Three: Machete and the Tiger

~~

I awoke from a dream made up of tombstones and eyes as cold and blue as winter skies. The phone was ringing, the tone unfamiliar.

Oh yeah. I wasn’t home safe in my own bed. I was in my Bluebird of Happiness Motel room and this was my dusk wake up call.

I grabbed the receiver, muttered a quick “thank you” and hung it back up. The room was silent and still. The chickens must be asleep. I wondered briefly if chickens could dream and, if so, I hoped it was sweet, because I’d be putting an end to them fairly soon.

I sat up and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, but it was holding on tight. I needed a clear head and fast. A cold shower would help that. As the water rushed over me, I felt most of the tepid emotions from the day begin to wash away, down the drain, and out of my system. I felt no guilt for having them now. Why should I? I cared for Edward, after all. But they would serve me no good during the raising tonight. Best to let as many of them go as possible.

Edward had taught me that.

Once done, I put on a pair of black jeans, a black zip-up hoodie and black Nikes. I didn’t think anyone lying out in that cemetery would care if I forgot the lipstick.

Towel drying my hair, I cautiously pulled back the heavy curtains by my bed and took a look at the night. The Santa Fe desert was overcast with clouds and looked thick with humidity – wouldn’t take long for my hair to dry out there.

Letting the drapes fall back, I began to gather everything I would need for the raising and checking it twice, laying it all out on the bed. More than once I glanced at the phone. It wasn’t Edward I was thinking of necessarily, but Ramirez. He might be a very good source of information in the midst of this mess without actually having to go to the source.

Or maybe I was just chickening out. I might have enough trouble with Bernardo knowing about tonight as it was. I could always call him later.

If I didn’t have heart failure first.

I stared at the bed and all its contents.

Container of salt. Bottle of Rosemary ointment. Ritual knife. Gray Nike gym bag.

The Rosemary I had been going without using lately, but I wasn’t taking any chances. And the knife wasn’t actually a knife. It was a machete, longer than my forearm. It glinted up at me, unsheathed. I picked it up, feeling the weight of it.

From the floor, in their cage, one of the chickens clucked.

The blade was steel, not silver, which was important to the magic. I carved the air with it before setting it back down with the rest. For a moment it seemed like something was missing, but it took only a beat to realize that it was all there.

I smiled grimly and laid the Browning Hi-Power on the comforter. Ah, that was better. It was not part of the zombie raising paraphernalia, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere tonight without it. I recalled what Edward had told me about carrying a concealed weapon in New Mexico and was glad I had a rental car waiting at the front desk.

Now all that was left to do was sit and wait for the night to darken.

~~

A half moon had risen above the landscape and gave the surrounding desert the appearance of snow.

It was a little before midnight when I pulled the Camry into the Rosario Cemetery, map in hand.

All cemeteries liked to name their little roads and streets after trees and the like, and this one was no different.

Sycamore was what I was looking for. Ted Forrester’s resting-place.

Thankfully, it was nestled up on a slope in a grove of trees and away from the main gate. I grabbed the gear and the chickens and walked the rest of the way up the slope.

Row 5. Grave 17.

It was up there somewhere, but I took my time. It hadn’t been only tombstones and Edward I’d been dreaming about. Marianne, my newfound spiritual mentor, had been in there too. Her voice came back to me now as the overgrown grass whispered underfoot.

It had been a gentle warning – “Be careful what you call with your power, Anita. What you call then belongs to you.”

I wasn’t ever sure I completely believed that: most if what I raise no longer had a soul. But if she was right, maybe they didn’t have to. The chills running up my arms despite the humid air, and thoughts of Damian, my vampire servant, told me that maybe I believed Marianne more that I thought I did.

Row 5. I kept walking. Grave 14. 15.

It wasn’t hard to find then; the fresh mound of earth stood out in the soft darkness.

The sight of it stopped me.

A small voice inside said I could easily reach out a tendril of power right now and call to Edward without getting any closer. But it was an impulse I quickly repressed.

My fingers absently found their way to my temple and to the perspiration there as I took the last few steps. A mild surprise hit me as I saw that there was already a headstone in place. A slant of blue pearl granite with white recessed letters –

THEODORE FORRESTER –

And simply decorated with 2 white recessed horses.

Usually a stone wouldn’t be in place for another month or so after burial. But it was really no surprise that “Ted” probably had friends in all the death-dealing trades – including the local mortuary.

I resisted reaching out and touching the stone just yet – it was creepy enough just looking at it, like reality was seeping into my bones and eating at my heart.

I turned away abruptly and set the gym bag down next to the chickens and shut my eyes tight.

