoroughfare. If she was lucky Clarissa wouldn’t accidentally manifest herself on top of a living person or a ghost.

  With a silent prayer Clarissa felt herself move through the atmosphere. It was an exhilarating feeling, a strange pulling and tugging as she rode through on the waves of lateral time. It was an experience she hadn’t thought to encounter in this world. Opening her eyes finally as she felt her body settle, she found herself on a busy street. This street always seemed to be the most populated, brimmed to capacity with tourists and locals. And no one seemed a bit concerned that there were monsters eating their friends and family members.

  Traveling alone now she continued down St. George Street. She had come through here yesterday with Henry and he had kindly pointed out several local shops he thought she might like to enjoy looking through.

  Clarissa nodded a hello as a group of ghosts made their way down the street toward her. Most ghosts she noticed traveled in groups, but occasionally there would be a lone soul. However these ghosts were tourists as evidenced by their outfits. They were all sporting matching t-shirts with the words Florida stitched onto them and a multi-colored palm tree underneath.

  One of them stopped her with a hand signal, assuming she was a local ghost. Clarissa paused as they drew closer to her. She smiled as the lead male ghost stepped out from his friends to speak to her.

  “You wouldn’t by any chance know how to get to the Fountain of Youth, would you? We’re from out of town as you can guess.” He pulled on his Florida souvenir t-shirt. “You have a great city. We heard through a couple of friends of ours that you have the best haunts in the state.”

  “Where are you traveling from?” Clarissa couldn’t help but find the idea of ghost tourists comical. But it could be possible and it did seem logical. Why would a ghost want to spend their entire afterlife in one town? They obviously had the time and ability to travel around the globe. So why not make the most of their existence?

  “Ohio,” he said. “Valerie came here once when she was a kid, but back then it was mostly sand and small farming towns. Now you have theme parks and hotels, not mention tourists like us. At first when we made plans for a visit I thought Florida was just a place for retired people.”

  Clarissa grinned at his obvious false generalization of the state. “No,” she corrected. “Florida is a very exciting place, not just to visit but to live. I hope you enjoy your stay in the city and here,” Clarissa imagined the layout of the city in map form, creating it as a visual in her hand. “Here’s a map to the city with points of interest on it. This is where we are standing right now,” showing them on the map St. George Street. “Running her finger along the map she pointed out the mythical Fountain of Youth. “There’s a big steel gate that reads Fountain of Youth. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the map from her. His companions also thanked her for her assistance as they left, continuing down St. George with the map outstretched in front of their faces. Tourists were the same in any city, living or dead. They were always getting lost.

  Clarissa followed the street down toward the Happy Haunts tavern, where across the street from the ghostly hangout was a small book store. Henry had said the store was owned by a local family who had moved to the city years earlier from somewhere on the west coast. When Clarissa had first seen the little book store Henry had been quick enough to see the glimmer of interest in her eyes and he had suggested that she check it out. Clarissa had a fondness for reading, more than most. She grew extremely attached to her imaginary characters, sometimes even daydreaming about characters from one story interacting with characters from another story. She would imagine a large get together where all the characters she had ever read about would gather in one room and she would be their hostess, introducing each of them and having fabulous conversations with these imaginary people. It was silly, but she loved her stories and the people in them. They were her friends and even the worst of them had some redeeming qualities. Unfortunately life wasn’t a novel and bad people got away with murder in this life and there were never enough heroes to save us all.

  Psychic Imprints couldn’t compete with the larger retail book depots and so they didn’t bother. The larger retailers had to cater to a huge demographic, from teenagers to middle-aged moms and every type in between. But the family owned establishment had no wish to be a conglomerate selling bargain books to the masses. Instead they bought and sold what interested them, preferring to deal with small publishing houses and unknown authors, a risky move during tough economic times. Their stock consisted mostly of fiction, non-fiction, and mostly paranormal, sci-fi and fantasy. Their clients were people who liked to believe in conspiracy theories and truly thought that the old city was haunted.

  Clarissa opened the painted wooden door to the shop where a black wreath hung over the outside. Much like a Christmas wreath except instead of holly berries and green and red ribbon, the wreath was adorned in red roses and gold and silver spiders. The windows were also adorned in similar fashion with skeletons and whimsical shapeless ghost cut-outs. It then dawned on Clarissa that it was almost Halloween, a time of year when many of the living enjoyed fantasizing about a macabre world, one with ghosts and witches, vampires and werewolves, demons and ghouls, and all those creatures that put the tiny hairs on your arms on instant alert; the dark night creatures that stalked the living. Except Halloween was only one night a year. The rest of the days of the year most people forgot about them and thought nothing of their safety.

  Walking in to the store Clarissa could smell the paper of the books, the dust on the shelves that were probably cleaned once or twice a month. The aisles where tall book cases lined side by side held an assortment of reading topics. An open section near the front of the store had wooden tables, books stacked on top of each other making several towers on each table top.

  The walls of the store were cover
ed in wallpaper that in some places was peeling away from the wall, the glue drying out and dissolving over the years. The pattern of the paper was a mass of geometric designs and numerology that at first glance didn’t look very attractive, but then after looking at it from a distance gave a person a strange calming sensation and then the notion came to the observer that they actually liked the look of the paper even if it was old and peeling.

  Twinkling lights illuminated the ceiling, which was painted black, making the lights look like stars in a night sky. Cob webs were strewn on every shelf, though Clarissa assumed that it was intentional and not due to neglect. She wondered if the store kept this décor all year long or was this only for Halloween.

  Clarissa was alone in the store except for the store clerk who she couldn’t get a good look at because her face was hidden behind a large old tome, her face completely concealed by the book. The clerk didn’t bother looking up when Clarissa began wandering around the store, running her fingers along the spines of books on the shelf next to her. There wasn’t a lot of walking space in the store and Clarissa imagined that new customers to the little book store spent the first few minutes knocking over stacks of books. It was sort of an initiation that every new customer had to go through, but after a few trips and falls they usually got the layout of the store.

  Clarissa picked up a book from one of the tables just as a new customer came through the front door. He looked in, glancing around the store before the rest of him ventured in. Young looking, a college student from Flagler College, he glanced over at the clerk’s desk to the woman sitting behind it. Her face came out from behind the book for a second, running her lavender/lilac eyes over his person in a quick perusal before returning her face and focus back on her book.