Free Fangtabulous by Lucienne Diver

stopped her as I spotted something in the distance, which looked suspiciously like a lantern bobbing and weaving all on its own.
    “What’s that?” I asked, forgetting her eyesight wouldn’t be as good as mine.
    “Where?”
    I pointed it out for her.
    “Past the Old Jail? That’s the Howard Street Cemetery. It’s right by the site where Giles Corey was pressed to death. Didn’t you listen to the tour?”
    “Not that ,” I said, as if she hadn’t just scored a point. “ That .” I directed her toward the light.
    “Oh.” She laughed. “That has to be Tommy Haskins. He’s the caretaker. He’s a real throwback. Says electricity riles up the dead. I heard that Haunts used to lead tours through the cemetery, but then there were some incidents, and the people in the new condos at the Old Jail didn’t like it. Now no one’s allowed.”
    “So it’s closed to the public?”
    “Except by special arrangement.”
    “What kind of incidents closed it down?”
    “Ulric’s tour didn’t cover that part?”
    “Um, maybe? It probably went straight out of my head when the Ghost of Murderers Past decided to put in an appearance.”
    “Oh, right.” Her face crinkled, and even her embarrassment looked stupid-cute on her.
    Note to self: keep your friends close and your rivals closer .
    “Well,” she continued, “it was small stuff at first—women claiming their skirts had been blown up by freak winds on totally calm nights, tripping over invisible things poking up out of the ground, saying that hands had grabbed at their ankles, men reporting trouble breathing, a weight on their chests, seeing ghosts. Also, graves were disturbed, either from people tripping around in panic or from vandalism. Kids would dare each other to spend the night and come out with some real horror stories—or be chased out when Tommy caught them. That kind of thing.”
    I had her go into the specifics with me on the way back—anything I might have missed on Ulric’s tour. As a guide myself, I should commit it all to memory. And come up with a really good reason why my tours could take pics of anything but me.
    • • •
    By the time my tours ended that night, I was stunningly thankful for my bonnet. Every time I caught a camera aimed my way, I found something fascinating on the ground or far off to one side or another. I also did my best to stay in perpetual motion, so that any blurs on camera would be easily explained. But it was exhausting being always on guard, and I was more than ready to get down to straightforward stealth.
    We decided to divide and conquer. Eric and Nelson were already at the Morbid Gift Shop, helping Donato prep for his show. Eric was acting as a consultant (for free, at least for now), and Nelson … well, I wasn’t really sure exactly what Nelson was up to. He was definitely fascinated by the illusions and interested in picking up as many tips as he could. I suspected that he might be planning an act of his own for when we moved on. With the vamp thing going for him, he’d be a natural—water escapes, rising from the dead and all that jazz. But it wasn’t so smart a pursuit for a vampire in hiding. I’d have to have a talk with him.
    Anyway , Bobby and I planned to meet up with them later. First, we had a little recon to do at the Old Jail and the Howard Street Cemetery. Those were the spots so far where the disturbances seemed to be centered. Maybe we could figure out why.
    We ditched our costumes for street clothes and moved out. I’d never been so grateful for skinny jeans in my entire life. And if my T-shirt didn’t have my signature bling, at least it was form-fitting and scoop-necked and a stunning green to match my eyes, not Puritanical poop-brown.
    Bobby took my hand, and we walked out into the night like we were just two teenagers looking for someplace to be alone. It was nice. No one was trying to kill or capture us. The moon hung low—a Spielberg moon, where a boy might sit and fish for