Oh Isla, You Didn't

Greg smiled at me. It was small and closed lipped and his glowing eyes softened in a way that made all my organs want to burst out of my ribs that stupid, handsome, distracted, idiot.

He was completely missing the werewolf charging at him.

"Watch out!" I screamed, mouth dry.

Frowning, his head flicked back to Kyle's monstrous shape. The wolf growled. His slobbering jaw practically unhinged as it opened wide enough to swallow Greg's entire torso. Kyle dug his claws into the pavement, audibly tearing up cement, as he thrust himself forward.

The vamp's shoulders sagged as he appeared to sigh. "Fang this."

In a flash, gunslinger Greggy surfaced.

The shot rang out and the wolf was downed before I even saw Greg's arm move.

Lily and I ducked, clutching each other for sturdiness.

Both the barrel and werewolf's chest smoked. While Greg's hand holding the gun was statuesque, Kyle convulsed. Blood gushed from his chest, puddling onto the patio thick as pudding. As the pool widened, his mass shrank. Fur shed in shaggy lumps. Rough, animal skin melted away, leaving him hairless and smooth and totally naked (yuck). Bones cracked as his limbs all shortened and twisted to passably human shapes. Pointed ears rounded out. Teeth blunted. Tail shriveled and wilted off his behind. Kyle's snout crumpled to resemble that of a pug's before the fur fell from his cheeks, leaving only his beard behind.

Lily gasped beside me. "Oh my—is he dead?" She threw her upper half out the window for a better look, my hands on her the only anchor.

"You alright?" Greg called up, looking tired and holstering his gun. "Yeah? You sure?"

No, not in the least bit, but apparently, I was nodding.

I had Lily. I'd found her. Found my mess. My mess I needed to fix. She was right here, trembling in my arms.

She could, just, you know, fall. It wouldn't be difficult for her, already half hung out the window. Give her just a little nudge and let her tumble. Two stories. Onto pavement. Watch her head pop like a watermelon. Break beyond the ability to pop up and keep on talking. It's not like she wasn't already dead, so it wouldn't really be murder. More of a course correction. Or, better yet, a feral werewolf attack. Just look at the wound in her side! Greg could've just stumbled across the scene while working a case. Had to put the mutt down after what he did to this poor, defenseless, sweet barista.

I allowed my grip on Lily's sweater to loosen—but, nah, that idea was stupid. You can't just splat somebody, girlfriend, that's absurd, she'd probably bounce right off the pavement anyway, get a grip on yourself. And her sweater. Oh balls, shit, get a tighter grip on her sweater.

Lily wiggled, craning her neck down, and that, turns out, was all it took.

Slippery fish toppled out.

"Shit," I grumbled, instinctively reaching for that stupid fluffy sweater to pull her back inside. I wasn't quick enough.

Lily screamed as she fell.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to drop her. I squeezed my eyes shut. You know, cause I'm a cowardly skank who can't even watch myself clean up my own messes, I guess.

She landed with a soft thump and a grunt.

Opening my eyes, one wary lid at a time, I spotted that Greg had caught her, all fairytale princess style. Because of course he did.

"Lily Perez?" he said, gingerly.

"Put me down!"

He did. Quickly. Awkwardly. Scrunched his nose and pulled a sour face as he surveyed her, blue gaze lingering a little too long on her ragged side, hidden behind wool. Troll balls.

Lily stumbled to her feet, nearly stomping over Kyle's body. She froze. Probably more from the shock than chill. She just stared at Kyle, arms wrapped what looked painfully tight around herself. Didn't even bother to pull away the hair stuck to her lip.

"Yeah, sorry. Hey, hey, Ms. Perez? You okay? You hurt?" Greg tapped her on the shoulder. "Speak to me, kiddo. Did he get you?"

Still staring at the body, Lily shook her head.

Greg bit his lip. Still resting his palm on the barista, he looked back up at me. He gestured for me to join them with a wave.

I nodded back.

The ghost of the old woman – presumably the elderly former Momma Cabroni – watched me from the end of the hall as I clamored through the mess we'd made of her home. She said nothing and didn't blink. I did my best not to make eye contact, hugging the wall as I passed her literal deathbed, careful to maintain a decent distance for my anklet. My candles still flickered on their makeshift altar. Lucky Kyle didn't knock them over in his rampage.

