Accidentally Dead, Again Part 5

And then there was silence from the woman. So chilling, so still, it left an acrid aftertaste in Phoebe's mouth. She ran her tongue over her lips in nervous contemplation.

What the h.e.l.l was going on? Demons and werewolves, mind reading and teleportation. Vampiric one-night stands gone horribly wrong, and blood drinking and a mystery woman with a rash. All of it began to crash down around her. Phoebe fought to hang on to the here and now, clenching her teeth and willing herself to stay conscious.

No one moved. Not even Nina, who watched the woman with concerned eyes while she ran soothing circles over her skin. Mark's labored breathing became the only sound in the room, a harsh but rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

Sam's eyes flashed worry. He leaned back in toward her again, his next words filled with the frustration she knew he was experiencing. "Not long until what? I don't know what you mean!"

Like a shooting iron ball from a cannon, the woman bolted upright. "Until you diiieeee!" she screamed in an agonizing wail before collapsing.

Yet, this time when she fell back to the couch, she didn't lay still. She writhed in an excruciating dance of horrified screams, slapping at her flesh as though her skin had suddenly become an insufferable suit of armor she had to rid herself of.

Her arms flailed, clapping against Sam's skin when he attempted to hold her still. She tore at him, rearing up and bucking against his chest. Red welts began to appear on Sam's ruddy cheeks where she scratched at him like a wild animal.

But Sam held her firm, refusing to let go, forgetting his own pain in favor of this stranger's safety.

Nina came around the arm of the couch in a flash of color, placing her hands on either side of the woman's head, hovering near her, whispering soothing words. Her eyes sought Wanda's from over the top of Sam's head, and they held a frantic question.

But Mark voiced it when he yelled with a terrified, trembling squeal, "What. The. h.e.l.l?"

"I don't know how much longer we can hold her, Wanda!" Nina howled. "What the f.u.c.k is going on?"

Wanda shoved Mark behind her with so much force he toppled backward, crashing into their small antique buffet and slamming against the wall. "Stay back!" Wanda ordered over her shoulder at him.

But all eyes fell to the woman when she roared, her mouth falling open with the force of the howl's ejection from her throat. It was so much like The Exorcist, Phoebe, even in her heightened state of terror, wondered if Mark wouldn't pa.s.s out from the fear. She rushed to his side, scooping him up like he was nothing more than a dirty sock left lying on the floor. She propped him up against the wall, then flew across the room to aid Nina and Sam.

Her eyes met Nina's over the woman's screams, and in that moment, she saw the tiniest hint of admiration for her. Phoebe wrapped her arms around the woman's legs, throwing her torso on her to keep her from crashing to the floor.

Yet keeping her from harm turned out to be the least of their worries.

She spewed one final scream of agony, long and eerily high, and then there was a crack, brittle and harsh, punctuating the room in an exclamation point, followed by an ear-splitting tear.

Of flesh.

And bone.

Like some weird time-lapse photography you might see on the Discovery Channel, the woman's hair went from stunningly blue black to gray. The strands became wispy and drifted from her head like cobwebs, floating off and disappearing.

Horror washed over Phoebe when her flesh began to fall away from her snapping bones, turning to ash, crumbling as though she were made of stone.

She was withering, Phoebe's brain screamed, aging and decomposing right before their eyes.

Mark's high-pitched scream of fear was the last thing Phoebe heard before the woman turned to dust.

Phoebe fought the dizzy rushes of panic and sank back on the couch, catching sight of the pile of ashes on her couch.

Now that would definitely leave a stain.

CHAPTER 4.

"Sam?"

"Phoebe."

"Let me clean those scratches," Phoebe offered from behind him, pushing her eyes downward to the floor to avoid the strange l.u.s.t his broad back stirred in her. This was without a doubt the most inappropriate of times to find she was physically attracted to a man. "She really got you good."

He lifted his dark head from his position over the sink and looked into the mirror; his left eyebrow rose in response to his lack of reflection. "I think that's taken care of," he remarked, dry and tired. "At least it feels like it is. I can't tell for sure because I can't see myself."

Phoebe's head shot up, her eyes straying over Sam's shoulder to glimpse his jaw. He had no reflection, but she did. Wow. Sam also had no scratches. Her jaw unhinged much the way it would at a half-off MAC makeup sale.

"Yay, vampire," he drawled.

The left side of her mouth lifted in a smirk in response. "Yeah. Booyah. I'd get my pom-poms and make up a cheer or something, but my thinking cap's in the shop right now."

Sam rubbed a knuckle over his forehead. "I want to be freaked out. I should be freaked out. Yet I find myself not only horrified but amazed that I just self-healed." He shook his head in bewilderment, turning it from side to side with short jerks.

Phoebe reached out to run a finger over the place where a deep scratch had cut across his sharp cheekbone in an angry slash just twenty minutes ago.

