The Ghosts of Wrath: Down & Dirty Supernatural Cleaning Services, #7

2

Giselle strides up to the podium, supported on each side by good-looking dudes who I’m guessing are probably more interested in what’s under her dress and what’s in her bank account than in mourning Brent. As one reaches out to steady Giselle as she teeters on her high heels, though, his jacket flaps open revealing a sidearm.

Whoa. Giselle really is scared if she’s got security shadowing her at a funeral. Or maybe that little gun flash wasn’t an accident at all. It could be she’s sending a message to everyone watching that anyone who wants to take her down along with Brent is going to be in for a fight.

Giselle gives both of her security dudes a thousand-watt smile and then turns her attention to the people packing the church full.

I’m so glad that we’re all here together, she says, pressing a perfectly manicured hand to her temple. I’m just so sorry for the reason. I was lucky that I was staying in our New York brownstone when the gas line ignited. Brent had suspected something wasn’t right with the line, and he’d sent me away.

That’s the story they must be going with for the general public. Brent’s death was all just an unfortunate accident. Yeah, right.

Giselle launches into her eulogy, there’s a lot of barely restrained sobbing and plenty of pauses for her to brush wisps of hair out of her face when they cinematically escape from the coif.

She makes sure to talk about what a great man was while also subtly alluding to him having recently lost his way and how she personally worked so hard to help him return to the man he’d been when they first met.

Just like the bodyguards, the subtext is clear: Brent might’ve gone rogue, but she is still team O.H.I.O. all the way. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ripped off her mourning dress to reveal a cheerleader outfit and started doing a cheer. Give me an O—!

I let out a bit of a hysterical laugh and that gets a few dirty looks. Trying to stay quiet and sane, I grip my phone until my knuckles are white, aware that I’ve a message from beyond the grave, sent by the very man they’re all here supposedly mourning.

I ease my stranglehold on my phone, and then pull a wet wipe from my purse to remove my smudgy fingerprints. I’ve always been a little anal about keeping my phone clean—they’re germ magnets. But lately my cleaning urges have gone from freak to something a little darker. A bit more ‘out damn spot’ type thing. I’ve taken my phone out of the case and disinfected it four times, but I still can’t escape the feeling that Brent’s blood might still be somewhere inside, caught in the cracks. What was left of him had been raining down from the sky that day.

I threw away the clothes I was wearing and washed my hair with a vinegar rinse to get rid of the smoke smell. If I could afford a new phone, I would’ve replaced that too. But I’m stuck with it...just like the images from that day.

I close my eyes, but that just makes the memory stronger.

My one-time father figure turned vampire serial killer had warned me that O.H.I.O. was going to move against Brent. Once Brent was ousted from the Senate, not only did they have no use for him, he was a liability. So of course I tried to save him.

Once I loved him, then I hated him, but at that moment...I just didn’t want him to die.

I guess that’s where Giselle and I are different.

I open my eyes and glance up at her, still sniffling into the microphone and talking about how she and Brent would have had beautiful children, if they’d been given that chance. I try not to snort. Beautiful children, definitely. Also half-supe children, which might have been a blow to their father.

I can’t even imagine how Brent would have reacted. Well, actually I can. He probably would have called me. The two of us had a bad habit of hitting each other up with sob stories, way after the relationship passed its expiration date. Saving Brent from his problems was a part time job, where the hours sucked and the pay was non-existent.

I hadn’t been able to save him that last time.

But I thought I could, with my determination and a ragtag group of friends and allies at my side.

Never mind that we’d just been through the ringer.

Kit had been raised from the dead (or the undead, since he was already a vamp) and brainwashed into becoming a cold-blooded assassin. Shauna decided to use a secret trigger word to free him, which I get. He is her brother and she’d do anything for him.

Her timing could’ve been better, though. We were on stage for the curtain call of Midsummer Night’s Dream. My roommate Darron roped us all in after one of the actresses died.