I paused. Man, all my stuff. The crystals and my tarot deck and the antique spirit board. My sisters got me that board. I wanted it back. But I'd never make a climb over two corpses to retrieve it without bringing the Magistrate to us. And they'd certainly confiscate my crap once they did arrive.

"Nards," I muttered, flinging myself off the wall and down the hall. It's just stuff. Don't think any of it could really be traced back to me, at least.

Cold, night air hit me like a slap in the face. A gentle slap. Not a hard slap. A foreplay kind of slap that ended with a caring hand cupped against your cheek—oh, that was just Greg touching me. He moved so quick. I was barely even outside, and he had my face cradled in his hands, turning my cheeks side to side, studying me. He removed a cold hand and patted my shoulders, my hips, waist, trailing a path back up to my cheek again.

"You hurt?" he breathed against my forehead. "Did he scratch you? Bite you?"

Shook my head. "That's your job, cowboy."

He tried to hide that little smirk from me. Tried and failed. But then Greg caught my eyeline creeping over his shoulder to Kyle's unmoving form and tapped the gun still hot in his holster.

"Silver bullets. Told you it had its uses."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He blinked, as if surprised I'd asked. "I'll unlive."

"Good. Where the tits were you?" I asked, working up the nerve to be at least a little miffed at him, and hammer down the unfiltered joy that tickled my chest when he touched me so softly. "Thought you'd follow me."

"I can't get in! No invite. See, this is what happens when you don't have a plan—ah, what in the hell did happen?"

"Is he dead!" Lily's shrill cry cut through night louder than the gun. She nudged Kyle's body with her toes. "Did you kill him?"

Greg let me go.

Balls, Lily, couldn't you see we were having a moment?

My vamp tentatively crouched beside the naked werewolf (me? Oh, I kept my six feet of distance). Those leather shoes splashed a bit in the quickly spreading blood puddle. He placed two fingers against Kyle's throat. Greg seemed to swallow a gag as he did. After a moment, he carefully removed those nimble fingers, and shook his head at Lily.

I mean. The massive hole blasted through the guy's chest could've told us all that. The wound still sizzled.

"I'm sorry. I know he's your boyfriend and you must care deeply for him," Greg said, studying the body. His fingers grazed against the Arabella tattoo on Kyle's wrist for a moment. "But on a full moon he's a danger to you, to us, to the whole neighborhood if he got out of the yard."

Lily blinked. "My... boy..."

"He's not exactly an emotional support puppy every other day of the month either." I clapped my hands. Lily flinched. "I'll, uh, give you a moment to, you know, say goodbye."

As she cautiously bent beside Kyle's body, I gestured Greg back over. Gunshots echoing in South Philly weren't a heck of an out of place occurrence, but it would certainly bring us unwanted attention. Human and otherwise. Probably fast. And while I still hadn't quite figured out how to clean up the mess I made of little ole Lily, Greg's wild west moves gave us a more pressing one to tidy.

"So, uh, Mr. Man-With-a-Thousand-Plans, what're we planning to do about the corpses on property?" I whispered. "I was thinking we toss him Schuylkill and call it a night."

I braced myself. Waited for Greg's torrent of protests and grumbles as to just how unprofessional that would be, Isla. How deeply wrong. We should report this. The Magistrate. Blah blah blah I'm a good guy who does good things and better off not slumming it with a felon like you blah blah blah.

Greg ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, obviously, but Lily—"

He... did he just... did Greg just agree with me on the topic of disposing of evidence? Yeah, I think he did. Did that wildly turn me on? Oh, heck yeah, I think it did.

"Yeah? Obviously? Who are you and what've you done with Good Guy Greg?"

"I shot a Pack member, Isla," he hissed through his teeth. "I'm not going down for that."

For you. Is what I heard. I shot a Pack member and wasn't going down for you.

Greg's brows furrowed. "Did you say corpses?"

"Yeah, so," I counted on my fingers, "we've got Kyle, you know, there. His momma, I think, on a bed inside."

