The Gravedigger's Brawl (30 page)

Noah and Caleb weren't the only brave souls who entered the bar to try to save it. People streamed out of neighboring buildings, houses and businesses alike, to help fight the flames. In a neighborhood like the Fan, if one building went down, all of them went down.

The flames had started upstairs, letting all Hell break loose on old, untreated wood that was dry as kindling.

Smoke swirled and flames licked at the walls as they attacked the fire with extinguishers and damp towels, creating an otherworldly scene in which devils and angels fought side by side with pirates and fairies, cats and vampires, witches, and one very convincing Waldo.

As soon as they extinguished one fire, another would start somewhere else.

“It's like it has a mind of its own!” Caleb called from across the room.

Noah sprayed the nearest wall with an extinguisher, panting, watching the charred remnants of the walls fall to the floor. He caught sight of a shadow at the corner of his eye, but when he whipped his head around, there was no one there. Another shadow danced at the edge of his vision. Was the smoke inhalation getting to him?

Another shadow flitted through the smoke, and Noah saw this one clearly. A little boy dressed in 19th-century clothes. He disappeared into the scorched wall, and Noah stumbled back, running into Caleb and knocking them both to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Ghosts!” Noah cried. Caleb's arm was around him, helping him to his feet. Noah pointed toward the wall, just in time for Caleb to look up and see a spark jump from the electrical socket there.

The new fire spread quickly, chewing through the old wood until it neared a crate of unused liquor bottles in a corner of the upper foyer.

Noah hefted his extinguisher and started for the fire, but Caleb grabbed his arm. When Noah glanced back at him, Caleb was peering into the smoke. Faces appeared in its wisps, pleading and desperate. Disembodied hands wrung and sobs emitted over the roar of the fires. Noah gaped, but was too shocked to even gasp a breath.

Caleb stared at the apparitions. Then his gaze transferred to the flames that were inching their way to the liquor crate.

“Caleb!” Noah shouted. The grip on his arm was like iron.

Caleb shook his head, tugging Noah—and the extinguisher that could have saved them—away. “Everyone out!” he shouted above the roar of the fires that still raged above and below. He pulled Noah with him as the crate caught fire. The small explosion sent them sliding down the stairs and tumbling over the new railing.

Noah lay on his back, stunned as fire and smoke swirled above him. Caleb's face came into view, those horns curling around his ears. His hands were gentle on Noah's face. “Darling?”

“Did you see it?”

“I did.”

“There's more ghosts. They're trying to burn it down.”

“I know. And I'm going to let them. Come on, my love, we need to go.”

Noah peered up at the ceiling again. The flames billowed along the wooden slats. “The fire.”

“I know,” Caleb said as he pulled Noah to his feet. He yanked Noah along, and as they passed in front of the antique mirror behind the bar, Noah saw the devil leading a wingless angel through the fires of Hell. Behind them, an array of men and women in dark, old-fashioned clothes stood, hands clasped in front of them, watching impassively. Waiting to go home.

Wyatt had to force his way through the surprisingly large crowd of partygoers toward the ghostbusting display, and they slowed his progress enough that Ash caught up to him. He tackled Wyatt to the ground, causing an uproar amidst the attendees as those around them parted and he and Ash slid across the floor together.

Ash ended up on top of him, holding him to the floor as Wyatt struggled. He was torn between the very real desire to escape death or dismemberment and the realization that Ash was still in there somewhere. He didn't want to hurt him. But he sure as hell didn't want Ash—Vincent, whoever the hell it was—to hurt him or anyone else.

He scrambled on the marble floor, grasping for anything or anyone that could help him. Ash's cold hands were on his throat again, squeezing, causing lights to flare at the edges of his vision. Wyatt kicked at the floor, pushing at Ash's shoulder, trying to call for help.

There was no way in hell he could be throttled in the middle of a hundred people at a Halloween party. No way.

The people around them started cheering.

The firemen arrived as Caleb and Noah tumbled out of the building. They'd beaten back the progress of the flames, enough that it hadn't reached the main floor yet. Noah thought the fire hoses might be able to save it now, but he was too stunned by what he'd seen inside to say or do anything but stare.

“Are you okay?” Caleb asked, his hands on Noah's face.

Noah nodded and tore his eyes from the flames. “I saw people in there.”

“We were the last ones out.”

Noah's eyes drifted toward the flames again. “No. I mean . . . you saw all those people.”

