Page 51 of Grave Humor

Oh boy. Right. He had a scanner capable of identifying something’s nature. “Why do you want their power?”

“I miss my wife.”

In a way, my heart broke for the man. I’d still been in school when his wife had passed away. She’d stayed dead, and she rested in the cemetery above. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too. With the power of three divines, I can bring her back. Maybe I can even use that angel.”

Nothing could bring back the dead, not really. Once gone, a soul was gone, heading for its next life or some new adventure beyond the gates of death. That was the one thing everyone agreed on. Vampires were undead, but the soul in the body wasn’t the body’s original soul; that had moved on, perhaps to another vampire, perhaps somewhere else. I wasn’t sure about what happened with the other forms of undead, but death didn’t give up its prizes.

I believed in that.

So did Eoghan.

“Now that you understand, I will take you up to the cemetery for a breath of fresh air and a chance to use the facilities and eat, but then you will return here and keep the dead company until my work here is done. Don’t worry. No one will find you here.”

Like hell they wouldn’t, but I’d wait before I used the card up my sleeve.

If I wanted to summon the devil himself, I’d need to either be lucky or use the right insults—and get the hell out of the way while making Director Hammel take the fall for my sacrilege. And if he left me alone with skeletons and their weapons, well, was it really my fault if I did some tomb robbing to stop the bastard?

His wife deserved to rest in peace, as did the gods and angel interred within the catacomb’s hallowed halls.

Twelve

Why would you put Jesus in a bucket?

Ghostly fog rose from the cemetery and enshrouded the tombstones, casting a pale yellow and green light over the ground.

Nope, that wasn’t spooky, either. Not at all.

I contemplated screaming, and I’d do my best to wake the devil himself in Georgia when I did it. I drew in a deep breath to do just that when the smoky fog swirled, and a dark shape prowled towards us. The scream stuck in my throat.

Orange eyes burned in the darkness.

“This way,” Director Hammel ordered, and he gestured towards the nearby building that served as the main utility building for the cemetery.

Did he not see the fog, the lights, or the big, black shape coming closer? My mouth dropped open, I spluttered, and at an utter loss, I followed, keeping an eye on the beast lurking within the fog.

I’d heard legends of the black dog of death, something that spanned several cultures and mythologies. If I recalled correctly, the Maya had one in the form of Xolotl. I’d found that tidbit of history class interesting.

The Maya had a lot of interesting gods—nasty gods, gods capable of raining destruction on the Earth. The British had one, too. Their black dog of death had been born out of superstition. Did Anubis count as a black dog of death?

“As a matter of fact, yes,” the devil announced from behind me.

I screamed, and Director Hammel spun around.

The devil placed a flaming blue hand on my shoulder. “Shh. You know he doesn’t like the screaming.”

“Jesus Christ in a bucket!”

“Why would you put Jesus in a bucket?” Lucy asked, his tone a mixture of amused and curious. “You’ve taught your companion bad habits, and he made demands of me, and I found this so entertaining I decided to comply—and to prevent the foolish from doing foolish things. Might I borrow that for a moment?”

That?

The devil lifted his hand from my shoulder and gestured to the book I carried.

I offered the book to the devil.

“What are you doing?” Director Hammel demanded.