"She died naturally," said Lily. Hurriedly. Panting. Suddenly in our bubble. Greg and I both retreated a step in surprise. "She was very sick."

"Mrs. Cabroni—the one that's his wife—mentioned that," mumbled Greg.

"And!" I raised my volume just a smidge. "Ding, ding, ding, we found your ex-boss's ex-wife's missing skeletal remains! Neat."

And all my stolen crap I would absolutely be thrown in jail for being caught handling, but whatever, we'll get to that bit. Eventually.

"Knew it!"

"You work for Dmitri?" said Lily, breathless.

"Oh. No, not anymore," Greg scrambled to fetch a business card from his wallet and offer it to Lily. She took it with cautious fingers. "My name's Greg Vasilescu, I'm a private eye. Dmitri hired me to find you—but I'm not here because of him. And you're not in any kind of trouble, promise. I—Madame Margarita—has been worried about you."

She whipped her gaze back to me, face twisted in some unreadable expression.

Crap. Way to blow my spot, Greg. Girlfriend over here and I didn't exactly part on fab terms.

"It's about... "

Killing you. Fixing my mess. Undoing the curse that brought you back to life for good or... sigh. Look at you, you pathetic little rag doll. I couldn't undo it. I just couldn't it. Poor thing didn't deserve any of this fucked up mess. But, damn it, she couldn't just go either. Not without me at least, I don't know, explaining a few things. Some Dos and Don'ts for the undead. Ugh, where was the Guidebook for theUnexpectedly Demised when I actually needed it.

I sucked in a deep breath and gestured to her general hip area. "Sobre tu accidente. Tu trato de adivino. Nosotras necesitamos hablar de..."

"Huh?"

I—okay I know my bisabuela's ghost is disappointed from beyond the grave in my Spanish—in fairness, the ghost of my other great granny wishes I knew more Irish, so—but I'm not unintelligible. We got along perfectly fine in Spanglish the other night, Lily and I.

Greg, obviously noticing this conversation was stalled on the track, raised a hand. "Ms. Perez. You and Mr. Cabroni were—"

Lily pounced on me. Practically knocked the wind out of my lungs. I stumbled back, but she remained tightly clutched around my shoulders. "Please don't bring him back! Not like you did with me, please! He was horrible! He kept me prisoner!"

"What was that?" yelped Greg.

Oh warts on a gremlin's green ball sack. Pivot. Pivot, pivot, pivot.

I threw an arm over Lily. "He kept her prisoner, Greg... whoa, seriously?"

Been busy. Kyle had said. Busy what, keeping a girl chained in his basement?

"I was kidnapped." She blurted against my shoulder. Her tone was stilted but oddly matter of fact. She wouldn't look Greg or I in the eyes either. Kept her face buried in my coat. "The werewolf bug—Kyle. He took me. Forced me to use those spell books. And your things."

"Spell books? Your things?"

"Not important. Kyle kidnapped you, you said?"

"What about these books?"

"Oh, yes!" Lily wailed. "It was so awful!"

The barista thrust herself out from under my arm, and practically flopped into Greg's. The vamp squirmed and just about turned green from the obvious discomfort, halfheartedly rubbing her on the shoulder and mumbling awkward there, theres and you're okays. I curled my hands into fists to keep from pulling her out of his grip before those cool hands ventured too close to the gaping hole in the side of her gut. Grabbing her would look pretty sus, right?

Lily twisted her neck around to face me. Looked like it twisted a little too far to be in the realm of comfortable. Or natural. Reminded me of Grumpkin. "He was so angry that I went to see you, for D-dmitri, h-he said if I really believed I was some vampire's t-trollop he was going to e-exorcise me!"

Trollop? Kyle used the word trollop?

Fat, gooey tears welled up in those brown eyes. Lily blinked and they rolled clumsily down her cheeks. "He—he tried to force me to tear my own soul in twain. Claimed whatever part of me was h-her, had to go b-b-back in those bones like it would make me—make her good as new— so that only his Lily would remain in this body! B-b-but I am his Lily!"

