Grave Destinations (9 page)

“You refused,” Jolie said, more a statement than a question.

“Of course. Back then I didn’t believe in any kind of mumbo jumbo.” He did, however, inform his father, who’d promptly put Keisha back on a boat to the Caribbean.

Poor Victoria. She’d paid the ultimate price for his insolence. The curse had made its debut appearance on their wedding night, taking full advantage of Jack’s state of ignorance. Unable to stop it, he’d watched in horror as it sapped the life force from his beautiful bride, turning their first and only act of intimacy into a living nightmare. Her death had devastated him, and before he’d even begun to grieve, the insinuations about the nature of her death started flying.

The county coroner ruled Victoria’s death the result of a weak heart, but Jack had known better. Guilt and sorrow consumed him, eating at his psyche while the curse demanded more. He’d spent the next decade learning to control the curse as he searched for Keisha, hunting in vain for clues to her whereabouts. Some said she’d married a wealthy merchant from Ecuador, while others insisted she’d returned to the States in search of new fortunes. Either way, he never laid eyes on her again, eventually abandoning the search and redirecting his efforts toward finding a way to remove the curse without her assistance.

Jolie murmured something too low for him to hear, then sprinkled a small satchel of dried herbs into the bowl. The herbs floated on the surface of the water, their pungent odor rising over the rim.

“Your demon is very powerful. Descendant of Lilith.” Her hand was still wrapped around Jack’s, his blood still trickling into the bowl. Her eyelids drooped low, almost closed. “But tired. Restless. It grows weary of its prison and seeks to dominate. To find peace, you must strike the proper balance.”

“That sounds great, but how?”

Jolie’s eyes snapped open. “This demon, it is a sensual being. Find what it desires most, and accept it for what it is. Then, and only then, can you reach your true potential.”

S
ince the island lacked a deep enough port to accommodate a vessel as large as the
Sunshine of the Caribbean
, the ship had dropped anchor about a mile from shore. Local ferry boats carried passengers from ship to shore and back again, working almost nonstop throughout the day to meet the continual demand.

Ruby stood near the end of the wharf, staring at the boats with a critical eye.

The ferries looked harmless enough. Most of them appeared old but well cared for, with fresh paint covering the hulls and a healthy rumble to the engines. She’d grown up around boats like these, had helped her daddy fish for red snapper off the coast of Georgia. During the summer months of her childhood, when school was in recess, she’d spent more time on the boat than on dry land.

Still, her stomach churned at the thought of climbing aboard. The morning ride had been difficult enough, and back then she’d been motivated by the intense need to plant her feet on shore. She’d kept her eyes closed and her head down, with earbuds blasting Pink to block out the noise, and she still hadn’t made it halfway to shore before heaving her breakfast over the side.

An offshore storm had made the seas rougher than before, the heavy surf promising a choppy ride back to the cruise ship. Ominous black clouds blocked the late-afternoon sun, and she couldn’t help but think of that rainy August night so many years ago when she’d lost her mortality on the deck of the
Kimberly Jean
.

The thought of going AWOL and staying on shore sprang to mind, but then she imagined Samuel’s reaction and the idea lost its appeal. For some strange reason, Samuel had specifically chosen her for this assignment, and he would certainly take great offense if she jumped ship prematurely. She knew other reapers who had been punished by Samuel for stepping out of line, and the stories ran far from pleasant. Like it or not, she had to get back on board.

“Honey, are you all right? You look a little green.” The voice sounded raspy, and old, and oddly familiar.

Ruby blinked, shifted her focus to the little old lady touching her right arm. The woman wore a flowery blouse over bright orange shorts and matching Crocs, her bleached blonde hair squished down by a floppy straw hat. A full foot shorter than Ruby, she tipped her head up as she smiled, her teeth shiny white against the backdrop of pink lipstick and tanned, leathery skin.

“Hi, Adele,” Ruby said, remembering the elderly woman from that first night in the main dining room. She forced a smile and added an extra layer to her accent. “I’m fine. It’s just been a busy day, and I’m plum tuckered out. Where’s Louis?”

“He said he was feeling tired, so he stayed on board.” Adele’s voice was more gravelly than a two-pack-a-day smoker’s. She shifted the weight of the dozen or so bags in her hands. “Knowing him, he’s probably by the pool with his pipe and a book so he can look at all the pretty girls in their bikinis.”

Lightning streaked across the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it made the entire dock vibrate. A young Hispanic couple ran toward the waiting ferry, undoubtedly eager to get back on board before the storm soaked everything in sight.