When I opened them again, I was looking out over the moonlit cemetery below me. It was a calming view and I used it to harden myself until I reached that cold place within that I used for killing. Finally, I began to unpack the gym bag and turned with a steady gaze to meet the grave, my mind thankfully back to a practical pace.

It had been more than 3 nights since the supposed death, and the grave was still undisturbed, by vampirism or anything else.

That was good, because the weight of the machete was heavy and familiar in my hand and I didn’t want to have to use it to behead more than the chickens.

~~

Fresh blood came first.

That’s what the chickens were for, although I had been resorting to using my own lately, cutting myself open in order to begin the circle of power so that defenseless little chickens and goats everywhere could rest easy, not to mention Marianne and her Pagan friends.

But not tonight.

I could never use enough of my own blood without feeling dizzy and the decreased amount made for a messy looking zombie. The last thing I wanted was to be forced to converse with mere pieces of Edward.

So now there I stood, headless chicken in one hand and bloody machete in the other, and the Rosemary oil spread over head, hands and heart just for good luck.

I could sense //something// in the ground now – I just couldn’t tell who or what.

I walked the circle, sprinkling the blood, the steel point of my machete pointed downward as I did so. A strange rush of power over took me as the circle closed as it always did – only this time it was like drowning in wet heat. I’d never felt anything like it.

When the feeling lessened, I was able to move and I turned to the headstone for the next step.

And stopped dead. I was staring at a name that didn’t exist.  Ted Forrester was a lie. I knew this, of course, but suddenly I was stuck.

Would the corpse rise if I simply called out, “Edward”? I cursed myself for not thinking far enough ahead. I needed a given name. Dammit!

Well, ‘Edward’ would have to do. Unprecedented. But what were my other options? I tapped the steel blade against the fictional stone.

“Edward, with steel I call you from your grave.”

My fingers found the open wound on the chicken and I smeared blood onto the cool granite.

“Edward, with blood I call you from your grave.”

I made my way to the foot of the grave and turned back toward the head slowly, feeling the hesitation setting in. My mouth was curdled with saliva and I felt bile at the back of my throat.

//Don’t stop now.//

I took a breath. It wasn’t steady. But my hands were moving of their own accord and raised slightly away from my body.

“Edward, with blood, steel and power I call to you -”

Again, I hesitated. Everything hinged on the next command. Maybe with my power alone I could will a stranger to rise…

“Rise from your grave, Edward…and walk among us.”

I held my breath. Never had I been so afraid to use this gift I’d been born with. And for the first time ever I wished with all my might that nothing would happen…

//Keep still, Earth//

But the dirt and grass at my feet had their own agenda. It rolled away like a magical green ocean, spreading to reveal that it had been hiding in its murky depths.

A body arose. Because of the loose, black soil, it was hard to distinguish features and color. Instead of simply sitting up, it rose as if it had been kneeling, head down in a morbid bow. As it straightened, the earth began to fall away from it –

I took a step back and felt the energy of the circle pulsing at my back. I could retreat no further –

And then there was blonde hair. And a gray suit. I saw that the zombie had its arms crossed over its chest as it straightened even more. Odd. Almost as if it had been in a fetal position. It raised its eyes to stare at me unblinking.

//Not Edward. Not Edward. Not Edward. Not Edward.//

But it was. It was Edward, and I’d never seen his eyes so dead. He had practiced that gaze in life, but I saw now that there was no comparison.

I had been gorgonized to the spot, and my heart would have crumbled right then and there if he hadn’t been actually trying to get my attention.

I blinked. His arms were uncrossed to steady himself as he leaned toward me, his parched lips moving soundlessly. He was trying to say my name.

The ritual was not complete. I had to feed him; I had to offer blood so he could speak.

I retraced my step, chicken and machete in hand. It was hard to tell if he saw me; he was like a blind man searching for water.

The craving of blood was always strong with the dead.

I knelt carefully before him; my knees finding the solid earth on their own accord and I gently introduced the chicken’s blood to his lips by way of my fingertips.

If it had been any other zombie it would not have been so intimate or so morbid.

“Drink, Edward. Drink of this blood and speak.”

Watching him as his strength grew, I was becoming slowly mesmerized and less terrorized. The more he drank the more lifelike he became until he was nearly the same man I’d seen leaving my doorstep last July. I was glad I used the chicken. When he was finished he finally looked at me; finally saw me.

Those cold, blue eyes were flowing with recognition. “Anita.” His voice was gravely, but distinctly his own.

