Eleventh Grave in Moonlight(28)

Three hours later, Reyes joined me. Or he tried to. Artemis was taking up most of his side.

He slid in, scooting her over in the process, and lay in silence for a long time while I lay in agony, waiting with baited breath. But after a while, I really did get sleepy. We both rubbed Artemis’s ears and I took his hand into mine. His long fingers laced into mine; then, just before his breathing evened out and he drifted into oblivion, he said, “Drop the case.”

A wave of disappointment washed over me until I realized I’d learned something. His reservations had nothing to do with Shawn. He liked the guy. I could tell. So there was something else eating at him. Interesting.

* * *

Later that night, I felt an elbow at my ribs, and it wasn’t my own. It was nudging me out of an incredible dream. I was on the verge of nudging it back when a hand slid around my mouth.

My eyes flew open, but Reyes held me against him, tight, and whispered, “Shhh,” into my ear. Then he pointed.

Startled, I followed his line of sight and jumped again. He tightened his hold and waited for the image to come into focus. It did, and I slowly realized Amber was standing beside our bed.

I tried to rise, but he continued to keep a tight grip on both my body and my mouth, so I couldn’t ask him, “What the fuck?”

Then I realized why. Amber, tall and slender with long dark hair and a graceful bearing, stood in her gown. Her hair had fallen forward, but I could see her eyes. Barely. She gazed at us from behind the curtain of locks. No expression. No emotion.

A glint lower down drew my gaze to her hands. Her right hand, to be exact, in which she held a chef’s knife. Our chef’s knife. The one Reyes used to chop vegetables. The one that was so sharp, I’d once accidently brushed my fingers against it, soft as a feather, and come away bloody. And Amber was slicing her leg with it.

Blood soaked her gown, creating a large, dark circle as she slid the knife across her thigh again.

I lunged forward, but Reyes pulled me back. I fought him. His hold tightened, and he whispered into my ear, “I’ll go around the bed and grab the knife. Stay put.”

But before I could acknowledge with a nod, Amber spoke, her voice low. Monotone. “The oceans will boil. All the sand will die, and it’s your fault.”

“Stay put,” he said again. He eased backwards, his weight pressing into the mattress.

“The skin will slide off your bones if you don’t eat him.”

He inched off the bed. Then, before I could blink, he stood behind her.

“The beaches are covered in broken glass.”

With the care of a snake handler capturing a cobra, he took her wrist into his hand. She’d already made another incision. Blood streaked down the front of her gown. I pressed my hands to my mouth.

“The fish are very angry.”

He gently took the knife out of her hand, and I rushed forward. Kneeling on the bed before her, I took her face into my hands.

“Amber?”

Reyes tossed the knife away and held her shoulders should she fall.

“Amber, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

She’d curled her hands into fists and glared at me. “The blood is evaporating too fast, and the birds can’t breathe.”

I pushed her hair back. She was covered in sweat and tears. “Amber, it’s Aunt Charley.”

Her gaze finally locked onto mine. She stared a long moment, then said, “Unofanira kudya iye.”

It took me a few seconds to pinpoint the language. She spoke chiShona, a language that belonged to the Shona people of Zimbabwe. “You must eat him,” she said. In chiShona. Since when did Amber speak chiShona?

Before I could say anything else, she collapsed. I yelped, but Reyes caught her.

“Take her,” I said, scrambling off the bed and running for my robe.

Reyes already had on pajama bottoms. He scooped her up and headed for the door. I grabbed the first aid kit out of the bathroom and followed him.

He put her on our dining room table, then turned on the lights. I lifted her gown to assess the damage. The blood drained from my brain, and the world tilted. Just a little. She’d done some damage. Miraculously, none of the cuts looked deep enough to require stitches. There were just so many of them.

“Go,” he said, taking over. He ripped open the kit and found the peroxide.

I backed away but couldn’t seem to stop staring at her leg.

“Dutch,” Reyes said, his voice hard. “Go get her.”

I shook myself and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

Both our front door and Cookie’s stood wide open. I flew through them, then remembered that her husband was a detective. With a gun. I could only hope he wouldn’t shoot me, because I had no intention of waking them softly.