I watched Greg's face shift over the top of Lily's head; his brows furrowed at twain, and that cute nose of his scrunched every time the barista overdramatically sputtered over her words.

"Ms. Perez," said Greg, "Let me—are you saying—I think I just need to clarify, something, here," he gestured between myself and him, "for us. Are you—or, rather, do you believe yourself to be the reincarnation of Lady Rosemond Mary Favichia?"

"Nee Hotstrings," I added.

"Hastings."

"Bloody hell, noooooo!" Lily keened in a glass breaking pitch. "Nobody can be me but meeee!"

Greg winced.

I rubbed my ear. "Told you," I mumbled tohim. "Not a thing."

Something irked me about Lily's literal sob story. Seriously, Greg's cardigan was going to be ruined with snot. But her tale gave me a queasy feeling. Thick and sloshing heavily around in my belly as I shifted on my feet. I couldn't place it. Couldn't name it. But there was something, I don't know, missing. Holes needing to be plugged. Not glaring. But if I couldn't find them, they'd still sink the boat.

"But if that were p-p-possible," she sobbed into the back of her hand. Greg offered up his own sleeve. Unwise, cause she took it. Blew her honker right in the crook of his elbow. "For a soul to be in the wrong body, can a spell like that, to undo it, even be done? You would know, wouldn't you?"

Fuck.

"No," I blurted. My fingers trembled as I lit a cigarette. The nicotine craving smacked so hard, I hadn't even been paying attention to my own fingers as they fiddled with the pack in my coat. "You got the wrong Madame."

"But your spell, the P-Palm Reader's Bargain?"

Did I not just try to more slyly drop her the 'deal' she got in Español? Come on girl, pay attention. But in fairness, she was still mixing up my coded menu. That night in my parlor she asked for the Palm Reader's Bargain when she meant Divination Deal. The former was a request to reanimate a deceased pet. The latter a request to conjure a specific spirit.

Although, I guess she did get the Bargain. Just wasn't on a schnauzer.

I took a long drag from my cigarette. She never did answer when I asked who referred her to me. Fucking Kyle.

Greg was looking at me. No, not just looking. Staring. Glaring. Glowering? Couldn't think of an English word big enough, cold enough, to fit that look. And you know what, the great grandmas would be doubly disappointed I couldn't think of one in any language.

"What did she mean when she asked you not to bring Cabroni back, like you did with her, Isla?" asked Greg, voice low and even.

"Nothing!" I blew smoke in his face and lied. I couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it. The lie scooped that nauseous feeling out of my belly and left me hollowed. "This is a misunderstanding."

"It brings things back, doesn't it?" Lily continued. "Could it really tear my soul from this body and put me in another? Because I've tried, for him, I didn't mean to do anything wrong, but he made me do it and I tried but I—I couldn't even fix this."

"No, wait a sec, Lily, you got it all mixed up!"

"You said the dead deserve their rest, inside," she lifted the hem of her sweater. The wound, jagged and sticky, leered at me. "But do I deserve to be trapped like this?"

No. No, no, no. I coughed. Choked on my cigarette. But the smoke was clogging up my lungs and my head and my eyes and everything was spinning and churning in slow motion. I expected, any minute now, the ground to just lift up and shake me off like sand on a blanket.

"Fanging hell!" Greg tore off his cardigan and pressed it into Lily's side. "This a bite or a scratch?"

"No, that's not—Greg—"

He pulled the sweater away. Brown spots marred it, but it was clear the wound wasn't bleeding. Wasn't fresh. Lily didn't even flinch.

"Is this from tonight? It smells—we need to get you to a hospital, woman. One equipped for werewolf treatments."

Lily grimaced. "No, thank you."

"She can't go to a hospital."

"I'm not fussing around with werewolf scratches, Isla. She might get infected, turned."

"Greg, I can explain—"

He shook his head and scooped Lily up off the ground. Fairytale princess style again. How lucky for Lily. Guess she didn't feel lucky though, grunting and wriggling in his grip, whining several disgruntled put me downs.

"Hey, take it easy, we're taking you to a hospital. You really shouldn't be standing."