It was gone and in its place, the clear, pale reminder of their new state. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back, tucking it under her arm with a stern mental reminder to her fingers to quit straying where they didn't belong. "Mark mentioned what you do for a living. That you're more amazed by something so astounding, so unbelievable rather than drooling and rocking in a corner ranks you high on the Trekkie list of all-time sci-fi geeks. I imagine you'll be given your own Enterprise as a reward for stoicism."

Sam chuckled, deep and resonant in her small, mint green and white bathroom with the mosaic tiled floor and claw-foot antique tub. "I think my own s.p.a.ceship isn't as out of the realm of my possibilities after what's happened tonight."

The easy moment between them pa.s.sed and reality settled back into the pit of her stomach. "I think you're right. So why do you suppose I can see my reflection but you can't see yours?"

"The Great and Powerful Vampire Oz decided it was more likely you'd miss seeing yourself in the mirror than I would?"

"Follow the yellow brick road," she murmured.

Sam ran his wide hand over his hair and turned to face her. "Is Mark all right?"

Phoebe had changed into a pair of jeans and a long camel-colored pullover sweater. She plucked at the front of it, guilt for exposing Mark to this without even a little warning at a premium. "Define all right. If you mean does he still know who he is and what year we're in, then, yes. He's all right. Was picking that information out of all the other babbling he's doing easy? Then, no. He's not all right."

Sam grimaced, his concern for others warming her from the inside. "Will he be?"

She managed to smile up at him. "Mark's not as weak as he appears right now. It takes him about a week to get over even a horror film that's just a little scary. When we saw A Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time, I thought he'd never sleep again. But he did-it took the lights on and some Prozac, I think, but he did. So I'm guessing with this being a reality, it might take some time for it to sink in."

"So at least two weeks' recuperation?" Sam teased.

"And a few hours at a good day spa with an extra-long ma.s.sage."

Sam gazed down at her, his chocolaty eyes intense, his scent warm and inviting. "I'm sorry, Phoebe. None of this would have happened if not for me."

Phoebe's lips pursed. "I'm trying to be the bigger person and not blame. But if forced to call names, none of this would have happened if not for Raging Bull."

"Oh, stop trying to b.u.t.ter me the f.u.c.k up by calling me nice things behind my back and get out in the living room," Nina cackled in her ear, making her jump. Nina stopped short when her gaze went to the mirror. "Holy s.h.i.t. Wouldn't it just figure that out of the two of you, Glamour Puss Barbie can still see her reflection? This is officially most-us f.u.c.ked-upp-ed-us. Somethin' just ain't sittin' right. You two are like outsider vampire."

Sam barked a laugh-one Phoebe didn't share. "You're so inclusive, Nina. It makes me squishy on the inside."

"Yeah? Well, save that s.h.i.t for later. Right now, Phoebe's BFF found a piece of paper with information on it or some s.h.i.t when he was sweeping up the dead chick. He's pretty productive in his heightened state of freak. I should bring him back to the castle and let him dust the s.h.i.t out of my torture rack. All those d.a.m.ned little nails are a b.i.t.c.h to clean around."

Phoebe's eyes narrowed in disgust at how cavalier she was being, but she pushed her way past Nina who stomped off to help Wanda in the kitchen and headed toward the living room, where Mark had indeed donned his ap.r.o.n, feather duster, and Swiffer. "Mark?"

He held up a hand for dramatic pause, hitching his jaw. "Do. Not. I'm just not ready." He ran the Swiffer along the underside of the chest they used as a coffee table with a frantic swipe.

"We have to talk sometime," she coaxed, smiling sweetly at him.

Mark threw up his middle finger at her. "Like. h.e.l.l. We don't ever have to talk about vampires and blood and fangs and women who cremate on command on my Jennifer Convertible!"

Phoebe winced, deciding on another tack. "You know what this is like?"

"A Wes Craven movie?" he squeaked.

"It's like an adventure, Mark. Remember how just the other day we were sitting around over chocolatinis all wishing for something to jump-start the humdrum rut we're in?"

Mark planted his hands on his Dockers-clad hips, his eyes wide. "Jump-start? This was more like being attached to a live electrical wire and jumping into the pool at the Y. When I said we needed a break from our routine, I was thinking more along the lines of, I dunno ... spelunking or ceramic cla.s.ses, Phoebe. Not a dead woman and Emo-licious in there!"

"You know what else this is like?"

His finger shot up to stab at the air between them. "Do not give me one of your crazy soap opera references. This isn't like anything on Chances or Connections or even the thank-G.o.d-someone-put-it-out-of-its-long-overdue-misery Edge of Eternity."

He was right. Even the Edge of Eternity couldn't top this. "Did Wanda and Nina have the chance to explain this to you?"

His head bobbed vigorously. "Oh, they explained. Yes, they did. I heard all about their accidents and puppy dogs, dentists, exotic cats, and trips to h.e.l.l. I learned cute new catchphrases I'm sure would be trending topics for crazy on Twitter given an opportunity. I heard, miss. Oh, yes, I did!"

