Page 60 of Tested
Chapter Eighteen
Connor
David texts me to say he’s learned something important but wants to tell me in person. That’s a good thing, but I’m in the car with Smith and we have an appointment.
The kind of appointment I can’t miss.
We’re meeting a necromancer at the Hollywood Forever cemetery, and unless I want to piss off a fairly powerful supernatural being, I’ll be there. Trajan’s always warned me about messing around with necromancers, but I need answers, and sometimes the fastest way is to pose those questions to the dead.
Smith was weirdly reluctant to come along, but once he was in, he took charge and insisted on driving. Cruising down Santa Monica Boulevard, we don’t talk much. He’s wearing the kind of jacket and pants an aging hippie might drag out to prove he’s respectable. Except for the flipflops. Must be a shark shifter thing.
The police radio under the dash of his Jeep Cherokee chatters away – the LAPD never sits around bored – while I try to compose the kind of text that will get David to tell me what he’s discovered without actually asking him.
David shuts me down at about the same time Smith pulls into a parking lot, right past a sign that says Hollywood Forever Cemetery.
Hollywood Forever.
The cemetery is closed for the night, and I wonder whether the LAPD will charge us with trespassing if we get busted. Being designated Supernatural Liaison might have enough cred to keep us from a citation, but I’m pretty sure a PI’s license does not.
“The necromancer’s name is Sunbeam and she says we’re meeting at the mausoleum by Chris Cornell.” I pull up a map of the cemetery on my phone.
“I know it,” he says, and there’s a grim note to his tone that catches my attention. I don’t know. Maybe the guy just doesn’t like dead things.
We climb out of the Cherokee and Smith takes off as if he does know exactly where he’s going. I follow him on the paved drive through the manicured grounds. I’m telling myself I’m more curious than nervous, until a flash of movement makes me jump.
A cat leaps from the top of one of the mausoleums and lands on the ground, tail switching.
“What is it?” Smith asks.
I point at the cat and he laughs softly. Now that I know to look for them, there are cats everywhere. Cats and white marble statuary and tall palm trees casting distorted shadows in the moonlight.
We’ve walked maybe five minutes when the silhouette of a man catches my attention. I reach for the weapon I shouldn’t be carrying, and all my muscles tense.
Smith doesn’t even ask, this time. He just laughs as we pass the statue of Chris Cornell, grunge god.
Okay, that’s enough. “We must be close.”
“Right here.” Smith points behind Mr. Cornell, where a large pool lies glassy and still under the moonlight.
There’s a mausoleum on an island in the center of the pool, a larger version of the chest high temples of the dead that are scattered around the cemetery. White marble steps lead from the mausoleum to the water, and a young woman sits on the lowest step.
Her feet are submerged and she has a cigarette in one hand. Periodically flicking the ash and kicking up swirls of water, she watches us approach.
Smith stops, fists notched on his hips. “Sunbeam?”
“Aye aye, Captain.” She kicks harder, splashing water in our general direction. Her aura, if you can call it that, is a thin outline that’s not so much black as it is the total absence of light around her.
“Should I roll up my pants?” I ask.
Smith ignores the question. He walks along the perimeter of the pool, and it doesn’t take long before we come to a little bridge to the center island. Another statue startles me, and without breaking stride, Smith says, “It’s one of the Ramones.”
Laughing at myself, I keep walking.
The bridge is blocked with a sawhorse and a “Closed” sign. Ignoring it, we walk around and come up on Sunbeam from behind. She’s still splashing her feet in the water, and if it makes her nervous to have two guys creeping up on her, it doesn’t show.
“You can stop now.”
Something in her tone of voice locks my feet in place on the top step so sharply I almost lose my balance. Smith is at my elbow and just as stuck.
