Fastening the Grave (Kali James Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by L.A. McBride

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Cover Artist: Natalie Narbonne

  Editor: Sara Lundberg

  ISBN: 978-1-957445-00-7

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

  For my sister Amanda, who didn’t get enough time to live out her adventures.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Threading the Bones

  Preorder

  Note to Readers

  Books by L.A. McBride

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER 1

  If there were two constants in my life, they were death and illusion. In the year since I’d opened the Costume Shoppe on Kansas City’s haunted house row, I’d outfitted more zombies, vampires, and ghouls than a Hollywood special-effects team. Most of my clientele were what I called the working dead—actors who worked weekends at one of five massive haunted houses that made up Halloween central.

  The towering industrial warehouses that had once been notorious for frequent flooding and a burgeoning rat population had been transformed into multi-story scream factories. From the beginning of September through the end of October, this part of the city became an over-the-top gauntlet of theatrical haunts. Around here, there was fierce competition to become the most gruesome show in town. And people couldn’t get enough of it, swarming to Kansas City to be seen and to be scared.

  Although I loved creating elaborate costumes for the actors, this was my first time seeing the full production in person.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Emma asked, her hands disappearing into the oversized sleeves of her Royals sweatshirt. Even though we were the same age, twenty-six looked a lot younger on Emma.

  “Nah,” I lied.

  Some things were worth suffering for, and tonight’s ensemble was one of them. I was Bettie Page in sensible shoes. I’d pinned my dark curls back, securing them with a sheer red scarf to show off my latest creation: a form-fitting black polka dot top with a sweetheart neckline. Paired with a flared skirt with pockets, a chunky red belt, and matching red flats, I was rocking my inner 1950s pinup. Sandwiched between girls waving pastel phone cases and guys sporting obnoxious t-shirts and too much cologne, I was happy to stand out.

  I scanned the growing crowd. “Where is Riley?”

  There were a lot of ways I’d rather spend a Friday night than paying people to scare me, but Riley was hard to say no to. After using up my allotment of excuses, Riley convinced me and Emma that free tickets to Howl, one of the premiere haunted houses, would be worth suffering the late September lines.

  It wasn’t Riley who caught my eye. In the sea of twenty-somethings, the man watching me stood out as much as I did. He was as still and unnatural as a wax sculpture. His clothes, too big for his lanky frame, were straight out of a 1920s gangster movie. His fedora was tilted low and cast most of his face in shadow. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew from the angle of his body and his complete disregard for the people moving around him that they were locked on me. My shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

  “Are you alright, Kali?” Emma waved a hand in front of my face.

  I blinked. “Yeah. Sorry, just got distracted.”

  I wiped my now clammy palms on my skirt and swallowed. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen the man. Last week, I spotted him standing across the street from my second-floor apartment. He was watching me then, too.

  It had been fourteen months and six days since I’d seen a ghost. Naively, I thought I had put that behind me when I’d packed up and moved halfway across the country. Here, the only ghosts were supposed to be the ones I costumed.

  There were perfectly ordinary reasons for him to be here, I reminded myself. Perhaps, he worked at Howl. Actors did wander among the crowd to heighten anticipation for the show. Of course, that wouldn’t explain his appearance outside my apartment. He could just be a run-of-the mill creep who was stalking me. Plenty of explanations didn’t involve a ghost, but even so, I couldn’t make myself look away.

  I was so focused on the man that I hadn’t noticed Riley until she was standing beside me, craning her neck to see what had my attention.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  “Who is that guy over there?” I asked her, still staring at him.

  Among her collection of odd jobs, Riley worked at one of the other haunted houses. If the man was an actor, chances were she would know him.

  She snorted. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Tall guy, sickly looking, dressed like Pretty Boy Floyd.”

  “Who?”

  “Seriously?” I turned my head to look at her. “How long have you lived in Kansas City?” It was true that I loved digging into area history more than most, but Pretty Boy Floyd was famous. “You know—1920s mobster who went out in a blaze of bullets.”

  She stared at me blankly before turning her attention back to where I had been looking. “I don’t see anyone like that.”

  I couldn’t make out what she said next because the crowd noise closed in on me. This wasn’t my first panic attack, but it was my first in years. I shut my eyes and concentrated on deep breathing until the sounds receded. By the time I was calm enough to check, the man was long gone, and both Emma and Riley were watching me with concern.

  Riley touched my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I smiled, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. “Just got light-headed there for a minute. I shouldn’t have skipped supper.”

