Eighth Grave After Dark

I fought a grin and chastised her for her tardiness. “It’s about time, missy,” I said, tapping my naked wrist to make my point clear.

She gasped audibly, then looked at her watch. Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Charley, damn it. The wedding isn’t for hours.”

“I know,” I said, stepping closer as she sat some bags on a bench at the end of the bed. “I just like to keep you on your toes.”

“Oh, you do that. No worries there. I’m like a ballerina when you’re around.”

“Sweet.” I leaned over to peek inside a bag. “I also want to thank you again for having the wedding here.” She did so to accommodate Reyes and me, since we couldn’t leave the grounds.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “This place is perfect. Who gets to have a wedding in a historic convent surrounded by a lush forest adorned with the colors of autumn? Me. That’s who.” She gave my shoulders a quick one-armed squeeze. “I am beyond thrilled, hon.”

“I’m glad.”

“And, by having it here,” she continued, pulling out a fluff of pink material from one of the bags, “neither you nor Reyes will be ripped apart by hellhounds during the ceremony. I’d love to get through this without getting blood on my wedding gown.”

“It’s so always about you,” I said, and she laughed. Mission complete.

She took a ribbon off the material, then noticed Reyes’s tousled state. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

He turned, but only slightly, not wanting to expose the evidence of exactly what she’d interrupted. “Not at all,” he said, pointing outside. “We were just talking about all the departed—”

“—who have passed on over the years,” I said, stopping him from making a grave mistake. “And, boy, are there lots.” I snorted. “Like millions. Maybe even billions.”

Cookie stopped what she was doing—namely rummaging through another shopping bag—and turned toward me, her movements slow. Methodical. Calculated. “There—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and started over. “There are dead people on the lawn, aren’t there?”

“What?” I dismissed her suspicions with a wave of my hand. Because that always worked. “Pfft, no way. Why would there—? I mean, what would they be doing on—?”

“Charley,” she said in warning, her hangover voice low and alarmingly sexy.

I bit down, cursing myself for my utter lack of finesse. This was her wedding day, and her nerves had been stretched thin enough without a last-minute addition of the recently departed to the guest list.

“Only a couple,” I said, strolling nonchalantly to Reyes’s side and looking out the two-story window. I was such a liar. There were at least a hundred departed standing in front of the convent. Silent. Unmoving. Unblinking. This was going to be the creepiest wedding ever. At least they weren’t coming inside, but the wedding was actually outside in a little clearing behind the convent. Thankfully, they hadn’t invaded that area. Much.

Reyes leaned down to me and whispered into my ear. “Your nearness isn’t helping my condition.”

I glanced at his crotch. The fullness caused a flush to rise in my cheeks. But he was right. Now was not the time. “Sorry,” I whispered back before turning to Cookie again. “What’s that?”

She was busy staring out another window, and I thanked God she couldn’t see the departed. “The curtains for the nursery came in,” she said absently.

“Oh!” I rushed forward, snatched them out of her hands, and shook out a panel of pink taffeta. “I sure hope it’s a girl,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“Of course it’s a girl,” she said, scanning the grounds. “All the prophecies say so. Where are they?”

“The prophecies?”

“The dead people.”

“Right.” I looked out over the weathered grounds. The grass had yellowed over the last month, the trees burning with the bright oranges, golds, and reds of autumn.

“They’re gone now,” I said, adding to the long list of sins I was committing in a house of God. “Those people love playing hide-and-seek. Seriously, it’s like a thing with them.”

I looked up at her, worried she wouldn’t believe me, but her gaze had drifted somewhere else, namely to Reyes’s reflection in the window. His shirt still hung open, the white material a stark contrast to the dark skin beneath, the muscles leaving shadows along the upside-down T of his chest and the rungs of his abs. “Good Lord,” she said to me, her tone silky soft.

I agreed completely. “Good Lord indeed.”

We both gawked a solid minute before he realized what we were doing. He dipped his head, unable to suppress a brilliant smile, and cleared his throat before announcing he got the first shower.

“I don’t know how you do it, hon,” Cook said when he left.

The communal shower was down the hall, a rustic imitation of my shower at home. And the thought of him in it, with steaming hot water cascading over his shoulders, down the curve of his back, sent a tiny shiver through my body. “Do what? Keep my hands off him?”

“No. Well, yes, but also keep your composure around him.” She sat against the windowsill. “I’m not supernatural or anything, but even I can feel his power. His … allure. Does that make sense?”