She shot him a mournful glance, clasping her hands together in front of her. "So you get that I'm a vampire now? That, among other things, I'll never eat tuna tartar again?"

"Don't be such a silly. You'll be too busy drinking blood and reading minds to partake in my insignificant tuna tartar." Mark swatted at her with the feather duster, his words squeaky and watery.

Overwhelmed, Phoebe threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing his soft middle tight. She pressed her ear to his heartbeat, steady and sure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen or to get you involved. I'm still not even sure how it happened. I'll make the trauma up to you somehow. Maybe a facial or a ma.s.sage? Wait. I know. I'll take bathroom duty for the next year."

Mark sighed against the top of her head. "How about a good brain bleach? You know, to wipe the G.o.d-awful images from my head?"

There was no making up for the kind of trauma she'd inflicted on him-even if she had no way of knowing it was going to happen to begin with. "I'll think of something. Promise. But until then, I really need you to stick by me this time. Now more than ever."

His grating sigh penetrated her eardrum, but he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Where else would I stick if not to you?" Mark patted her on the back and deliberately set her aside. "Now get off of me and look at this piece of paper I found over by the door where Vampirella was. She must have had it on her. It has O-Tech's letterhead on it." He pulled out a wrinkled dirty note from the pocket of his pants, palming it to her. "Go decipher it with that hunk of a man and let me process. And by process I mean someone's going to have their eye shadows alphabetized when all's said and done tonight."

Phoebe let her shoulders relax for a moment, relieved. Mark was organizing. A sure sign he was officially on the road to recovery.

"And take this." He handed her one of Optimus's empty cans of cat food with a pink Tupperware top. "It's the woman's remains. She deserves a decent burial. Whoever-whatever she is-was. Oh, dear G.o.d," he whimpered, promptly returning to his cleaning spree.

"I'll take that," Sam said from behind her, making heated chills climb her spine just by the sound of his voice. "It should be up to me to spread her ashes. Whatever her reasons, she came to find me, and I can't help but think she knew what her fate was. She was warning us."

She handed him the can, avoiding his fingers because they were probably sources of yet more tingles of awareness. "You're very honorable." And hot. s.e.xual napalm hot.

"She was trying to help us, I think. It's the least I can do."

"And she was our only connection to what happened with this new unexplored vampire power I seem to have acquired. A power we don't know whether you have or not, unless you're feeling adventurous and want to give teleportation a whirl."

Sam frowned, running his fingers over the dark stubble on his chin. His long, lean, well-manicured fingers. "It looks that way."

"Which means I should never think about a psyche ward again," she joked. She had to or she'd cry. Or dry heave. Whatever.

Taking her by the shoulders, Sam held her eyes with his. His gaze was serious and troubled. But that wasn't what garnered most of her attention. His touch was, and it left her unnerved. Just as she'd suspected it would. "Phoebe, look. I promise you, I'll figure this out. This mess is my fault, and I'll clean it up."

"Will you change before you do? I imagine that dress could be uncomfortable to clean anything in. Especially a mess as big as the one we're in."

His response was a chuckle, deep and rich, leaving a warm, resonant ring in her ears. "I promise to find some man-pants soon."

"I really thought you were a cross-dresser," she responded by way of an apology for labeling him.

Sam smirked, the dimple in his chin lickable. "In hindsight, I almost wish that was the case. But alas, I'm just a secure guy who isn't afraid to go for the laugh. This all happened at a Halloween party."

"I heard. That woman was your date."

"One I can't remember much about other than the way she looked."

"One-night stands are like that. Nameless. But I imagine it wasn't her name that attracted you to her." A stab of unwarranted, totally unexplained jealousy pinged her gut. It deserved absolutely no attention for its pettiness.

Sam averted his gaze and focused on a spot just above her shoulder. "So you know about that night, then?"

Phoebe flapped her hands dismissively, then clasped her ponytail, dragging her fingers through it. "No details. And no judgments. We all get lonely."

Sam paused for a moment, his eyes scanning her face. "Lonely is clearly a dangerous thing these days."

"It's not just the clap the singles of the world have to contend with anymore," Phoebe agreed wryly, then handed him the slip of paper, forcing her focus to remain on answers, not Sam's bedroom bunny. "Mark found this when he was stress cleaning. She must have dropped it on her way in when she collapsed. It's from O-Tech."

Sam held it up to the light and read it with a frown, the lines on his wide forehead deepening.

Fear came back in a jolt to her gut. "What does it say?"

"The letters TDB. It's my letterhead. It has my name on it, but it's not my handwriting." Sam held it up for her to see.

"What do you think TDB stands for?"

Sam scratched his head with lean fingers. "I have no clue."

Phoebe noted the scrawl of the mysterious initials was large and flowery, maybe even feminine. "What do you do at O-Tech?"

He gazed right into her eyes so intently Phoebe blinked. "I'm one of a team of scientists there. I'm an entomologist in research and development. O-Tech deals in pest control-among other things."

"Bugs?"

"Many winged things. Yes."