Rachel Caine & Kristin Cast & Claudia Gray & Nancy Holder & Tanith Lee & Richelle Mead & Cynthia Leitich Smith & P. C. Cast (4 page)

I flip through the entries, each signed with the letter “S.” I slip out an old photo of a lovely dark-haired girl, the same girl whose photo is on the front page of the 1959 copy of
The Spirit Sentinel
in my office. She's cuddling a tabby kitten.

Amazing. After a lifetime as a loner, I suddenly have two new girls in my life.

Ginny is easy enough to figure out. But Sonia? The singing, the diary, even the mysterious “S” here and there all seem a lot more welcoming than the
GET OUT
in the bathroom. Does she really want me to leave, or is she just playing along with the haunted-theater theme?

A moment later, from across the building, Ginny cries out again.

When I reach the screening room, she's clutching her right forearm. Blood is dripping through her fingers. I can smell it. I can almost taste it. I feel my fangs slide.

I pause to regain control, calling, “Ginny!” like I can't spot her toward the front, bent in the aisle.

“Over here,” she says, straightening, her face covered by her honey-colored hair.

I jog to her side. “What happened? Did you cut yourself on a chair?” They're old, and the heavy cushioned seats fold down. She could've torn her skin on a spring.

“No.” Ginny lifts her hand from her arm to show me three short, deep scratches. They look like fingernail marks. Sounding mystified, she adds, “It was like being clawed by the wind.”

Sonia
. I catch myself licking my lips. “You need stitches. Let's—”

“No,” Ginny replies. “It's fine. I was just surprised.”

“It'll scar,” I insist.

“Give me your shirt,” she counters.

“Wha—”

“Your shirt. So I can use it to, you know, apply direct pressure.”

Embarrassed by the misunderstanding, I'm already unbuttoning by the time she's finished the sentence. I fold the material as best I can and tie it around her arm.

“My hero,” Ginny says again. She rises on her toes to kiss my cheek and, losing her balance, her lips land, lingering, on my throat instead. “About that celebration. . . .”

“Go home, Ginny,” I say, moving away.

She looks stricken, like the child she is. “But. . . .”

I lighten my tone. “I mean, you'd best be getting home.”

I watch her walk up the aisle, fuming, and disappear out the door.

Then a disembodied voice—soft, musical, and furious—whispers in my ear, “Murderer, murderer, murderer.”

Later, at my uncle's ranch, I walk to his unmarked grave behind the barn. I buried him deep, wrapped in a Mexican blanket. The ground is bare, packed hard. I try to tell myself it's more fitting that he's here instead of at the old cemetery
in town. Uncle Dean loved this land as much as he was capable of loving anything.

The grave unsettles me, though. No stone, no cross. He may not have been a good man, but he was my mom's big brother.

As dawn approaches, I shake off the guilt and go inside.

Now, I'm surfing the Web at the dining-room table, drinking microwave-heated blood and researching ghosts. Sonia's history does track with what I've learned so far. Her death was traumatic. Her murderer was never caught. In the spirit world, that's textbook “unfinished business.” A reason to haunt. And it's clear that Sonia wants me to know who she is—writing her initial and giving me the diary are clear enough hints.

According to the newspaper article, though, Sonia was a sweetheart. She used to teach Sunday school and run errands for her elderly neighbors. A quick skim of the diary—peppered with initials—confirms that she was a good-hearted girl with loopy handwriting and typical teen angst: home-work, a boy (“D”), a rival girl (“K”). She adored Elvis (“E”), had a kitten named Peso (“P”), and collected toys at Christmas for the poor.

Maybe Sonia thinks I'm a threat to Ginny, and she wants me to know she's on to me. I'm not sure why she attacked Ginny, though. Maybe in her ghostly state, Sonia's confused. Or maybe she's trying to protect Ginny by scaring her off.

I guess there's always the possibility that the Old Love is home to more than one ghost. Katherine, the girl who went missing, is probably K. According to the diary, she and Sonia
didn't get along in life. But there's no hard evidence of more than one entity, and the singing voice that lead me to Sonia's diary in the break room matched the accusing one that whispered “murderer.”

Besides, how many dead people could possibly be hanging around the place?

In any case, I can't overlook the lipstick message or the fact that Ginny was injured. If I can't somehow convince Sonia (or whomever) that I'm not dangerous, I'll need to force her out. Either that or my effort to resurrect the Old Love is over.

The question is, how? I'm in no position to be calling a minister or priest.

Worse, the ghost who spoke is right. I can be lethal. I have killed once before.

I take another swig of blood and notice that my caller ID is blinking. Ben Mueller. He didn't leave a message.

Why would Ben call here? Does he seriously think Ginny came home with me last night? It's not like I've got any kind of rep with girls. Then again, he knows Ginny better than I do, and considering the way she kissed my neck. . . .

Still, calling after the way they fought earlier, that's stalker behavior. Maybe Sonia's right to fret Ginny's safety, only she's worried about the wrong guy.

The following evening, patrolling the theater hallway, I don't hear any singing. I don't step into a cold spot. I don't see a fresh letter “S” written anywhere.

Today I was the one who fetched refreshments. I also made some calls, ordered a regular shipment of candy, popcorn, and coke. Tonight I have to put Sonia to rest.