Shauna’s use of the trigger word made Kit’s brain go kablooey on opening night. Unfortunately, it also unleashed one last suggestion buried deep in Kit’s brain—one that caused him to stick a knife in Nico.

We restrained Kit, put pressure on Nico’s wounds and hopped into Vanna for a trip to the hospital. Thank goodness for Vanna. We were all way too distraught to actually drive. It was one of many times that it’s come in handy to have a sentient self-driving minivan.

Vanna drove, Kit remained unconscious, and Hepa, a witch with healing abilities, did what she could with her spells and charms to keep Nico alive.

Shauna, myself, and Kit’s former girlfriend Izzy just sat and watched and mostly felt useless. So apparently the universe decided to give the three of us something to do, cause that’s when I got a text telling me that O.H.I.O. had made the call to kill Brent.

Nico was stable enough for us to take a quick detour, but there was no way he could help us fight. Which is why I should have stopped then, should have realized that the deck was stacked against us.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if it was us showing up that caused O.H.I.O. to detonate the bomb that turned my one-time fiancé into a red rain. McGinnis is definitely sick enough to set things up so that I was there to watch Brent die.

At the time, though, I wasn’t thinking about that. I just wanted to do what I could to save Brent.

Shauna and Izzy were on board too. As full-blooded supes, they had more cause than most to hate Brent. He was also responsible for Kit’s murder, But Shauna and Izzy both had given me nods of solidarity, which had only made me feel even more like shit. I’d been a different person when I was with Brent—a girl who had no use for supes and even less interest in helping them. But when I needed help, supes were the only people on my side.

And they were on my side. Not Brent’s. They didn’t care a thing about saving him and certainly aren’t mourning him now that he’s gone. But they knew that I would go in alone to try and save Brent. I just couldn’t stand by and let someone die if there was any way I could stop it.

To be totally honest, there was also a part of me that felt responsible. McGinnis, that damn dirty cop, had warned me someone would die. But he promised to do what he could to keep O.H.I.O. from taking action. Not for nothing, of course. He made me promise to visit him in jail weekly. And rat out my friends while I was there.

I couldn’t do it. I tried to put McGinnis off by filling his ears with a ton of useless theater gossip, but I guess he saw right through that. Now as I sit on the hard wooden pew, I can’t help but question myself. Should I have given McGinnis more information on Mavis? She was a former friend of Shauna’s...and a former lover-turned-enemy of Nico’s. Mavis was also the head of the supe division at the FBI. The woman wasn’t an idiot and she kept her cards pretty close to her chest, but I’d gotten some decent stuff from her that I could’ve passed along to McGinnis.

But I didn’t.

And now Brent’s dead.

3

Brent’s dead, and I have to live with that.

Guilt sucks. It sucks almost as much as the photo being projected onto the screen behind Giselle. It’s a computer-generated estimation of what her and Brent’s theoretical children would have looked like. It’s tacky as hell, but there isn’t a dry eye in the house. Except mine. In the picture of the fictional boy, I mostly see Brent.

And in my head, I can hear our last conversation.

Don’t give up, I’d told him. Bring whatever you’ve got to Mavis. One of the things I kept from McGinnis was that Mavis had been looking to recruit Brent.

She can help you, I had said. And I’ve got two vampires here ready to kill for you—and that took some work, so damn it, pony up and accept the help, cowboy!

Brent was a former Navy Seal, and he wasn’t used to accepting help—especially from supes. But there’d been real fear in his voice when he’d agreed to come with us.

I’d hung up the phone as we’d pulled into his neighborhood. I wish I’d stayed on the phone with him. At the time I didn’t want to be distracted.

I didn’t know that it was already over.

If I had known, I would’ve stayed with him.

Even if it was just my voice, at least he wouldn’t have been totally alone at the end.

Everyone says it happened so fast, he didn’t even know it was over. That he felt nothing. But they’re wrong. I was there and I was looking right at Brent. And he stared right back at me.