I barged into their bedroom, turned on the light, and ran to Cookie’s side.

Uncle Bob woke up instantly, his hand going for the gun locked in a holster safe on the side of his nightstand. He would have to unlock it before he could shoot me. That gave me just enough time to let him know who I was.

“Uncle Bob, it’s me,” I said, shaking Cookie awake.

“Charley? What the hell?”

“It’s Amber.” I nudged my BFF again. “Cook, sweetheart, wake up.”

Cookie bolted upright, her eyes almost as wild as her hair.

“Cook, it’s okay.”

Uncle Bob was already out of bed. He was used to being roused at all hours. Cookie, sadly, was not.

“What?” she asked, her gaze darting wildly about the room. “What happened?”

“Cookie.” I coaxed her to me. “She’s okay, but you need to come to my apartment.”

She finally focused on me. “What? Who’s…” Then it sank in. “Amber!”

She scrambled out of bed, slipped on a sock, only one, then found her robe. Uncle Bob had already thrown on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

We hurried back, and Amber was sitting in a dining room chair as Reyes administered first aid.

“Amber!” Cookie ran to her and kneeled beside the chair. “Oh, my God. What happened?”

Uncle Bob stood back and took in the picture while I kneeled beside them.

“We woke up,” I said, “and she was in our room, sleepwalking.”

“What?” Cookie questioned Amber with a look of astonishment. “Amber?”

Amber shrugged. “I don’t even remem—” She hissed in a breath as Reyes poured another round of peroxide on her shaking leg. In fact, she was shaking all over.

“But what happened?” Cookie asked, taking in the bloody scene.

“Do we need to get her to a hospital?” I asked Reyes.

“No!” Amber said. Then softer, “No, really, the cuts aren’t even deep.”

I leaned forward. Put one hand on her face and one on her arm. Turning her arm over, I asked, “Like these?”

She pressed her mouth together. Bowed her head.

She had over a dozen cuts on her arm, all at different angles and different depths.

Cookie gasped aloud. Then threw a hand over her mouth.

“It’s not what you think,” Amber said.

“You’re … are you mutilating yourself?”

“No.” Amber shook her head. “No, Mom. Never.”

“Then … then I don’t understand.”

Amber chewed on her bottom lip.

“They aren’t deep,” Reyes said. “She doesn’t need stitches, but this will have to be cleaned a couple of times a day and the bandage changed for a few days. Just to be safe.”

Amber put an arm around Reyes as though for strength.

He looked up at her and winked. “You’ll be okay, princess.”

She nodded. She melted a little first, but nodded valiantly in the face of lethal charm.

Cookie stepped closer. “Amber, what is going on?” she asked, growing frustrated.

“I’m not cutting myself, Mom. I swear.”

Reyes began wrapping her leg.

I took her foot and straightened out her knee to make it easier. “You’ve been upset,” I said. “I’ve felt it, especially this morning.”

“Oh, that?” She shook her head as though dismissing the notion. “That was nothing. I just … I just got bad news.”

“What kind of bad news?” Uncle Bob asked.

Amber’s eyes rounded, and I felt a distinct jolt of fear. I couldn’t help the anger that shot through me. Was this because of him? Because of his behavior of late? Was he somehow stressing her out?

I shot him a warning glare over my shoulder.

He mouthed, “What?”

“Amber Olivia Kowalski,” Cookie said. “Explain.”

Amber chewed her bottom lip a bit longer, then said, “I just woke up and I had cuts on me. I don’t know why. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

What the hell? “Amber, do you remember speaking to us?”

My question surprised her. “What did I say?”

“Something about the oceans boiling and broken glass and then”—I looked at Cookie and Uncle Bob—“she spoke in chiShona.”

Cookie flashed me a puzzled expression.

“It’s a language native to a people in Zimbabwe.”

“Come again?” Uncle Bob said.

“She spoke a Shona language. She said I must eat him.”

“Eat who?” Amber asked, her expression a little grossed out.

I stifled a laugh. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Amber shrugged, helpless. “I’m sorry, Aunt Charley. I don’t remember.”