Jeaniene Frost - One Grave at a Time

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be put back into use if Don was right and Madigan was here for other reasons than a routine evaluation.

Or maybe I’d had so much shit happen lately that I assumed the worst about everyone now, whether I had valid reason to or not. I gave my head a shake to clear it. For all that Madigan pissed me off, it wasn’t too long ago that Don had had the same prejudice about vampires. Hell, it was just eight years ago that I’d thought the only good bloodsucker was a dead bloodsucker! Yes, Madigan’s attitude screamed Suspicious Bureaucratic Bastard, but hopefully his spending some time with Tate, Juan, Dave, and my mother would make him realize there was more to supernaturals than what he’d read in the pages of classified murder reports.

“So, what do you think of him?” Tate drawled, the former tightness now gone from his tone.

“That he and I won’t be BFFs,” was all I said. No need to say more when this room could be bugged.

Tate grunted. “I’m getting that vibe, too. Maybe it’s a good thing that . . . circumstances are what they are.”

By Tate’s careful allusion to Don’s condition, it was obvious that he, too, was taking no chances over our words being played back to Madigan later.

I gave a concurring shrug. “I suppose everything does happen for a reason.”

By the time Bones and I got in our car on our last leg home, it was only an hour before dawn. We could’ve gotten back to our Blue Ridge house quicker if we’d flown the whole way, but it was less flashy to keep our helicopter at the local private airport. Even though our nearest neighbor was over two dozen acres away, a helicopter coming and going tended to attract a lot more notice than a car. The lower our profile in our home area, the better.

Once in our car, however, Bones and I could speak freely. The first item on my To Do list after I got some sleep was to have the helicopter swept for bugs, and I didn’t mean of the insect variety. Madigan struck me as the type who’d consider it standard operational procedure to have listening and tracking devices planted on our chopper while Bones and I were at the compound. Hell, when I first started with the team and everyone worried that I’d turn to the dark side, Don had bugged my vehicle and had me followed twenty-four/seven. It took my uncle years to trust me enough to drop the surveillance and wire taps. Something told me Madigan would take even longer.

“So what’s it like in his mind?” I asked.

Bones gave me a sideways glance as he navigated up the winding roads. “Murky. He clearly suspects my abilities and has fabricated a decent defense against them.”

“Really?” Madigan hadn’t struck me as having the exceptional mental fortitude necessary to prevent Bones’s mind reading, but guess that meant I’d underestimated him.

“He repeats rhymes nonstop in his head, making that the majority of what I hear,” Bones replied with grudging admiration. “Managed to pick up a few things past them, like how he believes dousing himself in cologne will negate a vampire’s ability to scent his emotions and that he despised Don. The mere mention of your uncle’s name caused a spate of insults to appear in his thoughts.”

“Don didn’t seem too fond of him, either.”

I’d have to ask my uncle about their history the next time I saw him. Maybe it was as simple as rivalry over a woman; that had been enough to start the Trojan War, after all. Still, as long as Madigan kept his actions aboveboard, whatever had happened between him and Don in the past didn’t matter. Madigan thought my uncle was dead and gone. He didn’t know he was right on only one of those counts.

“He also deeply distrusts vampires, as you had guessed yourself,” Bones added. “Aside from that, all I heard was enough repetitions of ‘how many chucks could a woodchuck chuck’ to make me want to stake myself.”

I laughed. Maybe underneath Madigan’s pompousness and prejudice, there lurked a sense of humor. That gave me hope. Pride wasn’t the world’s worst flaw, and vampire prejudice could be overcome with time. But the lack of a sense of humor was an insurmountable defect, in my opinion.

“Makes me grateful my mind-reading skills were on the fritz earlier.”

Bones grunted. “Lucky you, pet.”

Since I’d made Bones’s blood my regular diet, I had more days where I could read humans’ thoughts than not; but every once in a while, that ability blinked out. I chalked it up to mind reading being a power Bones had only recently inherited when his co-ruler, Mencheres, shared some of his formidable abilities through a blood bond. Too bad I didn’t also catch occasional breaks from my inner ghostly paging system, but then again, the spectral juju juice in Marie Laveau’s blood had had centuries to ferment.

At last, we turned onto the final gravel road that led to our house. Since it was at the top of a small mountain, it still took a few more minutes until we pulled into our driveway. Numerous ghosts lounged on our porch and in the surrounding woods, their energy making my skin tingle with a faint pins-and-needles sensation. Every head turned my way when our car came to a stop, but at least they didn’t rush me when I got out. I’d had to explain several times that while I appreciated their enthusiasm, only my cat was allowed to twine around me when I came back from an outing.

“Hello, everyone,” I said in greeting, turning in a circle to encompass the lot of them. Then I held out my hands, my signal that whoever wanted could do a fly-through on them. At once, a steady streak of silvery forms came at me, my hands almost burning from the multiple contacts the ghosts made with them.

This still felt like a very odd version of giving a group high five, but I’d come to discover that ghosts craved contact even though they passed through whoever—and whatever—they touched. And at least my hands were a far more appropriate body part for them to poltergeist than other areas that some of them had “accidentally” flown through. Implementing an automatic eviction order on any ghost who did a flyby below the belt put a stop to those incidents.

Bones gave a sardonic snort as he strode past me into the house. I knew I wasn’t the only ones counting down the days until the voodoo queen’s borrowed powers faded from my blood. Even though he understood the reasons behind it, Bones liked a bunch of different men and women zinging through my flesh about as much as I liked running into his countless former flings.

Once I was done with my unique form of saying hello, I went into the house, dropping my jacket onto the nearest chair. Bones’s voice stopped me from flopping my body there next, his English accent sharper with annoyance.

“Fabian du Brac, I trust you have a good reason for this?”

Uh-oh. Bones didn’t use Fabian’s full name unless he was ticked, and there were only a few rules we’d set down when we agreed to let Fabian live with us. When I came into the living room, I saw which one of those rules Fabian had broken.

“Um, hi,” I said to the female ghost floating by Fabian’s side. She wore a dark, rather shapeless dress that did its best to conceal what must have been a Marilyn-Monroe-like figure when she had skin, and her severe bun only highlighted how naturally beautiful her face was.

Bones didn’t appear impressed by the new ghost’s lovely visage. He continued to give Fabian a quelling look, dark brow arched in challenge. Fabian knew that only he and my uncle were allowed to float inside our home. We’d had to set some ground rules to protect our privacy, after all. Otherwise, we’d have ghosts trailing us from room to room, even following Bones and me into the shower or running a stream of commentary about our bedroom activities. That whole traveling through walls thing made most ghosts forget about what was appropriate and in appropriate behavior.