Free King of the Dead (Jeremiah Hunt Chronicle) by Joseph Nassise

the way the dead always do, his gaze full of such longing that I had to turn away and pointedly ignore him.
    We chose a table in the back and were halfway through our meal when I felt Dmitri stiffen. We’d been together long enough that I didn’t need to be told that someone had suddenly taken an interest in us.
    “How many?” I asked, without turning my head or giving any other indication that I’d noticed the newcomers’ approach.
    “Three,” he said, sotto voce, and then, louder, “If you’re looking for trouble, I’d reconsider if I were you.”
    There was a brief snatch of laughter, as if the newcomers weren’t worried by Dmitri’s confidence. That meant they were either the size of small elephants themselves or stupidly overconfident.
    My guess was the latter. If they wanted a fight, we could give them one.
    I reached out to the old ghost sitting in the corner and, with the flick of a mental switch inside my head, borrowed his sight.
    There was a flash of pain and a deep roar that swept through my consciousness like a runaway freight train and then I could see again.
    I turned my head to look.
    All three of them were large muscular men in their midtwenties with that disciplined sense about them that suggested a good deal of training, possibly even military in nature. Their hair was cropped short; they were dressed similarly in jerseys, jeans, and hiking boots; and they fanned out in front of us in an inverted V shape that, if things got ugly, would provide them with the best fields of fire without endangering each other. It was clear from how easily they fell into their roles that they had done this kind of thing before. The confidence in their stance told me that whatever was about to happen, they weren’t expecting us to put up much resistance.
    We’d see about that.
    If it hadn’t been for the fact that the one in front had a thick goatee I might not have been able to tell them apart; all three looked like they’d been popped out of the same mold. I found myself wondering if they were brothers or even cousins, maybe.
    Through the veil of the ghostsight I could see a bright silver glow flickering around the edge of each of their auras. I’d never seen that particular manifestation before. It made me wonder. Were they human or something else?
    I didn’t know. That, along with their body language so far, made me a bit nervous.
    Goatee looked us over, his gaze settling briefly on me and Dmitri before turning his attention to Clearwater. “The Lord Marshal would like to see you,” he said to her.
    Now I didn’t know who, or what, the Lord Marshal was and frankly I didn’t really care. The way these guys came in, full of confidence and expecting us to follow orders like a bunch of trained dogs, pissed me off.
    “That’s nice and all, but I don’t particularly care what…”
    I never finished my sentence. Denise laid her hand on my arm, squeezing just hard enough to cut me off before I was through. I looked at her, the question plain on my face.
    Into the silence she said, “We’d be happy to accompany you to see the Lord Marshal,” she said, “provided you give us your word as his representative that we will not come to any harm, intentional or otherwise, while under his care and hospitality.”
    Her words had a certain ritual sound to them. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, either, for Goatee raised one eyebrow before answering in a similar fashion.
    “So swear I,” he replied.
    Apparently we’d left twenty-first-century America behind in favor of an afternoon romp through the Renaissance. Any minute now I expected them to start spouting “wherefore art thou’s” and “by your leave’s.”
    Denise smiled primly in Goatee’s direction, and I had the clear impression that the score was Clearwater one, Goatee zero, but that could change pretty quickly. Especially since we didn’t have any idea what this was all about.
    We paid the check and got our coats. The old fry cook followed