Page 4 of The Grave Robber

“And a favor to ask.”

Intrigue won out. Damn it. I put the pen down. My drawingsucked, anyway. “Don’t tell me that rash came back. That was a one-time deal,buddy.” I held up an index finger to drive my point home. “I smelled likementhol ointment for three days.” That stuff would not wash off.

“What? No.” Jason scooted closer to shush me. “My invitationwasn’t one hundred percent altruistic.”

I blinked at him, waiting for more info.

“I have a friend in trouble.”

Dread slithered up my spine, leaving a trail of ice in itswake. Jason was the most down-to-earth guy I knew. He didn’t have amanipulative bone in his body. Why would he invite me to Idaho without givingme the real reason unless he was certain I would flat-out refuse? And there wasonly one reason I would do that.

“Your kind of trouble.”

Oh, hell no.

I was done. No more dead people. No more hellhounds tryingto cuddle in the middle of the night. And no more asshole demons attempting toworm their way into my brain. That was the plan, anyway, and I was sticking toit. Through sheer force of will, I held the fact that my abilities followed meno matter how far I ran at bay. Swimming in a luxurious state of denial. And Iwould’ve stayed there if not for the kid.

I glanced at him again, wondering how many shots he couldtake before getting intimately acquainted with the floor. Apparently, hewondered the same thing. He downed yet another shot, coughed up his left lung,then raised his hand for another.

Thankfully, the bartender cut him off with a warning shakeof his head.

“Vause,” Jason said.

“Vigil,” I said back.

He sighed loudly enough to be heard over the din. “Eric.”

“Jason.” He would run out of names soon. Then where would webe?

“I’ll never understand how you do what you do.”

“I’m on vacation,” I lied. I wasn’t on vacation. I was done.Canada was calling my name, and I had every intention of answering. Right afterI saw to the kid at the bar.

“It’s just…the stuff you said the other night when Icalled...”

I started drawing again, desperately trying to get theshading right. “I’m still on vacation.”

“Can you really see that shit?”

“Yeah, but I’m on vacation.” It would help if I knew what Iwas drawing. And if I wasn’t drawing it on a napkin.

“Ghosts and demons and hellhounds?”

I stopped and put all my frustration into a singleaccusatory glare. “When you called, I was about six bottles too many into areally rough night. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But seriously. Hellhounds?” He looked around to make sure noone was listening before continuing, his tone conspiracy-theory soft. “Like,they’re a real thing?”

“They’re really quite sweet once you get to know them.”

“And the grim reaper is real? ’Cause I’m not gonna lie, Ihaven’t been able to sleep since you told me.”

“Right? And you haven’t even met her.”

He reared back in his chair as if I’d told him the world wasabout to end. Or that he had a hair out of place. “Her?”

“She’s a peach. No, wait.” I squinted in thought, thenamended my statement. “She’s like a deadly peach. Like a peach with a claymoreinside.”

Jason chose that moment to get offended. “All this time,dude. All these years, and you never told me what was going on.”

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