Shamira was pacing a trench in the area around the eighteenth green on Shane’s golf course. It was bad enough that she had been a vampire for less than two weeks, a sexual submissive (in practice) or less than one week and that both things weighed heavily on her mind. She had just finished baring her soul about one of the most traumatic events of her existence, and now she’d met her first ghost who had an unbelievable message for her.
“Bullshit!” she shouted again.
“I assure you, that is the case as it stands.”
“Samantha is even more skeptical about this mystical shit that I am! I mean was. She’s a born-again atheist, so why would she be seeing some kind of psychic –”
“Medium,” the ghost corrected her. “She is seeing a medium.”
“What are they saying now?” Banshee asked. Of the four beings who were not ghosts present, only Shamira and the necromancer Lillian could see the ghost. Shamira could only see him because he had come to see her. Shane and Banshee had to wait for interpretations from Lillian.
“Whatever!” Shamira blasted. “Why would she want to talk to me? I’m dead!”
“Undead,” Shane corrected her. “Technically and mystically, there’s a big dif–” He stopped when Shamira glared at him. Dominant or not, he really didn’t want to have her swinging fists at him.
“Dead, undead, why would she want to talk to me? What would make her do something like this?”
“According to the medium, your sister Samantha has been uneasy since your death. Did you and your sister have a special connection when alive?”
“Yeah, but that’s because she’s my damn sister! She was the only friend I had most of the time.”
Lillian looked quizzical. “Did she ever just call you out of the blue because you needed to talk? Did she ever seem to know what you were thinking?”
Shamira eyeballed the redhead. She’d been thinking those exact things when she’d seen her sister after Shamira’s funeral.
“I’m right, aren’t I? It’s not uncommon for siblings to have a special connection,”
“She said that she still feels your presence,” the ghost said, “and she wants to know if you have unfinished business here or if your soul is tortured for some reason. She wants to know why you don’t move on. Your sister seems quite tenacious.”
Lillian was translating for Shane, and he and Shamira shared a look. It was a look, on Shamira’s part, that said that she should have been allowed to pass on and that she shouldn’t be dealing with all this pain and doubt now. And Shane’s look was unrepentant. He felt that he had made the right call.
“If she’s gone this far,” Shamira said slowly, “then she won’t stop. Is this dangerous for her?”
“I don’t think so,” Lillian responded, “at least not physically. “But mentally, this could turn into an obsession.”
“Can you just go back and tell this medium to tell Samantha that I’ve moved on and she’s hallucinating.?” Shamira asked of the spectral visitor.
“I cannot actually lie,” the ghost said. “I just do not know how to answer this. These questions would be easy if you were actually dead or actually a ghost. Neither the medium nor I considered the notion of vampirism. This is kind of unprecedented for us. I should write a paper on it.” The ghost seemed actually excited.
“A paper?” Shamira asked.
Lillian smiled. “The spirit world uses mediums to produce a yearly newsletter.”
The ridiculousness of it actually made Shamira pause for a moment.
“Technically,” Shane said, “you have NOT moved on, your spirit IS still in this plane of existence, and your soul IS troubled.”
“Good point,” the ghost said, then vanished.
“No!” Shamira said, staring at the spot the ghost had just stood . . . er, floated. The glare returned to Shane.
“Sir,” Banshee said, interjecting herself between the two other vampires, “for a master who has been around for three and a half centuries, you sometimes show a profound lack of wisdom. And I say that with all due respect.”
“You and Renata,” Shane grumbled, staying on the other side of his assassin as Shamira contemplated obvious mayhem.
“She won’t stop digging around now!” Shamira growled. “What if she tries to dig up my body? Think about that? How do we explain it if I’m not in my damn coffin!”
“Your coffin is actually in storage –” Shane started to say. “Sorry. Not relevant.”
“I can’t let this happen. I’m not going to let this ghost give her the wrong impression. I won’t let her go through this,” Shamira said, more stammering than speaking. “I need to go to Huntsville. Find this medium and stop him or her from saying anything.”
“You don’t even know how to find the medium,” Shane pointed out, “and you have duties here.”
“Duties?! This is my sister we’re talking about! And I wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for you!”
“She has a point,” Lillian said. She looked nonplussed when Shane tried to glare at her. “I’m sorry sir, and you can punish me however you like for saying this, but your impetuousness is what got her killed in the first place, and now it’s set the ghost off to deliver a partially true message that may cause Shamira more problems and heartache.”