I couldn’t help it. I had to reach out and touch him. Screw composure. This wasn’t just an animated corpse – this was Edward. I touched his cheek just barely, and suddenly I saw so many things.

He wasn’t perfect. There were pale sluggish scars everywhere, like snake trails in white sand. Gone was the handsome desert-tanned skin with its smiling crow’s feet. He was worn and so, so pale despite the blood he had just consumed.

I had a sudden and horrible flashback to his hospital room here in Santa Fe, recovering from near death after our last escapades. He had that same expression now – sad, and tired of so many secrets eating away at him…

Like whatever had put him in this grave. How many of those secrets would he tell me?

He’d been torn up something awful by something. My heart cringed at the thought that he may have been just a bunch of pieces in an expensive coffin before my power had gotten a hold of him.

“Anita.” He said my name again, this time in more of a voice I recognized. He’d said it to get my attention. I caught that glint in his eye; the one he used when he was waiting me out to see what I’d do – ever patient Edward.

“Edward.” With that one word everything became so real. I couldn’t stop the tears that were forming no more than I could stop my hands from shaking. I’d never wanted to hug a zombie before now. I must be loosing my mind. I guess raising a dead friend will do that to you.

But he was making no move to touch me, so I refrained. I still couldn’t find my voice – all the questions I had had ready had flown the proverbial coop and I was left stammering.

Was that a hint of a smile on those lips?

“I hated saying goodbye to you, Anita,” he said in that low, even tone of his, and I looked at him in surprise and confusion. “But, I knew you’d come looking for me.”

I shook myself and found a bit of normalcy in which he spoke to me. I looked him in the eye and didn’t flinch. “It didn’t feel like goodbye – you left a lot of answered questions.”

He stared at me a long while before he replied and I could see those tired, old secrets moving and shifting under that now-translucent skin.

“…Yes. I did. Are there any you want to know?”

//So many, it hurts.// I stared back at him incredulously, making desperate arm motions to his seemingly alive body. Finally, I just shook my head at him sadly. “What happened?”

In the quietness, then, he did something so amazingly human that it stopped my heart.

He sat back until his feet were tucked beneath him and he tipped that beautiful blonde head to one side like he always did when he was contemplating how much he should tell me and how much he should hold back.

The dead weren’t suppose to hold anything back – they couldn’t lie. Was it possible he was only posing for my sake?

“Nothing was dangerous for me anymore.”

Edward – cryptic even in death.

“What the hell is that suppose to mean!?”

“I went looking for that perfect kill; that perfect match. I just didn’t come away from it this time, is all.”

It sounded like the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Then again, maybe I wasn’t asking the right questions.

I inched closer to him, a little anger helping my will power.

“Dammit, Edward, that’s NOT all! If that were it you wouldn’t have had Bernardo call me down here. So here’s a question you haven’t answered me straight yet; was Ted in trouble?”

His face showed me nothing, “Yes.”

“Van Cleef?”

A pause. “No. At least not him, personally. Who was hunting Ted is irrelevant.”

“Like hell it is!”

Something softened in his resolve then. “Anita, my death has little to do with Ted’s life. You won’t find the answers there.”

“But you knew when you came to my house something big was going down. You were trying to cut your losses -”

“Yes. Initially, the bounty on Ted’s head, and surrounding factors, led me to some tough decisions. I had to bury the trail to anyone connected with Ted…or to whom I cared about.”

My voice had gone quiet. “Cared about?”

“Donna. The kids…You.”

I stared at him forever and knew that he was telling the truth. It had been in his eyes, at my house before he left that July night. He hadn’t cared if he had made his feelings known to me – he hadn’t been planning on coming back.

//Listen…I’m not coming back…//

“Edward,” I began – my next question hurt to ask, so I tried to pretend it was just another zombie I was asking – “Did you take your own life?” I whispered.

This pause was longer than I would’ve like, but he said, “No.”

I heard the ‘but’ at the end of that sentence. “But, what?”

“I told you,” he said, and his eyes were cold. “I went looking for it.”

It was my turn to cock my head. “You’ve always been looking for it, Edward, fatalist that you are. So what made this time so different?”

His smile warmed a bit. “You might say Ted became a loose canon toward the end. He made no secret that he was after the ultimate kill. It made it easy for the men after him to set him up with what he wanted.”

It all made a kind of crazy sense, I supposed. Hell, he’d been loosing his grasp on the Ted persona since the kids were kidnapped a year ago. Edward had made himself vulnerable to attack – whether on purpose or not, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I would never be sure.

“So was this ultimate hit a human?” I asked, though now my head was reeling with more personal questions I wanted answered.

“No. Rogue shifter. One I had met with before; a were-tiger named Brackenberry.”

