Eleventh Grave in Moonlight

“I hear that,” Shawn said, laughing.

They were getting along famously. After I served them coffee, I was suddenly so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open and there was a pillow somewhere with my name on it. I went to bed early to give them time to get to know each other, then I lay awake, listening to them talk and laugh and commiserate.

Three hours later, Reyes joined me. Or he tried to. Artemis was taking up most of his side.

He slid in, scooting her over in the process, and lay in silence for a long time while I lay in agony, waiting with baited breath. But after a while, I really did get sleepy. We both rubbed Artemis’s ears and I took his hand into mine. His long fingers laced into mine; then, just before his breathing evened out and he drifted into oblivion, he said, “Drop the case.”

A wave of disappointment washed over me until I realized I’d learned something. His reservations had nothing to do with Shawn. He liked the guy. I could tell. So there was something else eating at him. Interesting.

Later that night, I felt an elbow at my ribs, and it wasn’t my own. It was nudging me out of an incredible dream. I was on the verge of nudging it back when a hand slid around my mouth.

My eyes flew open, but Reyes held me against him, tight, and whispered, “Shhh,” into my ear. Then he pointed.

Startled, I followed his line of sight and jumped again. He tightened his hold and waited for the image to come into focus. It did, and I slowly realized Amber was standing beside our bed.

I tried to rise, but he continued to keep a tight grip on both my body and my mouth, so I couldn’t ask him, “What the fuck?”

Then I realized why. Amber, tall and slender with long dark hair and a graceful bearing, stood in her gown. Her hair had fallen forward, but I could see her eyes. Barely. She gazed at us from behind the curtain of locks. No expression. No emotion.

A glint lower down drew my gaze to her hands. Her right hand, to be exact, in which she held a chef’s knife. Our chef’s knife. The one Reyes used to chop vegetables. The one that was so sharp, I’d once accidently brushed my fingers against it, soft as a feather, and come away bloody. And Amber was slicing her leg with it.

Blood soaked her gown, creating a large, dark circle as she slid the knife across her thigh again.

I lunged forward, but Reyes pulled me back. I fought him. His hold tightened, and he whispered into my ear, “I’ll go around the bed and grab the knife. Stay put.”

But before I could acknowledge with a nod, Amber spoke, her voice low. Monotone. “The oceans will boil. All the sand will die, and it’s your fault.”

“Stay put,” he said again. He eased backwards, his weight pressing into the mattress.

“The skin will slide off your bones if you don’t eat him.”

He inched off the bed. Then, before I could blink, he stood behind her.

“The beaches are covered in broken glass.”

With the care of a snake handler capturing a cobra, he took her wrist into his hand. She’d already made another incision. Blood streaked down the front of her gown. I pressed my hands to my mouth.

“The fish are very angry.”

He gently took the knife out of her hand, and I rushed forward. Kneeling on the bed before her, I took her face into my hands.

“Amber?”

Reyes tossed the knife away and held her shoulders should she fall.

“Amber, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

She’d curled her hands into fists and glared at me. “The blood is evaporating too fast, and the birds can’t breathe.”

I pushed her hair back. She was covered in sweat and tears. “Amber, it’s Aunt Charley.”

Her gaze finally locked onto mine. She stared a long moment, then said, “Unofanira kudya iye.”

It took me a few seconds to pinpoint the language. She spoke chiShona, a language that belonged to the Shona people of Zimbabwe. “You must eat him,” she said. In chiShona. Since when did Amber speak chiShona?

Before I could say anything else, she collapsed. I yelped, but Reyes caught her.

“Take her,” I said, scrambling off the bed and running for my robe.

Reyes already had on pajama bottoms. He scooped her up and headed for the door. I grabbed the first aid kit out of the bathroom and followed him.

He put her on our dining room table, then turned on the lights. I lifted her gown to assess the damage. The blood drained from my brain, and the world tilted. Just a little. She’d done some damage. Miraculously, none of the cuts looked deep enough to require stitches. There were just so many of them.

“Go,” he said, taking over. He ripped open the kit and found the peroxide.

I backed away but couldn’t seem to stop staring at her leg.

“Dutch,” Reyes said, his voice hard. “Go get her.”

I shook myself and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

Both our front door and Cookie’s stood wide open. I flew through them, then remembered that her husband was a detective. With a gun. I could only hope he wouldn’t shoot me, because I had no intention of waking them softly.

I barged into their bedroom, turned on the light, and ran to Cookie’s side.

Uncle Bob woke up instantly, his hand going for the gun locked in a holster safe on the side of his nightstand. He would have to unlock it before he could shoot me. That gave me just enough time to let him know who I was.

“Uncle Bob, it’s me,” I said, shaking Cookie awake.

“Charley? What the hell?”

“It’s Amber.” I nudged my BFF again. “Cook, sweetheart, wake up.”

Cookie bolted upright, her eyes almost as wild as her hair.

“Cook, it’s okay.”