Adele nodded toward the end of the dock. “Come on, the boat’s almost full. If we don’t catch this one, we’ll have to wait another twenty minutes.”

Oh, goody.
Not seeing much in the way of alternatives, Ruby squared her shoulders and steeled her nerves as she followed Adele toward the waiting ferry.

Technically, it was no more than a fishing boat fitted with rows of bench seats and a canvas canopy to shield the tourists from the Caribbean sun and afternoon showers. A lanky, dark-skinned man gave her a hand as she stepped on board, directing her to take one of the remaining spots on the port side.

Ruby scooted to the end of the bench and stashed her bags beneath the seat. She’d taken the spot at the rail not by choice but as a precaution, in the event her lunch decided to make a second appearance. Adele sat on the seat beside her, some of her bags piled on her lap while the rest shared a spot beside Ruby’s.

Loaded to capacity, the ferry backed away from the dock, its engines rumbling to life as it puttered away from shore. The boat gradually picked up speed, its hull bouncing over the rough chop as it veered to the west.

The old lady’s shoulder brushed against Ruby’s as she leaned toward the rail. “Oh, I just love these little boats. You get to see so much more of the wildlife this way,” she said, one hand on her hat so it wouldn’t blow off. “Look, dolphins!” With her free hand she pointed toward the water, and Ruby chanced a look at the frothy whitecaps.

A pair of bottlenose dolphins swam side by side at the front of the boat, riding the waves created by the ship’s bow. Tourists bolted from their seats and swarmed the rails, eager to snap pictures of the graceful marine mammals before they disappeared from sight.

Long-buried memories bubbled to the surface, taking Ruby back to the last time she truly focused on the cold Atlantic waters. Her vision flashed, and instead of dolphins she saw flying fish skimming over the choppy waves. She’d watched them for over an hour that evening, while the
Kimberly Jean
chugged east until the shoreline disappeared from view and the starless night grew darker than pitch. She remembered the sting of the handcuffs digging into her wrists, the look of pure hatred from Sheriff McAllister.

The shocking pain of jagged metal slicing across her throat, followed by the chill of the ocean swallowing her whole, turning everything black as the blood left her body faster than the air escaped her lungs.

Ruby shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth but unable to banish the cold from her bones. Had she lived, she’d be collecting Social Security by now. Perhaps she would have settled down and gotten married, had kids, made a comfortable life for herself. She might have made a difference, fighting the good fight against the injustices of the world.

None of that mattered now. What’s done is done, there’s no use crying over spilled milk, and all the other crap people tell themselves when they want to feel better about royally screwing up something important in their lives.

Now her world revolved around paying penance, to erase the stains on her soul that barred her admittance to the afterlife. That was the calling for all reapers—a final shot at salvation for mortal sinners like herself. Until the slate was clean they collected the souls of those who died through unnatural causes, be it murder, suicide, war, accidents, or any other means outside the standard definition of ordinary.

For almost fifty years she’d performed her duties without fail, harvesting the souls of the dead after an unfortunate demise, her body altered to act as a portal between humanity and what lay beyond. How much longer would she be required to serve before her debt was finally paid and her own soul could rest in peace?

Honestly, she had no idea. Reapers weren’t privy to such information, and wasn’t that just a bitch? From what she understood, a reaper’s tenure depended on the severity of the sins committed during their mortal lifetime, the number of souls retrieved, and the reaper’s ability to guide them to the next realm without incident. Looking back at the pair of stains marking her soul, it was going to be a very long time before she earned her redemption.

Relief flooded her when the ferry bumped lightly against the cruise ship’s dock and a member of the crew tethered the two vessels together. She gathered her packages and followed the crowd off the tiny boat, eager to put distance between herself and the past.

After waiting in line for about ten minutes, Ruby placed her bags on the security scanner and handed her key card to the attendant manning the gateway. The older woman flashed a sixty-watt smile as she scanned the card, recording Ruby’s return to the ship.

“Welcome back aboard. Did you enjoy your time on St. Angelique?”

Not really.
“Yes, thank you.”

Truth be told, she’d been too tired and frazzled to enjoy what the island had to offer. She couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, of being pegged for a reaper by Jack and the discovery of the dead woman who wasn’t supposed to be dead. Hopefully she’d hear back from David or Dmitri soon, and then she’d have only Jack to worry about.