“Noah,” Caleb said, his voice sterner. Noah met his eyes again. “Do you remember what the witch lady said?”

Noah was silent, lost in Caleb's eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. “Sometimes all you can do is burn it the ground.”

Caleb looked up at the building, wrapping his arm around Noah to pull him close. “We had more than one ghost all this time.”

“All those electrical problems,” Noah whispered.

“The victims were trying to burn the place down. They want to go home.”

Noah nodded. Flames licked the velvet sky as Gravedigger's burned. “What about the bad one?”

Caleb met his eyes, then they both turned to look down the street to the spotlights of the museum.

Someone gave a shout from the back of the crowd, and it was followed by another whoop. “You show that Yankee devil, General Lee!”

Wyatt scrabbled against Ash's body, trying to find purchase, trying to grasp
anything
that might give him a fighting chance.

His hand finally landed on one of Ash's horns. He grabbed and pulled with all his might, yanking Ash sideways, eliciting a shout of pain and anger. Wyatt rolled out from under him and scrambled to his feet, darting toward the display. He skidded to a halt at the red velvet rope and picked up one of the heavy brass stands. He swung it at the display with all his might, shattering the protective glass.

There were more screams and a smattering of applause. Wyatt realized that these people thought it was some sort of live-action entertainment. Dinner and a show. He reached for the first thing he could get his hand on, a vial of holy water. He turned and tossed the water at Ash's face as Ash advanced on him.

Ash stopped and shook his head. When he wiped at his eyes, his hand smeared his makeup across his face. Then he laughed. “Is that supposed to do something to me?”

Wyatt cursed and grabbed at something else, a shaker of salt sitting on a Plexiglas shelf. He unscrewed the cap as he backed away. The glass underfoot crunched as Ash came closer. His eyes were the most disturbing thing about him, still aglow with that milky sheen. Wyatt tossed the lid to the shaker aside and threw salt at Ash as he neared. Ash dodged most of it, swiping at it as if it burned his chest when it hit him.

“Table salt?” Ash asked with a sneer. “It has to be pure rock salt, Wyatt, didn't your ghostbusters tell you that?”

“You're so up on the subject, why don't you tell me?” Wyatt asked, stalling as he continued to back away through the ruins of the display.

“You can't kill a spirit, Wyatt. I'm already dead.”

“Try the iron!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Yeah, dude, hit him with the frying pan!”

Ash raised an eyebrow, taunting him. Challenging him. “By all means, Dr. Case. Hit your lover in the face with a frying pan while everyone watches. I'd love to see how that goes over.”

Wyatt shook his head, glancing at the crowd. Ash took a step closer.

“The only way to get rid of me, Wyatt, is fire,” Ash hissed, the enjoyment in his voice making Wyatt's stomach lurch. Ash grabbed Wyatt's lapels and shoved him against the padded wall of the display. Ash's lips brushed Wyatt's as he spoke. “I have him. He'll never be rid of me now. And you'll never get him back.”

Wyatt's hand strained against the display wall, his fingertips brushing the iron handle of the antique frying pan.

The hoses were putting up a valiant fight to save the building that shared a wall with Gravedigger's, but they had given up on trying to save the tavern. The top level was gone, nothing but charred beams and glowing embers left to mark its passage.

The main level, where Caleb had spent half his life making a living, poured his heart and soul into it, was on fire. Flames danced like gleeful imps amidst the tables and the bar, attacked the gleaming new kitchen. They pounded on the wooden floorboards, demanding entrance to the root cellar and the very foundations of Gravedigger's.

Caleb's knees gave out on him and he sank to the curb, eyes rapt on the glow of the fire. Noah sat with him, his arm around his shoulders as they watched the building go down.

“I'm so sorry,” Noah whispered.

Caleb gaped at him, then lunged toward him and kissed him almost brutally.

Noah flailed, but then he wrapped his arms around Caleb and returned the kiss with the sort of desperation that came from nearly dying in a fiery explosion.

“I'd rather have you here safe with me than a thousand taverns.”

Noah wrapped his arm around him and buried his face against his neck. He had to dodge the horns, but he didn't care.

“Besides,” Caleb whispered. “We're going to be rich.”

Noah laughed. “How do you figure?”

“I have millions of dollars in insurance,” Caleb said, voice wry.

Noah pulled back and blinked at him.

Caleb was grinning again, his green eyes dancing in the firelight. “And at least we'll be done with the ghosts now.”