Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between by J. A. Saare Read Free Book Online Page A

white flashes of bone. “He was bound somehow. What kind of object can hold a vampire?”
    “Holy ones,” he answered, equally horrified. “Anything blessed, especially silver, can keep them restrained. Once it’s on, they’re powerless.”
    Baxter’s arm extended. The ripped skin splayed out as his hand rose palm up into the air.
    “Touch him,” Goose instructed, giving me a shove but keeping contact with my right hand.
    “Are you fucking insane?” I yelled in disbelief, yanking my hand free and turning on him.
    “My attempts to establish contact through other mediums haven’t worked, and I don’t have the ability to communicate with him through physical contact. But you do, so touch him!” Goose explained anxiously. “Hurry up!”
    “Oh man,” I whined. This was not what I wanted to do today. His face might be gorgeous, but his body was minced. Baxter was waiting, palm raised. I did the spider dance, extending my hand but pulling it back before we made solid contact.
    This shit was beyond disgusting.
    I held my breath and went for it, fingers sliding past until our palms touched. My hand molded into his as if he were a solid object. The skin was smooth, fingers long. I looked into his face, and garbled images flashed in my head.
    A dark room, the hard concrete floor stained with blood, silver chains and knives, arms bound, cutting skin, breaking bone, unbearable pain, and then nothing. The images shifted. A bedroom painted lilac, white lace curtains, twin beds. Scratchy music from the record player as it skipped over one section and drowned out the muffled begging coming from the next room that turned to tear filled cries…
    Yanking my hand free, I started to tremble—mind blank, thoughts incoherent— caught in something worse than my temper could ever be. I was suffocating in blind terror, unable to breathe. I bent at the waist, gagging and dry heaving. Something touched my shoulder, and I reacted defensively, grabbing the hand and twisting at the wrist. I maneuvered the arm around and up, forcing weight into the shoulder joint, pressing down.
    “Rhiannon,” Goose screamed in pain. “Calm down! It’s okay!”
    At first, I didn’t hear. My blood was pounding too loudly, chest heaving with adrenaline and fear. Slowly, my ears adjusted, and I could perceive muted whispers. People were watching cautiously, afraid to intervene but too terrified to look away. Goose lay at my feet, his wrist and hand trapped in mine, forcing him to the ground.
    I let go and stepped back, folding my arms to mask my trembling. I struggled to pull my shit together, taking measured breaths. Goose rose on unsteady feet, his white shirt stained black from the dirty pavement. His usually tidy hair was uneven and messy around his temples.
    “What happened?” he asked calmly, hands lifted harmlessly in the air.
    A few witnesses stood around while I collected myself, and realizing the show was over, moved along. I glanced at Baxter. He stood waiting. For what, I had no idea.
    After a tense minute, I cleared my throat. My voice came out shaken. “He was alive when they took his heart. He was—fuck, you know what I mean!”
    Goose’s eyes widened in alarm. I’ve been around enough people to know spooked when I see it, and he was spooked as hell.
    “What?” I barked. I didn’t go through those memories to be left hanging.
    “This has black magic written all over it.” He peered at me as he started pacing erratically. “This is not good, not good at all. Harvesting organs while the victim is alive is reminiscent of voodoo magic.”
    “You’ve got to be shitting me. Granted, what I’m about to say is very naïve, but voodoo magic? You can’t be serious.”
    “How do you think we raise the dead? Do you think that just happens naturally? There’s a structured ritual to follow, and that includes magic. Necromancy is just one of the requirements. Voodoo works the same. There are catalysts to bring forth the magic, but the