Deadline Read online

  Deadline

  Strange Hollow

  Belladonna Bordeaux

  (c) 2011

  ISBN 978-1-59578-883-2

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

  Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011, Belladonna Bordeaux.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

  Editor

  Chrissie Henderson

  Cover Artist

  April Martinez

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  She’s inexorably drawn to a man ninety-nine percent of people fear—Death.

  Niko Thanatose, a member of the death caste, is on a mission. He needs to release the soul of a mortal hiding amongst Strange Hollow’s residents. That’s going to be a neat trick considering the low mortality rate in the town. He’ll break all the rules when he meets a woman who has lived under a cloud of lies and stirs a foreign emotion in his soul.

  A foundling, Lyra has always been told she’s an ancient, an immortal who is so rare on Earth that her kind is almost extinct. With no powers to speak of, she’s the outcast that is accepted but not truly embraced by the people of Strange Hollow until the new undertaker shows up and rocks her world.

  Time is ticking. The deadline is looming. Three days to catch his target before everything around him begins to die. Lyra included.

  Chapter One

  Your nightmare or mine?

  “This is so humiliating.”

  Niko Thanatose heard his assistant’s voice come through the radio speakers. Biting back on a smile, Niko could only imagine Morpheus’s embarrassment. The expression his stalwart friend had worn since they’d received their orders and headed for Earth was nothing short of crushed. He hadn’t stopped complaining since they’d arrived on the temporal plane. “It could be worse,” Niko commented as he drove down Strange Hollow’s Main Street.

  “How? You tell me how this could be worse?” The volume on the radio rose in direct proportion to Morpheus’s justifiable outrage. Niko quickly turned the knob counterclockwise but rejected the urge to shut the radio off. The last thing he needed was Morpheus getting his tailpipe in a knot, which was exactly what would happen if he didn’t give the ancient god of dreams a way to vent his rage.

  “You get to do what you always do, and I get to shift into a beat-up 70s Pinto station wagon. I couldn’t even be a hatchback coupe.” An exasperated sigh came from the speakers. The car backfired. “Why? Why?”

  Niko Thanatose understood exactly why Cain, the leader of the death caste, had chosen this specific vehicle for Morpheus to shift into. It’s the symbolism behind the model. It also helped their cover. A front that, in Niko’s opinion, was so blasé it was pathetic. “You know why, so you might as well suck it up and cope.”

  “Ah, yes, the mission. This is a time when I have to take one for the team and all that mortal, make-your-balls-tingle bullshit.”

  “Morpheus,” Niko warned. If you think I’m all that thrilled about hunting down a wayward soul, then you have another think coming. The car bucked as if it was about to stall. “Don’t push our luck any further than you already have.” Down-shifting the manual transmission to second, Niko gritted his teeth when the nerve jangling grr-rr of gears mashing together came from the transmission. “We have a job to do.” And only three days to do it in, Niko mused. If he didn’t complete his mission in seventy-two hours the pall of death would fall over him and begin killing things off around him.

  “I know, Death. You have a date with Leslie Carney. What makes you think he’s still in this backwater town? He’s managed to stay ahead of the other visages who’ve tried to visit him.”

  Recalling the brief history he’d pulled from Ascension’s Central Computer about the town nestled in a valley below Mt. Mitchell, Niko sighed. “This is the one place I’d run to if I knew Death was hot on my heels.”

  “Because a visage of death stands out like a sore thumb here.”

  “Exactly. Can you imagine how many people actually die in this town?” The super-low mortality rate, as verified by the Central Computer, was a direct contradiction to the help-wanted advertisement Niko had located in the local paper. He snuck a peek at the paper sitting innocently on the seat beside him. Circled in red magic marker was a call for a mortician to service the dearly departed—or not—souls in Strange Hollow.

  “Not many, I suspect,” Morpheus muttered. “Get ready. It’s just about showtime.” Following Main Street to where it dead-ended at the Town Hall, Niko took in the woman standing on the steps. The founder turned mayor and lawmaker of the town, Jacinda Fergus.