Greg needed to stop. I had one chance. This one chance to be alone with Lily. To fix this. Sort of. Somehow. Enough to keep me out of prison, at least. Just had to talk to her. Scare her if I had to, like I did the night she hired me, I don't know how, didn't care, I was making this up as I went along. And, hey, I guess things weren't going so terrible yet (I made a point of not looking at Kyle's dead body).

But I couldn't do that, couldn't fix this, if Greg didn't cooperate.

Why'd he have to go and be so nice and noble and gentlemanly, damnit? It was condemning me.

My spine ached. A pressure was wringing me, rippling across my bones, rising like the tide. It sizzled my nerves. Pressed on my every muscle. Wormed beneath my flesh. It formed a lump in my throat. A heavy ball, hot and greasy and bubbling out my mouth: "Greg, stop, put her down!"

He stopped.

And he dropped her.

Lily yelped as her ass plopped onto the pavement.

Okay, I expected a little more gentlemanly of a move, but fine.

"I'm so sorry!" said Greg.

He crouched down, offering her a hand.

Lily slapped it away. "Get your hands off me!"

"Don't touch her, Greg."

The vampire froze again. Fingers hovered inches from Lily's elbow.

I offered Lily an arm instead, which she used to yank herself back up onto her feet.

Greg stared at us, as Lily took shelter behind me, his fangs clenched, and eyes wide. He flexed his fingers. Touched his arms. Lifted one foot and took a careful, tentative step forward, like he was unsure if his legs would carry him. Was weird. Seeing him so rattled like that.

"What the fangs—"

"Stop it, Greg." My lips trembled. "You don't touch her, okay? You don't come near her. You're not taking her to a hospital because she isn't here. Got it?"

Greg ground his teeth.

Lily, for some screwy reason, took a step forward as if to test the boundary of Greg's new no touchy policy. As she made to poke his shoulder with one finger his body flinched violently backward, avoiding her touch. He staggered. Eyes wide.

My muscles clenched. A twitch coursed through my own shoulder. Aching and tight.

In that same moment Lily gasped.

And bolted.

Right back into the house come on give me a break!

"The fuck you going!" I yelled, turning to follow her.

"Isla," Greg's voice was gravelly. Stopped me cold. "What did you do?"

What I do? I didn't know. Everything felt... tingly. The pressure building on my spine had been released the moment I gave him the command. It coated my tongue in a velvety fuzz. Like mold.

I shook my head.

Annnd course that's when Lily came dashing back out on to the patio. She jumped right over a fallen lawn chair, landing clumsily and not at all like the dainty ballerina turned exotic dancer I imagined her to be.

"Is that a library book?" croaked Greg.

He made to step forward, into Lily's space, but abruptly jerked away. Like an invisible cord had lassoed him back.

She nodded, cracking the spine open. Slapped a finger against a page. "The fourth rite of necromancy, achieved through patronage of—it's smeared here, is that blood? The middle bit's missing, there's a part about exchanging blood that looks like it's written in blood, lots of blood, but it's Command of the Soulless Undead. Can you teach me that?"

Command of the what now? Yeah, okay, I mean, I vaguely remember that, or some variant of it, being the title of a 'rite' of passage into the necromancy game. I knew I could control and bend reanimated husks and empty corpses to my will, but vampires counted for that? Greg wasn't empty he was... Greg. Walking, talking, kissing, reverting to a state of death that set off my Contraband Curse in sunlight, Greg.

Oh no.

Nazira's voice tsked in my head. If one of them bit you.

"Oh, Isla," Greg said, "you didn't."

He looked at me. Mouth agape. Nose scrunched. Hurt and confusion and disappointment swimming in those eyes and it broke me. That's it. Get the duct tape. I was broke. My chest cracked and shattered and all the pointy bits of my ribs speared straight through my lungs and muscle and meat and my stupid, stupid heart.

No. Keep it together girlfriend. You couldn't unravel now. Not so close to the finish line. You just couldn't. Bottle all that broken mumbo jumbo up. This was always part of the plan, wasn't it? (What plan?). Ditch the private dick when I no longer needed him. Keep my secret. Make sure he kept it too.

I gulped. "It's not as bad as it looks."