There was a line of grenades strapped to his chest, a shotgun on his back, and pistols in each of his hands. So macho he could give Rambo a run for his money.

Except for his face. He was terrified. But when he saw me, that I’d really come for him, there was relief. And something else. I’m not sure if I can call it love because Brent didn’t love anyone other than himself. But I think it touched him to know that at least one person had his back. Three if you counted Izzy and Shauna.

What would’ve happened next if he’d lived? Maybe he would’ve gone on being a selfish asshole. Or maybe that moment would’ve changed his heart like the Grinch finally understanding the true meaning of Christmas.

I’ll never know.

Brent took one step forward—I can still see the way he squared his shoulders before taking that step. Suddenly, his expression changed. I saw his eyes widen. He must have heard something that tipped him off to what was about to happen.

With his eyes locked onto mine, I saw his hope die. I saw him realize this was it. The end.

And there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even really process all of it at that moment, because everything happened so fast. In the next instant, I was flying backwards while all around me the world burned.

I laid in the street, my cheek against the pavement. Blood ran down my cheek and a high-pitched ringing assaulted my ears.

But at least I was alive.

While Brent—Brent was dead.

I blink hard, refusing to let tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t want anyone to think that I’m actually touched by Giselle’s speech. Although, I do have to give her credit—she manages to hit the perfect balance between grief and not entirely ruining her eye makeup.

Finally the service is over and it’s time to file out past the casket. I’m almost last in line and consider just ducking out. But I can’t do it. This is it. The end of me and Brent. I at least have to say good-bye.

The mourners move slowly. I shuffle my feet and then double check my phone. The text is still there.

After Brent tried to kill me and I took it as a sign our relationship was not going to work out—I didn’t delete him from my phone. The number of a sitting senator was too valuable a thing to erase. But I did replace the pic of his handsome smiling face with one of his dick. The dick pic was a remnant from when we were dating and exchanging those types of photos was part of our foreplay.

I could change the picture back now, but I don’t want to pretend Brent was something other than what he was. Brent was a dick. That’s just a fact. I don’t even know what he was thinking when he sent me this final text. Was he trying to help me bring down O.H.I.O. or once again use me as bait to get himself back into their good graces?

I still have no idea despite having looked at the text at least a hundred times since Brent died. I also sent screenshots of it to both Shauna and Nico. Just in case.

When Nico saw what I was using for Brent’s pic, I thought he might be jealous. He’s always been a bit possessive and that’s been worse lately. Instead, he laughed and said, I get it. He’s a little weenie.

Whether Brent was a little weenie or a big dick, one thing is definitely true. The text he sent me could be a game changer. It might have the information we need to bring back the Ghosted. And I’m guessing that most of the people around here wouldn’t like that. In fact, I’m pretty sure some of them would happily put me in the coffin beside Brent if they knew what was on my phone.

A panic begins to rise in my chest as I get closer to Brent’s coffin. I hang back and let a few people pass me, wondering what to say. I’d been knee-deep in the rubble of Brent’s house when the text came in, looking through the smoldering ruins of what had been his office, hoping that he might have been stupid enough to leave a paper trial to O.H.I.O—and that the papers had survived the blast.

Suddenly Eva had been by my side. Eva Esposito, good cop, better friend.

I can’t leave you for five minutes without you getting into trouble, can I? Although I don’t think we can pin this one on you, Harper, she had joked, completely unaware that maybe she was wrong. Maybe me showing up is exactly why Brent died.

It looks like a faulty gas line, Eva had told me. "Plus, it seems like the deceased had something of a personal arsenal. So once that went up—kaboom!"

My phone had gone off right when she said it, vibrating with an incoming text and a musical jingle to identify the sender.

TLC’s No Scrubs came blaring out of my pants and Eva had raised an eyebrow. Better get that, she’d said. Sounds like Nico’s in the doghouse.

