Chapter 4
The view from the top of the mountain was worth the hike. Trees stretched out and out to the horizon. We stood in a circle of forest that showed no hand of man as far as the eye could see. That first blush of green was more pronounced here. But the thing you noticed most was the lavender color of redbuds through the dark trees. Redbuds are such delicate things that if they came out in the height of summer they'd get lost in all the leaves and flowers, but here with nothing but naked trees the redbuds were eye-catching. A few dogwoods had started to bloom, adding their white to the lavender. Spring in the Ozarks, ah.
"The view is magnificent," I said.
"Yes," Stirling said, "it is, isn't it?"
My black Nikes were covered in rust-colored dirt. The raw, wounded earth filled the mountaintop. This hilltop had probably been just as pretty as the rest once. There was an arm bone sticking out of the dirt next to my feet. The lower arm, judging from the length. The bones were slender and still connected by a dry remnant of tissue.
Once I'd seen one bone, my eyes found more to look at. It was like one of those magic-eye pictures where you stare and stare and suddenly see what's there. I saw them all, studding the ground like hands reaching up through a river of rust.
There were a few splintered coffins, their broken halves spilling out into the air, but mostly it was just bones. I knelt and put my hands palm down on the ruined earth. I tried to get some sense of the dead. There was something faint and far-off like a whiff of perfume, but it was no good. In the bright spring sunlight I couldn't work my... magic. Raising the dead isn't evil, but it does require darkness. I don't know why.
I stood up, brushing my hands against the coverall, trying to clean the red dust away. Stirling was standing at the edge of the naked dirt staring off into space. There was a distance to his gaze that said he wasn't admiring the trees.
He spoke without looking at me, "I can't bully you, can I, Ms. Blake?"
"Nope," I said.
He turned to me with a smile, but it left his eyes empty, haunted. "I invested everything I had into this project. Not just my money, but clients' money. Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Blake?"
"If the bodies up here are Bouviers, you're screwed."
"How eloquently you put it."
"Why are we up here alone, Mr. Stirling? Why all the skullduggery?"
He took a deep breath of the gentle air and said, "I want you to say they aren't Bouvier ancestors even if they are." He looked at me when he said it. Watched my face.
I smiled and shook my head. "I won't lie for you."
"Can't you make the zombies lie?"
"The dead are very honest, Mr. Stirling. They don't lie."
He took a step towards me, face very sincere. "My entire future is riding on you, Ms. Blake."
"No, Mr. Stirling, your future rides on the dead at your feet. Whatever comes out of their mouths will decide it."
He nodded. "I suppose that is fair."
"Fair or not, it's the truth."
He nodded again. Some light had gone out of his face, like someone had turned down the power. The lines in his face were suddenly clearer. He aged ten years in a few seconds. When he met my gaze, his dramatic eyes were woeful.
"I'll give you a piece of the profits, Ms. Blake. You could be a billionaire in a few years."
"You know bribing won't work."
"I knew it wouldn't work just a few minutes after we met, but I had to try."
"You really do believe this is the Bouvier family plot, don't you?" I asked.
He took a deep breath and walked away from me to gaze off at the trees. He wasn't going to answer my question, but he didn't have to. He wouldn't be so desperate if he didn't believe he was screwed.
"Why won't the Bouviers sell?"
He glanced back at me. "I don't know."
"Look, Stirling, there are just the two of us up here, nobody to impress, no witnesses. You know why they won't sell. Just tell me."
"I don't know, Ms. Blake," he said.
"You're a control freak, Mr. Stirling. You've overseen every detail of this deal. You have personally seen that every 'i' was dotted, every 't' crossed. This is your baby. You know everything about the Bouviers and their problem. Just tell me."
He just looked at me. His pale eyes were opaque, empty as a window with no one home. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell me. Why?
"What do you know about the Bouviers?"
"The locals think they're witches. They do a little fortune-telling, a few harmless spells." There was something about the way he said it, too casual, too offhand. Made me want to meet the Bouviers in person.
"They any good at magic?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?"
I shrugged. "Just curious. Is there a reason why it had to be this mountain?"
"Look at it." He spread his arms wide. "It's perfect. It is perfect."
"It is a great view," I said. "But wouldn't the view be equally good over on that mountaintop? Why did you have to have this one? Why did you have to have the Bouviers' mountain?"
His shoulders slumped; then he straightened and glared at me. "I wanted this land, and I got it."
"You got it. Trick is, Raymond, can you keep it?"
"If you are not going to help me, then don't taunt me. And don't call me Raymond."
I opened my mouth to say something else and my beeper went off. I fished under the coverall for it, and checked the number. "Shit," I said.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm being paged by the police. I've got to get to a phone."
He frowned at me. "Why would the police be calling you?"
So much for being a household name. "I'm the legal vampire executioner for a three-state area. I'm attached to the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team."
He was looking very steadily at me. "You surprise me, Ms. Blake. Not many people do that."
"I need to find a phone."
"I have a portable with a battery pack at the bottom of this damned hill."
"Great. I'm ready to head down if you are."
He did one last turn, taking in that breath-stealing billion-dollar view. "Yes, I'm ready to go down."
It was an interesting choice of words, a Freudian slip you might say. Stirling had wanted this land for some perverse reason. Maybe because he was told he couldn't have it. Some people are like that. The more you say no, the more they want you. It reminded me of a certain master vampire I knew.
Tonight I'd walk the land, visit with the dead. It would probably be tomorrow night before I actually tried to raise them. If the police matter was pressing enough, it might be longer. I hoped it wasn't pressing. Pressing usually meant dead bodies. When the monsters are involved, it's never just one dead body. One way or another, the dead multiply.