  Glancing at his watch, Niko exhaled sharply. He was fifteen minutes late thanks to Morpheus’s antics. “This is going to be the tough part.”

  “Worried your elitist nature will show through?” Morpheus said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

  “Shut up.” In a sick and sad way Niko didn’t blame Jacinda Fergus for establishing the town or welcoming all the half-castes and oddities of the paranormal world to live in Strange Hollow. In this town outcasts were welcome, elitists eaten on sight. Taking in the number of shops, Niko came to the obvious conclusion that there was safety in numbers too.

  He mentally reviewed the Central Computer’s report. So, Morpheus and he had to portray themselves as outcasts. One who could only shift from his mortal form into the Gremlin station wagon, and the other, his lover, who was a vegan vampire.

  Another crack akin to a shot from a gun rocked the car. “I don’t like this either, Morpheus, but cool it with all the noise. We don’t want to pull too much attention to us.”

  “I can’t help it. My carburetor needs adjustment.”

  The radio suddenly clicked onto a real station. The strains of My Sharona shouted in the confines of the car. Niko growled when he noted all the people coming out of their shops to stare at his conveyance. “Morpheus, cease your nonsense.”

  “I’m sucking it up, taking one for the team, making you look more paranormal than you are. Would you prefer a different station? I’m sure I could find a country and western one if that is more to your liking. You know the likes, where she took your truck, your dog and your booze after shacking up with your best bud.” A squawking of static blasted around him as Morpheus searched for the channel in question. With a vicious twist of his wrist, Niko turned the radio off completely. “Be good while I have my little chit-chat with the mayor.” Morpheus’s response was to stall in the middle of the street. Niko steered the drifting car to the side of the square.

  Niko shook his head when he managed to maneuver the car out of the path of traffic and somewhat into a parking spot. “If I could kill you, I would.” He gripped the emergency hand brake, and with a vicious tug he raised the lever. The twang of the brake cable snapping hit his ears. “Just let me get this over with, and then I’ll find you a nice garage where you can shift into your preferred form. Okay?” Niko grabbed the newspaper and his resume from the passenger seat. He went to open his door only to have the handle break off in his grip. A low, menacing growl inched up his throat. The blaring of the horn drew a bitter sigh from Niko. “I’ll even try to find you some ambrosia.” The obnoxiou
s, eardrum-splitting blast started coming in short bursts. “I will find you some ambrosia.”

  The horn stopped. Slapping the handle back into place, it took Niko a few minutes to extricate himself via the passenger’s side door. By the time his feet hit the pavement he was huffing and puffing. “Sorry about that.” He nodded to the woman he assumed was Jacinda. “I called this morning about the open position you have for a mortician.” Snickers and jeers came from the crowd. Ignoring the gawkers, Niko handed his resume to Jacinda.

  “You have an interesting car, Mr.—” She skimmed the top of his resume. “Thorton,” she finished. Her violet gaze rose to his face. She made a quick visual inspection of him before she returned her focus to the printed sheets in her hand.

  “Some would call him a classic, Ms. Fergus,” Niko managed to say with only a hint of humor tingeing his statement. About three-thousand-years worth of classic, he mused.

  “You do understand you’ll be expected to care for all your clients with the same respect.” Jacinda peeked at him through the veil of her lashes. She began to shuffle through the three pages. “Discretion is also imperative in this position.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand the need for, how shall I put this, secrecy.” Which still didn’t explain why, all of a sudden, Strange Hollow needed an undertaker. Not that Niko was going to let the golden opportunity slip through his fingers.