Shane grimaced. He wouldn’t punish Lillian for this. Well, not in a bad way or unless she asked for it like Renata had. His necromancer was right; his decisions had made life more difficult for Shamira, though bringing her over wasn’t something he could bring himself to regret. “If you really think that you can stop this from getting further out of hand, then do what you feel you must. Just remember the rules and risks about involving mortals in our affairs.”
Shamira nodded. “I need to go to Huntsville,” she said.
“I’ll alert the ruling authority in that region. It’s actually an alpha werewolf named Clyde. Yes, Clyde. No, don’t make fun of him.” Shane looked towards the house. “Take someone with you, just in case.” He raised his hand before Shamira could speak. “Yes, you can take Clara if you want. I’ll call you while you’re on the road and let you know where you can meet Clyde. It’s traditional to greet the ruler of an area when you’re in his or her territory. Clara has been an ambassador before, so follow her lead on dealing with him. Use it as a learning experience.”
“Thank you sir,” Shamira said. “I’ll straighten this out.”
“I believe you will,” Shane said.
That made Shamira feel better. For all her foibles and problems, it was nice for someone to give at least lip service to having confidence in her. She hurried over to the house, tearing to her room to pack a small suitcase. Then she realized she didn’t have a suitcase, so she went looking for Clara. The Native American was in the security control room, glancing at monitors and chatting with Raul about getting infrared sensors on the perimeter.
“Hey,” Shamira said, feeling like she should be out of breath.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Clara asked. We were scanning the golf course cameras earlier and you and Lillian were talking to thin air and Banshee and Shane were looking confused and –”
“I’ll explain on the way,” Shamira interrupted. “I need a suitcase to go see a werewolf about finding a medium in time so that my sister doesn’t think I’m not totally dead yet.”
“That didn’t make a lot of sense in any language I speak,” Clara said with a grin.
Shamira slowed down, feigned taking a deep breath, then explained what had happened with the ghost. “Shane said I could take someone with me and I was wondering –”
Clara grabbed Shamira by the arm and pulled her to a large closet that was chalked full of community luggage. “Grab a small bag, go pack, and meet me at the garage,” she said. Clara looked excited to be going on a trip. “Meet me in the garage, and pick a car that screams ‘redneck.’ Clyde will be impressed, and it’ll make things go smoother.” She kissed Shamira on the cheek, then grabbed a suitcase and vanished.
Shamira packed in record time, just grabbing handfuls of stuff out of the drawers of her room and realizing how little practical clothing she owned. Except for her sweats, she didn’t have much ‘driving clothes.’ ‘Maybe that’s not what I need?’ she thought. She grabbed her western wear, including hat and boots and whips and was ready to go. She looked pretty redneck herself. She bolted to the armory, picked up a specialty Desert Eagle and gun-belt, then headed to the garage and had a look around.
“How many cars does he fucking own?” she asked of no one, walking through the airplane-hanger-sized structure. “Hummer? Nah, too pretentious. No sporty cars, no over-priced SUV. He’s probably die if he saw the Prius.” Her eyes stopped when they hit the blue, mint-condition 1973 Plymouth Roadrunner. “Ooh, momma likes,” she said, tracing her hand over the hood.
“So we’re taking that one?” Clara asked from the door.
Shamira just grinned and threw her suitcase into the trunk, closing it after Clara had done the same. Then they were off, with Clara acting as navigator. She’d apparently made the trip several times and knew her way.
“Okay, first rule of diplomacy is to know that every area ruler isn’t the same. This guy we’re meeting, Clyde, is a hell of a lot smarter than most people think when they first meet him, and he cultivates that image. He wouldn’t have held on to his territory as long as he has.”
“If holding territories is so damn dangerous, why do people want the job?”
“Power for some, money for others. The rulers and lords get a small amount of tithing from the magical beings in his or her area. And some people, like Shane, really just believe in keeping the peace.”
“And Clyde? What’s his motivation?”
“He’s a good guy most of the time. He seems to find the whole thing . .. amusing.”
“Yeah, this whole Disney magical world crap is a riot,” Shamira replied bitterly.
Clara looked slightly slightly saddened. “So nothing about your current situation is even vaguely pleasant?”