The name was not familiar, but he said it like it should have been. “So it was revenge?”

He shrugged in that way he always had.

“Does it really matter in the end?” he asked, and it made me drop my gaze. He was reading my mind, as usual.

“No,” I replied softly. “I guess there are other things that matter more.”

Had I really just said that out loud?

Suddenly, there was his hand under my chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. His handsome face was filled with curiosity.

“Such as?” he asked. His hand was strangely warm and still brushing my chin.

//Trust. Friendship…Love.// But instead, I said:

“A good man at my back.”

His smile was a little sad. “Yes. That goes without saying.”

I inched toward him even more and now our bodies were almost touching – it wasn’t the feel of death drawing me to him, it was the Life. I could almost feel his breath on my lips.

“What else goes without saying, Edward?”

“That’s an intimate question, Anita.” The look on his face was teasing, yet still sad.

“Is it? What other secrets have you been hiding from me all this time?”

His blue eyes warmed and flickered, and I realized with a start that he was slowly unbuttoning the white dress shirt that, even in death, he seemed to fill out so well. As if in answer to my question, he peeled back the lapels and let me really see him. Maybe more than I wanted to.

The autopsy scars were dark and prevalent against his white skin – a big “Y” shape marring his chest and intersecting with the other scars that I knew now to be from the claws of a tiger. It was hypnotic. I reached out to touch it, to show him I was unafraid perhaps, but he caught my wrist in his.

“I have no secrets left, Anita.” And he squeezed my hand for emphasis. “They’ve all gone away.”

I met his eyes then, and saw that this idea made him happy – no more secrets to make a tired, cold man out of him.

I smiled back, but it only made the tears that had been threatening start to run.

He took the hand of mine he was holding and placed it over his heart.

“Do you see?” he asked, and I could almost feel his heartbeat.

Almost.

And I did see; in a sense he was free and that meant he could feel those pieces that had gone missing so long ago. I also saw that he had cared for me in a way that I would never know the extent of.

“Yes, Edward. I see.” And I let my hand rest there a while longer on that chest that was so alive. I wouldn’t be touching him when I put him back – I didn’t want to feel his heart turn hard and cold again.

But then the strangest thing began to happen; a tiny tendril of power crawled through my hand from deep inside him, and it woke up something curled and sleeping deep inside me.

I yanked my hand away, but I wasn’t quick enough. Edward caught my wrist in a steel grip; the sadness in his eyes pushed out by something fierce. His speed was unusual, like he’d been expecting me to react.

Had he known that the cat was my animal to call? Lycanthropy couldn’t out last death – did my necromancy change that??

I was always expanding my horizons when I was with Edward.

“Don’t bury me with this disease, Anita.” His icy blue eyes were wild, but his voice was calm.

 A thousand excuses and reassurances ran through my brain, but somehow I didn’t think he wanted to hear any of them. Maybe he knew that what he was asking wasn’t logical. Maybe he just wanted to be disconnected from the monster side of him once and for all so that he could finally rest.

Edward glanced to my right and I knew which object his eyes were seeking out. It was lying there in the tall grass, glinting in the moonlight. Before I knew it, he had reached out, and suddenly the machete was quivering in the small amount of ground between us. He was awfully stealthy for a dead man. Or maybe it was those tiger reflexes that the necromancy had awoken. Either way, he knew that, if done right, the blade needn’t be silver to get the job done.

I had a hard time keeping my eyes from his throat.

//What you raise belongs to you. It is your responsibility.//

I wasn’t emotionally prepared for any of this, but from what I knew of Edward, I should have been. Leave it to him to want to go out in a blaze of stale blood and old sentiments.

“Is this why you called me here, Edward? One last favor?” I whispered.

This seemed to quiet him and the sad smile was back. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “…Let’s just say I’ll owe you one.”

…I let that promise drift on the night air as long as I could.

No matter what other precautions he was asking me to take, I still had to return him to the earth.

I nodded at him just once, not trusting my voice, or body, to re-begin the ritual. There were no more good-byes. But my next words shook badly and were barely audible.

“Edward…with blood I bind you to your grave.” I touched his forehead with blood, and he let me. His eyes smiled once more at me, and then began to fade. I was glad of it. I didn’t want those blue eyes to see me as I picked up the steel blade between us. I took a ragged breath and leveled the tip of it at his throat, uncomforted by the fact that he would do the same for me.

“Edward…with steel I bind you…”

My heart turned in on itself. I couldn’t even finish the sentence as I let the blade swing…
 

~Fin~
 
 

On to to The Hearts Slow Learning