  “Unfortunately, you don’t have the required experience for the position,” Jacinda said after a lengthy pause. She handed the resume back to him. “We were looking for a candidate who had experience with a very specific clientele.” By the fires of Hell. “That is but a brief summary of my experience, Ms. Fergus.” Walking to the back of the Gremlin, Niko opened the hatchback. He pulled out a five-hundred-page resume and set it on the rust-stained roof of the car. Morpheus groaned as his rear shock absorbers creaked. “Let’s try this again,” Niko said, resisting the urge to kick Morpheus in his tires. He strode back to where the very pear-shaped woman stood.

  Flipping open the binder he’d had his admin assistant put together just in case this should happen, he read the table of contents. “Werewolves, check. Vampires, check. Halflings, check. Fae, check—they require special care though.” He sent her a smile. “Witches, check. Dragons, check—big funeral pyre involved with them.”

  “I doubt that even in your vast experience you’ve ever come across this, Mr.

  Thorton.”

  “Try me.”

  “A longstanding member of our community has decided to diminish.” Diminish? There were several of the ancient sects who could choose to finish their long existence by personal decree. He leveled his glare on Jacinda’s face. The short hairs on the back of his neck flared at her sad countenance. “A druid?” He picked the first type on the short list.

  “A wood nymph.”

  Stunned, Niko’s frown deepened into a scowl. “I thought they were extinct.” In fact, I know they are. With a sweeping slash of his eyes, Niko watched the crowd grow somber. Strange Hollow, he considered her revelation, the town where outcasts were welcome. A half-caste? Possible.

  “She’s the last of her kind.” Jacinda drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Are you experienced with them?”

  “Somewhat.” Niko couldn’t wrap his brain around this twist. The last time he’d visited a wood nymph had been eons ago during Ragnarok, the Twilight of the Gods.

  Back in those days his duty involved escorting the defeated god or goddess, immortal or enchanted demi-god, to the portal that took them into the nothingness of the Abyss.

  There, with a few tears and some dashed hopes, the immortals now called the ancients would jump into the swirling chasm never to be seen again. “She wishes a mortal funeral?”

  “Or as close as we can come to a proper wake and internment.”

  “I see.” The hell I do. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.” A funeral was a funeral.

  Embalming followed by a viewing, then put the casket in the ground—done deal.

  “There is only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She doesn’t remember begging the god to let her die.”

  “Excuse me?” Oh, this is too incredible. It was also implausible. An original didn’t beg the White God for relief from their immortal existence. Not even a half-blooded one would do that. Niko fisted his hand. No. They headed for the first ethereal gate on Earth and took a short trip to the third level of the heavens where they were then escorted to the portal. This doesn’t add up.

  Niko caught himself before he asked the question burning like a bonfire in his brain: Are you sure she’s a wood nymph? He narrowed his eyes on Jacinda. You’re not telling me something. “Fine. I’ll set up a proper funeral for your wood nymph.” He slammed the binder down on the hood. For a change, Morpheus didn’t make a sound. “Do you have a name?” He plucked his pen from the breast pocket of his button-down shirt.

  “I’m sorry, I have to run. Thank you, Mr. Thorton. I’m sure you’ll do a good job.” Jacinda dashed up the Town Hall steps. “Just remember the laws. Murder is punishable by death. Rape is punishable by death. Outcasts are welcome. Elitists will be eaten on sight.” She waved to him when she reached the doors. “This is not considered murder, but natural selection.”

  Niko’s eyes shot from onlooker to onlooker. I’m here to collect the soul of Leslie Carney. Period. End of sentence. He watched a werewolf bare his teeth at him. So, in the meantime I plan a final affair for a creature that died off two thousand years ago.

  “Those are some mighty expensive duds you’re wearing.” A vampiress sneered. She moved through the shadows like a cat stalking a mouse. “Are you sure you aren’t an elitist?” She sent him a wicked grin. “I believe you are.” Actually, I’m an ultimate authority. “Bite me,” Niko retorted hotly. Gathering his resumes, the newspaper, and putting his pen back in his pocket, he jerked the car’s door open.

  “That can be arranged,” the vampiress said.