  Emma dug around in her purse and handed me a granola bar. Out of the three of us, Emma was definitely the Girl Scout. She never left home without snacks and emergency first aid supplies.

  I wasn’t hungry, but I took the bar anyway. “Thanks.” I choked down half of it, the texture like sawdust in my mouth, before wrapping it back up and putting it in my pocket.

  Seeing the lingering concern on their faces, I wanted to tell them about the ghosts that latched on to me like a lifeline. For a moment, I imagined the conversation going differently than it had with everyone else I had confided in.

  Since moving here, Riley and Emma had become my closest friends. Both of them walked into my shop on opening day as strangers. Riley, lacking the patience or desire to put together her own costumes, quickly became a regular. Emma,
I’d hired as a part-time employee, so I didn’t spend all my time bent over a sewing machine or waiting on customers.

  Our friendship was rooted in a shared appreciation for the dramatic, love of bad movies, and a healthy appetite for bacon and chocolate. Normal things. But if years of therapy had taught me anything, it was that my particular brand of drama was a surefire way to alienate the people around me.

  Even if the man was a ghost, it didn’t mean I had to acknowledge him. I smiled at my friends. Then I turned my back on the spot where he had been standing and focused on what was in front of me. “Finally, this line is moving!”

  As we neared the front of the building, I distracted myself by studying Howl’s impressive facade. Five stories tall, the daylight version—one run-down, crumbling brick warehouse among a line of them—became something else entirely at night. The streetlights on this block were old and sparse, and the light here was dimmer than the rest of the city. None of the streetlights quite reached Howl’s entrance. Instead, a lone flickering bulb lit the massive metal-studded doors. Billowing smoke spilled out of the entrance and rose to the roofline.

  One door was propped open against the side of the building, funneling high-pitched screams and heavy bass into the street. Next to the door, a burly sentry stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest. As we got closer, I noticed the pair of wicked-looking fangs he flashed periodically at the crowd.

  Emma nudged us and gestured with her head at the black-clad man, rolling her eyes. Riley laughed, pulling us with her as we reached the door. The man flashed us another fang-filled grin before he lifted the rope to let us inside.

  The leggy redhead taking tickets was far less friendly than the guy guarding the door. Despite the autumn chill, the woman was dressed simply in a black ribbed tank top tucked into dark-washed blue jeans. She had arms that rivaled the bouncer’s, testament to a serious CrossFit addiction.

  The redhead narrowed her eyes at Riley and leaned toward her. “Did you get lost, kid?”

  Despite the hostility rolling off the woman, Riley smiled sweetly before blowing a fat pink bubble in her face. When it popped, the woman flinched.

  “Nah,” Riley said. “Just checking out the competition. You got a problem with that?”

  Riley handed her a crumpled ticket and stepped past her without waiting for a response. The redhead sneered but made no move to stop her. She gestured for me and Emma to move, forcing us to shift sideways to squeeze past her.

  “What was that about?” I asked, not caring that we were still within earshot.

  “Haters gonna hate.” Riley started up the stairs that led to the first room of the haunted house. “You ready for the second-best show in town?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  We climbed the long staircase and passed through an archway into the first room. Stepping across the threshold, we were immediately enveloped in darkness, the faint light from the entryway below dimming at our backs.

  Emma groaned. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.” I nudged her with my hip and then took the lead. “Just stay close. I’ve got you.”

  Emma scooted closer. “Shut it,” she snapped as I started making “ooooohoooooh” sounds under my breath, and Riley poked her in the side.

  Before we took more than two steps into the first room, a middle-aged couple and their bored teenager filed in behind us, followed by a group of frat brothers who had been standing near us in line outside. Together, we all shuffled across the room and made our way deeper into the haunted house.

  The rooms were laid out like a maze, with entry and exit doors scattered throughout. While the haunted house was five stories, there were no stairs beyond those in the entryway. Instead, the bigger rooms angled upward, making our ascent slow and slightly off-balance. We fought our way through chainsaw-wielding lumberjacks, Dracula wannabes, and a sizable zombie horde in the first few rooms. Make-believe or not, the feeling of half a dozen hands grasping at your arms and legs was enough to make anyone jumpy.

  By the time we stepped into a long, mirrored hallway, the crowd had thinned, leaving the three of us momentarily alone. There was little room for the spook-and-grab patrol to leap out at us, but the mirrors reflected small bits of our movement as we walked. Mirrors in a dark room were terrifying in their own right.

  The hallway was quiet except for the in and out of our breathing, which was amplified in the tight space. When the remaining light suddenly snuffed out, we were stranded in darkness. We felt our way along the narrow hallway, but it was slow going.

