Queen of the Dead

They were the paranormal equivalent of rabid environmentalists, apparently — people who elevated spirits above the living, almost to the point of worshiping them as deities or emissaries of such, and refused to consider a spirit’s departure from this existence a good thing under any circumstances.

I wasn’t completely on that side either, obviously. Technically, the Order and I did the same work. I just did it by finding out what was keeping the spirit here and helping him or her move on.

“Speaking of which”—she grinned at me—“I think we have company.”

I looked through the tangle of branches and leaves in front of us at the configuration of boxes. I could barely see them in the dark. The moonlight was fading, and the sun would start coming up soon.

A faint glow had started to appear in the open space amid the five boxes, almost directly on top of the dirty pillowcase filled with most of the silverware. Mina had spread the rest of the spoons around inside the circle made by the boxes in an effort to distract Mrs. Ruiz. We were counting on Mrs. Ruiz’s obsession with her treasure — no way would she want to lose even one of those spoons — to keep her distracted. Hopefully, trying to pick them up again — for all I knew she might succeed, she was really strong — would keep her so occupied she didn’t notice the trap closing around her until it was too late.

This had apparently been Mina’s plan before. Lure Mrs. Ruiz into the living room — a location with multiple exits, unlike the bedroom where the silverware had been hidden — and contain her there. Except I’d needed saving first andshe’d stepped in. I owed her for that, at least.

Mina tensed next to me. “Ready?” she asked.

My role was simple. Flip the switch on the generator, guide Mina if Mrs. Ruiz tried to move outside the boxes, and then run like hell when it was all done because apparently there was no way the cops would miss seeing the light show that ensued.

No. “Yes,” I said.

She nodded, a motion I sensed more than saw in the dark. She rose into a crouching position. Though I couldn’t see it, I knew she’d have the control box in her hand. She’d showed it to me when we unloaded everything from her car. It was a simple device that would trigger the boxes on the ground to open and divide up the energy that was Mrs. Ruiz into five equal parts.

She couldn’t do it too soon, before Mrs. Ruiz had fully materialized, or it wouldn’t take.

I watched intently, feeling the intensity thrumming through Mina next to me. She was determined to make this work.

The pattern of Mrs. Ruiz’s housedress solidified into something resembling real fabric rather than a projection of the same, at about the same time she noticed the spoons on the ground. Or so I assumed. She bent down to try to pick them up, and Mina nudged me.

I snapped the switch on the generator, which started up with what felt like a deafening roar, though that was probably more because it was so close to us and I was dreading getting caught.

Mrs. Ruiz looked up sharply and spun around to face us and the source of the noise, moving quickly for a woman of her size.

“Now,” I said to Mina.

She didn’t react for a second, and I realized even in the slight movement of Mrs. Ruiz turning around, Mina had lostsight of her. Damn. She really couldn’t see them very well.

“Mina…”

She pressed the button, and the split tops on the boxes cracked open, sending bolts of yellowish-white light toward the sky.

Oh, hell. There was no way we were getting out of here undetected.

As I watched, the five separate beams converged on Mrs. Ruiz, splitting her into pieces, like a photograph broken apart into sections. Her face was still frozen in that expression of fury.

Then the beams began to retract slowly, each pulling with it the blur of colors that had once been a part of Mrs. Ruiz.

Loud voices came from the front of the house, followed immediately by the sound of car doors opening and running steps.

“Mina,” I whispered urgently.

“Wait,” she said, her face aglow in the fading beams, intensity and concentration wrinkling her brow.

“Mina!”

She fumbled in her bag and came out with a handful of something. She snapped the something open, and our hiding place glowed green. Glow sticks, but the big professional kind, like for spelunking or whatever. Then she stood and chucked them as hard as she could away from us and our escape path. They spun and arced away from us like mini-UFOs. A couple of them smacked into the side of the house with a loud thwack.

The running footsteps slowed and then stopped. A flashlight passed over the bushes that hid us and then moved in the direction of the glow sticks.

“Now,” she whispered. She pressed another button, and the top of the boxes snapped shut, eliminating the last of glow of the beams.

I snapped off the generator and abandoned it, per plan, and she snagged the cords of the boxes, hauling them over her shoulder.

We bolted through the yard, heading for the street behind the house and the block beyond it, where we’d parked her car, a beat-up Malibu that could have been a twin to my Dodge in all its signs of having lived a rough life.

“Hey!” The first shout came from behind us, and I put on a burst of speed. I did not want to explain this to my mother.

I looked back to see how Mina was doing with the additional burden of her equipment and found her veering away from me.

What the hell?

She must have felt my gaze on her because she paused just long enough to look over her shoulder and give a jaunty salute that I could barely see in the faint light. I started to turn, to go after her, but doubling back would have put me on a direct collision course with all the nice officers chasing us with their flashlights and, likely, guns.

No, thanks.

Damn it. I knew I should have driven myself.

I stuck to the shadows, and instead of heading for the street, as we’d planned, I moved through side yards and backyards of the homes surrounding the Gibley Mansion. Mina, after all, had the keys to her car. Getting to the Malibuwould do me no good without those.

Dogs barked, and I tripped repeatedly over garden hoses, kids’ toys, and lawn chairs. But I stayed on my feet and kept moving. The historical society apparently forbade fences in this part of town, thank God.

After about six blocks, I had to stop. I bent in half in the side yard of a Victorian monstrosity that had boarded-up windows, trying to breathe without throwing up. The cuts on my back from my earlier encounter with Mrs. Ruiz throbbed and burned.

What was Mina doing?

Leaving you to fend for yourself now that she has what she needed. Duh. The Alona-like voice in my head was dismissive.

I tried to listen for the sound of anyone behind me, but I couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of my heart and my panicked panting for air.

Apparently, my arrangement with Mina, what there’d been of it, was now over.

Never trust a mysterious girl who shows up in your room in the middle of the night, no matter how much you may or may not have in common. It seemed a simple — and obvious—conclusion now, standing here, alone, in the dark, miles from home.

I waited another long few moments, still catching mybreath and trying to pull together my thoughts. The dogs in the neighborhood quieted down, and I didn’t hear sirens.

Not this time. Either they’d caught Mina or given up looking for me.

She’d lied about giving me a way to contact the Order. Which, now that I thought about it, only made sense.

The version of Alona in my head made another disdainful noise. Of course.