Actually Nico was in the trauma center at the only supe-friendly hospital in town. I’d made sure that Hepa took him there before I’d waded into what remained of Brent’s house.

Actually, I corrected Eva, this is my ringtone for Brent.

She frowned and looked around at the damage around us. Ugh, you’re getting messages from a dead guy? She shakes her head. Impressive. I can’t even get living men to text me back.

Despite everything I have to laugh at this. But then I quickly sober up, as I focus on the text from Brent. The last I’d ever receive from him.

Brent had been a workaholic, waking up at five in the morning to get his run in before heading to the office. At the beginning of our relationship, his first few love messages had reached me before the sun was up, and he’d learned pretty quickly that Paige Harper wasn’t exactly a morning person. But he’d insisted that he wanted me to know that he woke up thinking of me, so he’d schedule them to be sent later, when I was in a more receptive mood.

And since Brent had already been blown into a fine mist when I got that last text, his scheduling it was the only explanation. My hands had been shaking when I pulled out my phone. I don’t know if I expected one last admission of love, an apology for trying to kill me that one time, or maybe even one last dick pic. Brent truly had been fond of those.

What I got was short, factual, and devoid of emotion. I imagined him typing it out seconds before we pulled up to the curb.

OHIO records everything.

Find Langston Winters.

If I’m gone, ask G.

Lang knows.

4

Iget the hell out of the funeral as soon as the service is over. Giselle lets people know that select mourners are invited to a luncheon after. If you’re in, you’re in and even if I was invited, I’m out.

When I get to Vanna I find a familiar figure leaning against the side of the van, smoking a cigarette.

Mavis? Are you here for the funeral? That doesn’t really make sense. Mavis is the head of the FBI supe division. She did a bit of poking around, was trying to flip Brent. But showing up at his funeral seems almost disrespectful.

Unless… Did you learn anything more about O.H.I.O.? Are you here to watch Firsters?

Mavis shakes her head. No, I came to say goodbye. I’ve been recalled by the FBI. I’m headed back to Langley now. She offers me a cigarette and I take it. My occasional guilty pleasure.

Oh. I deflate. Lighting the cigarette I take a long, satisfying drag. And you made a special trip just to say goodbye to me? I’m honored.

Drop the sarcasm, Mavis tells me, but her voice is fond. You know I’m not just here to say goodbye.

It’s something terrible, isn’t it? I ask, already knowing the answer.

I wanted to tell you in person that your ex, Liam, has gone missing. Before you hear it on the news or see it online.

Liam, who was just a nice normal boy...well not exactly normal. His dad was a killer, but he was just boring vanilla Liam. That is until I was forced to choose between letting him die and turning him into a vampire. As a young man, vamps tortured him and his mother. So becoming one was pretty much his version of hell on earth. I knew he’d never wanted to become one. But I couldn’t let him die.

In one moment, I saved his life...and ended our relationship. He didn’t want anything to do with me after that.

For a while Liam was in a pretty bad place, but eventually he rebounded and started an entire support network for newly turned vampires. Even though I was bummed that he was pretty public about our breakup and what he saw as my betrayal of him, I was mostly happy that he was happy. It seemed like he’d made peace with becoming a vampire, even if he could never forgive me for being the one to turn him.

Although, really, I’m not the one to blame. It was that psycho McGinnis who kidnapped Liam and drained all his blood. He set the whole thing up to break the two of us up.

Naturally, he’s the first person I suspect now. McGinnis? I ask Mavis.

Still in jail. I checked.

Is the FBI looking into Liam’s disappearance?

Mavis nods. Even though I head up the supe division, our resources are limited and let’s be honest…

No one cares about a missing vamp. Even a famous one.

People care, Mavis assures me.

Just not the right people, I say, throwing my cigarette to the pavement and smashing it out with my foot.

Anything else? I ask Mavis.

She tilts her head, studies