She slipped her key card back into her pocket and took the stairs to the upper decks. Since the ship wasn’t scheduled to leave for another three hours, the breezeways were fairly quiet. She took the opportunity to make a quick detour at the buffet for a bite to eat before heading back down to her tiny cabin. Once there, she planned to take a long, hot shower, followed by an even longer nap. With luck, the ship would be well on its way when she eventually woke from her slumber.

By the time she turned off the water in the shower, her fingers and toes were all pruned up and the bathroom mirror was completely fogged over. The hot water had worked wonders on her muscles, dissolving most of the tension at the base of her skull. With a bit of creative maneuvering, she managed to get out of the cramped shower stall without the curtain clinging to her butt, wrapped a towel around her torso, and opened the bathroom door.

She bit back a shriek when she discovered she wasn’t alone.

“I’d be surprised if there’s any hot water left on board,” Samuel said the second she stepped out of the bathroom.

He was sitting on the bed that was made, one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded neatly on his lap. As usual, his appearance was immaculate. Freshly pressed suit. Not a hair out of place. His eyes fixed on her; dark and sharp, with an intensity that never failed to make her more nervous than a kid in the principal’s office.

Ruby clutched the knot holding her towel in place, her free hand pressed against her bare throat. It made no difference to her that Samuel knew all about the scar. She simply hated anybody seeing it.

“Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?” she snapped. He may be her boss, but she was getting tired of him barging in uninvited. What if she’d come out of the bathroom naked? Not that she was big on modesty, but the thought of Samuel seeing her in the buff gave her a case of the heebie-jeebies. “Next time, I’d appreciate a little common courtesy.”

“Really, Miss Dawson,” Samuel drawled, a look of boredom crossing his face. He stood, tugged on the cuffs of his crisp, white shirt. “At this point, I didn’t think privacy was much of an issue for you.”

“Well, it is.” With as much dignity as one can muster while wearing only a towel, she squeezed past Samuel and grabbed the small stack of clothes piled on the chair beside the vanity. “Now turn your back so I can make myself decent.”

“If you insist.” With a roll his eyes, he slipped his hands into his pants pockets and turned to face the cabin door.

She made quick work of getting dressed, slipping on a fresh pair of shorts and a tank top. She rooted through her collection of chokers, opting for the pale purple one she’d bought at a crafts fair a few months before. A couple of quick strokes with her hairbrush and she deemed herself presentable.

“Okay, you can turn back around now.”

“I was informed of your . . . predicament,” Samuel said without further preamble. His expression remained blank, making it impossible to gauge his mood. “Tell me exactly what happened, and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Ruby paused as she gathered her thoughts, and then told him everything from the moment she’d woken up the prior morning to the time she left the dead woman’s cabin. Well, almost everything. She left out a few details about Jack, but since they had nothing to do with the dead woman, she figured it was none of Samuel’s beeswax.

“Interesting,” he said when she finished speaking. His expression hadn’t changed, but something about the way he held himself made her uneasy.

“Interesting how?”

He remained quiet for so long she was beginning to wonder if he’d heard the question. Finally, he said, “An event of this magnitude hasn’t occurred in quite some time.” For the first time ever, she saw uncertainty cloud his eyes. “I must relay this development to Fate immediately. In the meantime, I require your assistance.”

Ruby folded her arms across her chest, trying to act calm while her stomach twisted in knots. “Could you be more specific?”

“I need you to investigate the matter further. Do what you can to trace the death back to the source. Find who’s responsible.”

“I’m a reaper, not a detective.”

“You’ll do as you’re told, woman.” The words lashed out in a low hiss, loaded with more emotion than she’d ever heard from the big boss.

An invisible force snaked around Ruby’s neck, wrapping around her windpipe and applying just enough pressure to restrict her breathing. Like a fish out of water, her mouth gaped open. Her hands reached for her throat in a futile attempt to break free.

Samuel’s eyes widened, as if surprised by his own actions. His lips pursed briefly before his expression returned to its usual state of indifference. Then the force around her neck relinquished its hold, allowing her lungs to fill with air. “I . . . I apologize. I did not intend to act so harshly with you.”

“Do you mind explaining what’s going on?” she asked as soon as she’d caught her breath. Her voice sounded raw to her ears, and her vision was spotty around the edges. “I need to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“I suppose an explanation is in order.” Samuel sighed, looking grimmer than a man on his way to the gallows. “Fate takes great care in weaving each delicate thread of humanity. She does not take kindly to outside intrusion into her domain. For someone to infringe on her territory like this . . .” A hint of worry bled across the planes of his face, making him appear paler than usual. “It can mean only one of two things. A reckless breach of protocol, or an intentional act of war.”