  The light came back on just as quickly as it went out, illuminating a man dressed in head-to-toe camo blocking our path. He grimaced and brandished a realistic-looking assault rifle. The mirrored walls caught his reflection and splintered it, creating a kaleidoscope of soldiers.

  There must have been speakers in the ceiling because the sound of gunfire exploded and echoed down the hallway. It was realistic enough to make me crouch down with hands over my head, elementary school tornado-drill style. Emma was right there with me. Riley, however, was still on her feet, shaking her head at us.

  “Ha!” crowed psycho Rambo, aka Bennie Walters. His war-painted face beamed down at me. “I told you this costume was better than a demonic clown.”

  He was right. When he wasn’t smiling like a happy schoolboy, which he had been when I had outfitted him, Bennie looked positively fierce. My makeup job had hardened his features. The football pads and quilt batting I’d wrapped him in earlier tonight had made his less-than-impressive five-foot-seven frame look downright stocky.

  Bennie, like Riley, had become a regular at my costume shop. Most of the actors trickled in before the start of the spook season to have me craft them into gory characters, stopping back for costume repairs throughout the season. Scaring people in dark, smoke-filled rooms was hell on clothing.

  Bennie came in almost every week. As someone who loved nothing more than to reinvent himself, he was a man after my own heart. He might be a zombie-apocalypse baby one week and psycho Rambo the next, which required frequent visits to my shop. And that made him my number one favorite customer.

  I slow clapped. “Bravo, Bennie. You were epic.”

  Bennie bowed theatrically, which looked ridiculous, dressed as he was. He held out his hands to help us to our feet. Without the padding, Bennie was small and wiry, but he was surprisingly strong.

  “Enjoy the rest of Howl. And a word of advice.” He dropped his voice and leaned in for effect. “Not every door leads somewhere you want to go.” He gestured to the two doors at the end of the hall before assuming his soldier stance and turning his back to us.

  “What do you think? Door number one,” I gestured toward the red door on the right, “or door number two?” I pointed to the black door on the left.

  “Hmmm, red for blood or black for death,” Emma said in her best dramatic voice. Because she spent most of her free time acting in community theater productions, she had that voice down.

  Riley didn’t wait for a discussion, reaching for the black knob before barreling into the next room. The room beyond the door was massive. It was forested with dozens of trees, thick vines dangling from their branches. Lit by flashing green strobe lights, every movement in the room had a herky-jerky quality.

  “Cover me,” Riley said, darting to one side.

  I caught a fistful of her jacket before she could ditch us. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Operation sabotage,” she said, as if Emma or I had any idea what that entailed.

  Emma scowled at Riley. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

  Riley scoffed. “They’d have to catch me first.” She shrugged out of her jacket, leaving me holding it. She pointed across the room where a familiar redhead was looking right at us. Knowing the kind of trouble an unchaperoned Riley could stir up, it didn’t surprise me that the redhead had abandoned door duties to check on her.

  Riley winked at
us. “Distract her for me.” She snatched a fake fern out of a pot and stuck it on top of her head, weaving it into her pigtails to hold it in place. “Catch ya outside,” she said over her shoulder.

  Emma lunged for her, but I pulled her back. “Come on. Let her have her fun.”

  She put a hand on her hip and scowled at me. “Fine, but I’m not posting bail.”

  In the next flash of light, both Riley and the redhead were gone, and I was left holding Riley’s jacket. It was a Riley Cruz wardrobe staple, so I couldn’t exactly ditch it in the swamp room. I slid my arms in and tried not to think about how much this beat-up black leather jacket with too many zippered pockets ruined my carefully curated outfit. I grabbed Emma’s hand and tugged her forward.

  Across the room, a large swamp creature moved closer with each flash of the strobe light, the sudden movements building anticipation with every flash. I had to give it to the actors; they knew how to craft terror. Midway across the room, the swamp thing disappeared. In its place stood the man who had been watching me outside, his face ashen despite the sickly green glow of the strobe.

  I stopped abruptly, Emma slamming into my back. When the light flashed again, the man was gone. I spun around.

  “Did you see him?” My voice faltered.

  “Um, yeah. Big, green guy. Hello.”

  I turned back to see the pale, slitted eyes of the Swamp Thing in the next flash of light. I didn’t stick around for the next flash, dragging Emma back through the door we had just come through. “Let’s try the red door instead!”

  Emma laughed. “Are you actually scared of snake-face back there?”