Ginny comes bounding into the lobby at 7 P.M. sharp. She's wearing a different white shirt, its sleeves down and buttoned at the wrists.

“How's your arm?” I ask from the concession stand.

Ginny shrugs. “It looked worse than it was.”

“And Ben?” I press. “Has he bothered you again?”

She glances at the front doors. “Not today.”

It's then that I hear Sonia whisper “murderer” in my ear again.

“No!” I exclaim. At Ginny's expression, I add, “Not you.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave. We're not opening tonight. There's. . . . Someone's here. This is going to sound crazy, but she's a—”

“Ghost?” Ginny raises her scratched arm. “Yeah, I already figured out that much. And personally, I say we exorcise the bitch.”

Wow. That was the last reaction I would've expected. I can't help admiring Ginny's bravery, though. Maybe we could have a future after all, if we're willing to fight for it.

I glance at my mom's Bible, wrapped in a kitchen towel, on the concession counter. I don't know whether I'll burst into flames if I touch it. I don't know what I'm
doing at all. Even though Sonia lashed out at Ginny, I can't help having mixed feelings about taking her on. After all, I'm no innocent, and by all accounts, she used to be.

“Seriously, let's do it now.” Ginny takes a step in my direction, only to be violently shoved back by a whirlwind, a fierce wall of air, separating us.

Candy and cups fly off the counter, splattering coke. A bloody slash appears on Ginny's forehead. The crystal chandelier shakes and sways.

“Sonia!” I shout, trying to reach Ginny. “Sonia, please! Listen to me! You're making a mistake! Don't you see? You're hurting her!”

“Murderer!” returns Sonia's voice, this time louder than mine. “Murderer!”

“I—” Do I have to admit it? Is
that
what it'll take? “I'm. . . .”

Ginny is knocked onto her back. She struggles like she's being choked by invisible hands. She kicks with both legs. Then she's lifted, spun, and dropped again.

I reach back for the Bible, letting go as pain flashes across my fingertips.

I don't understand. Sonia knows that
I'm
the monster. Why target Ginny, not me?

For a split second, I wonder if Sonia is jealous, if the girls are fighting over me. But then Sonia wails “murderer, murderer!” again.

“You're right! Sonia, you're right!” I never intended to kill my uncle, even though sooner or later, he probably would've killed me. I just wanted to become stronger, strong enough to protect myself. I didn't know that the blood lust would
come with that strength. I hadn't gained control of it yet. “Sonia, stop! Please! Punish me!”

I'm resigned to face her judgment when Ben tears into the lobby from the service hallway. He has a battle-axe in one hand and—dear God—the decapitated heads of Ginny's parents, by the hair, in the other.

Ben tosses them onto the red carpet. “Howdy, Ginny!”

Has Sonia possessed him? Has he lost his mind?

Ginny is on her knees, her head bent, her hands covering her face.

She's an easy target.

“Murderer, murderer, murderer!” Sonia charges again.

Ben hesitates, his gaze searching for the speaker.

“Sonia!” I duck a box of Milk Duds that whizzes by. I want to help. I need to, but the supernatural wind is holding me back. “Let her go! He'll
kill
her!”

Ginny looks so small, huddled on the red carpet. We've known each other only a couple of days, but she's brought sunshine into my life and made me feel like I belong in the glow. It's not love. It's the hope of love. But it's the closest I've come to it since I was ten years old. If Ginny wants me, how can I be a monster?

I reach for the Bible again and hold it over my head, ignoring the pain. “In the name of. . . .” I raise my voice, start again. “In the name of the Father, the Son—”

With a roar, Ginny raises her face. Her mask of innocence melts away, and I see her for what she is. Undead. Demonic. Like me, a vampire.

I drop the Bible, clenching my blistered hands. “Ginny?”

Ben looks from her to me, like he's trying to figure out whose side I'm on.

“I was going to tell you,” Ginny says, her voice pleading. “When your profile showed up on the system, I thought it was a sign.” Her shoulder jerks, struck by the ghost. “I want the kind of love that lasts.”

The system. “Love That Lasts.” She's talking about the blood dealer's matchmaking service. Ginny must have the same supplier.

“Sonia!” she screams. “Don't you have anything better to do? You were a loser in life, and you're still a loser now. I told you this town would be mine someday!”

“Murderer!” Sonia replies. “Katie, murderer!”

So, Ginny was the one who killed Sonia. Sonia was never trying to scare her off, to protect her from me. When Sonia said “murderer,” I wasn't the one she was talking about. Ginny had been Katie, Katherine, the girl whose body was never found.

From her crouched position, Ginny lunges at Ben as a swath of blood appears across her torso, staining the white shirt. She knocks the axe from his hand and kicks his boots out from under him. He's no match for her.

Ginny can't fight Sonia, but she could tear Ben apart.

“Let me help him,” I say, and the ghostly force dies as quickly as it rose. I vault over the concession stand, snatch the axe from the carpet, and stand between them.

For a moment, I see the hope in Ginny's eyes. Unlike Ben, she knows that I'm one of her kind. She's already admitted that she wants me. She's already called me her “hero”
twice. I slowly shake my head, leaving no doubt about my intentions.

“You wouldn't,” Ginny breathes as reality sinks in. She's been beaten by me, Sonia, and Ben together. Her voice is resigned. Her last words are: “Daddy had such big plans.”