Excerpt: Bloodlines

Ghosts give shitty directions. It turns out being dead – and therefore no longer driving a car, or having to navigate at all, really – tends to screw with your sense of direction somewhat. Not to mention that most of them aren't really powerful enough to be able to check for new additions in the route.

For instance, this cemetery had been accessible from right off a major highway, until the section was closed for repairs last August. (It was now November; surprise, surprise, the repairs weren't finished.) I had been wandering the country roads for several hours when I stumbled across the entrance.

"Finally." Antonio's voice was a whisper; not much, but more than some ghosts can manage. He was fading, and fading fast, or I would have waited for warmer weather to dig up his empty grave and add the skeleton in the trunk of my car – his, of course – to the coffin.

As it was, I was shivering as I parked my car – heating was out again, I'd fix it when I had the money – and got out. I normally refused to use my down jacket until the first snow fall, or until it fell under twenty degrees for drier winters, but this fall was making me reconsider.

But the sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could return to my nice, warm apartment in Pittsburgh, so I opened the trunk to pull out the bag with the skeleton, a shovel, and a copy of the Bible, King James version. I wasn't particularly religious, but Antonio had requested it. The point of this, after all, was laying him to rest; then I might get paid, and almost better yet, there would be one less restless spirit constantly badgering me.

Hearing ghosts is far overrated, among those who actually believe in them. There are a lot of people whose mother's cousin's best friend has a story about it; said story has gotten to the person, but not how just fracking annoying it is to be plagued by ghosts. I should probably be glad belief isn't more widely spread; it seems that it's easier to come back as a ghost if you knew it was a possibility in the first place before you died, and like I said, there are enough of my clients for me. Though I kind of wish more of them had some way to pay me.

"Natalie," Antonio murmured. "This way." I followed the wisp of gray I could just barely see over to the back of the cemetery, where his family's plot was.

"I don't see it. Where did you say yours it—" my sentence was cut off by me tripping over a tree root, and landing face first on a gravestone.

Unfortunately, it failed to be my companion's.

"Are you alright?" he asked. I nodded. "You're bleeding," he whispered.

I actually rather liked Antonio; for one thing, he actually remembered that mortals like me had to eat, and use the toilet, for instance. I felt awkwardly around my face; there was a wet patch on my forehead, but it didn't seem too bad. I could deal with it later.

"Where's the coffin, again?" I asked. Ghosts seem to be aware of things like that, for whatever reason. I didn't really care; it made my job easier, after all.

"Dig here." The wisp had disappeared again. When I first met Antonio, he occasionally appeared in his living form; now, eight months later, he was having trouble holding any shape at all. The magic that had allowed this impression to remain behind was running out.

I dropped the bag unceremoniously on the ground, then the bible with it, and marked the spot Antonio meant; I wasn't sure how I knew, but I did. "Head or foot?"

"Head," he replied, so quietly I could barely hear him. I didn't know if it was the power running out, or if he just found it difficult to talk about the logistics of opening his grave.

"Right," I said, then started. It takes a while to dig out a coffin, but this was by no means the first time I'd done something like this; the burying of bones is a fairly common thing for ghosts to take issue with. Which I'd always figured was kind of stupid – it's not like they needed them anymore – but whatever makes them happy.

Finally, I hit it – literally. My shovel made a clunking sound I recognized. Now came the fun part; getting the damn thing out of the ground, so I could place the skeleton in. Antonio could at least help with this part; ghosts can touch nonliving objects, anything that doesn't have a strong magical presence, and Antonio's remaining powers were in the telekinetic area, definitely.

It took some effort, but we got it. Before opening the coffin, I checked my watch; the sky was starting to lighten in a way that made me slightly uncomfortably.

It was three o' clock and a few minutes. Behind schedule, certainly, but considering how long I'd spent wandering around looking for the place, I had expected that. My main concern – that I wouldn't have enough time left to rebury the coffin and leave before dawn allowed me to be seen – was mostly laid to rest. I could do it if I hurried.

I opened the coffin, and whistled softly at the remains of red velvet inside. Antonio's family was apparently fairly poor, or had been at the time; they must have sprung for a nice coffin. Kind of funny, since as far as they knew, he would never actually lie in it.

"Um, I'm going to put you in now," I told him, and the air around me warmed slightly in response. I guess he didn't feel like talking.

I took out the skull first, and laid it where the pillow had been. Next were the limbs, and that was the end of the simple part, pretty much.

I'd finally gotten all of the small bones in to Antonio's satisfaction, and flipped open the bible. He had already told me what he wanted read; now I just had to find it.

Ah, there. I opened my mouth and started talking.

When it was over, I simply shut the coffin and prepared to maneuver it back into the ground. He hadn't wanted anything fancy; just a bible verse, and the reburying. Probably a good thing. This was going to be tight, but I could probably make it.

Driving home that night, I sighed. Antonio had said he would ask his relatives to give me something – most ghosts can appear to family, if the family has any psychic ability at all – but plenty of spirits said that. Either they weren't actually doing it, or the families weren't believing the spirits of their dead beloveds were returning to ask them to deliver something into a stranger's bank account. Not all that surprising, really.

What else did I have? A banker ghost wanted me to help him apologize to his wife and children – that would not be a fun job, but at least he would be able to pay me. There was a murderer who wanted his crimes to be credited to him, meaning I would have to find evidence with his help and get it to the police. Another couple easy jobs like this one, no creativity required, and of course, Kathleen.

I grinned, at that thought. Kathleen was waiting for me at home, like always.