  “In your nightmares,” Niko countered and slid into the driver’s seat.

  He twisted the key in the ignition and sent thanks to the gods of old when Morpheus’s engine started without complaint. About to back out of the spot, Niko came to the sudden realization he hadn’t gotten the address for the funeral parlor. “Damn it.” He turned on the radio. “Morpheus, locate the town’s funeral parlor.” He gripped the steering wheel hard with his left hand as he shifted the car into reverse with his right.

  Pulling away from the curb, he caught a glimpse of people huddled together with their heads bent. “Be quick about it.”

  “Sure thing. You do have a tight deadline this go ’round.” Morpheus didn’t sound the least bit concerned about that. “112th and Omega.”

  “Thank the gods of old for GPS.”

  “And the Central Computer for foreseeing this tangle. Jacinda is, after all, a fae.

  They’re known for scurrying away at the most inopportune moment.”

  “Point taken.” Niko steered onto 1st Street.

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “About?”

  “The wood nymph.”

  Niko followed 1st Street until he came to Omega. “Which way?”

  “North,” Morpheus informed him. “So, this whole deal with the wood nymph doesn’t spark your interest?”

  “Absolutely not.” Pulling to a stop at the intersection, Niko flipped on the indicator.

  He rolled his eyes when the thin metal rod fell to the floor. “She’s not on our list.”

  “Still, she’s…”

  “None of our concern.” Niko ended the discussion by turning the radio off.

  * * * *

  Lyra putzed around the funeral home, her feather duster in hand. Whistling an off-tune, no-rhyme-or-reason, little ditty, she contemplated what having a new mortician meant to Spimoni’s Funeral Parlor and Crematorium.

  Her last boss, Mr. Alistair Farnsworth III, was just one in a long string of
funeral directors who had come to Strange Hollow only to be run out of town within a month.

  She understood why the town’s folk had a problem with an outcast mortician. It took a lot of PR work to handle final arrangements for a werewolf or a vampire and manage not to come across as a snob or highbrow.

  She figured that it was just how the men who dealt with grieving families and embalming bodies on a day-to-day basis were wired. In Strange Hollow the stringent regulations for taking care of bodily fluids and the bodies themselves couldn’t help with the perception that the man in charge of Spimoni’s was a cut above the rest of the town’s residents.

  “What did Jacinda say he was again?” Vigor, the mortician’s assistant, asked as he popped his head through the wall.

  Used to the ghoul who had the uncanny ability to startle people because he popped in whenever the mood struck him, Lyra flicked the feather duster over an onyx-encrusted urn. “A vegan vampire is what I heard,” Lyra responded. “It should be interesting having him work over a client. A vampire whose stomach churns and turns at the sight of blood?” She shook her head. The riot of blonde curls she’d fixed into a loose ponytail danced around her shoulders.

  “You mean entertaining.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t laugh at him.” She pointed at him. “I have a feeling Mr. Thorton will be different.”

  Vigor sighed. “That’s what you said about Farnsworth and Jakes too.” The ghoul’s wispy shadow shot across the wall. “Don’t worry, Vigor, this one will be different.” He poked his head out of the brass urn. His grizzled face turned a sickening shade of yellow as he pulled back. “Yeah. Right, and I’m the King of the Ghouls and you are Queen of the Forest.”

  Lyra’s tinkling laughter filled the salesroom. “I bow to you, your highness.”

  “Lyra, this isn’t funny. Ever since old man Spimoni caught the deadly part of a silver bullet in the heart, we haven’t had a steady undertaker to take care of our dead.” Vigor rose from the floor to loom over her. He brushed his ice-cold hand across her hair.

  Her mirth disintegrated. “That was before I moved here.” A flash in the pan vision jolted across her mind’s eye. She was lost in the woods. Alone. Frightened. Nearly paralyzed by a specter she couldn’t and didn’t want to put a face or name to. A shiver raced the length of her spine.